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386 pages, Paperback
First published August 26, 2014
Please note: I don't review to provide synopses, I review to share a purely visceral reaction to books and perhaps answer some of the questions I ask when I'm contemplating investing time and money into a book.
I’m used to Aqua Regia’s kick, but down enough at once and it’s going to turn anyone’s cerebral cortex into chocolate pudding. I let it and the tea do their work. They fight it out in my stomach. The Hellion hoodoo wrestling whatever kind of magic Mr. Bones uses. My stomach cramps and for a few seconds I want to throw up. But I hold on and the feeling passes. The room gets thin, like it’s made of black gauze. I put the crow feather between my teeth just as I fall out of myself.
***
“Okay, Cassandra, there’s something else. Did it rain much when you were down there?”
“No. I don’t remember it raining at all.”
“Well, it is now. Raining cats and dogs and little imps with pitchforks. I mean, there’s doomed. There’s screwed. And there’s monsoons-in-Hell fucked. And we’re at fucked o’clock.”
Angelinos (sic) are used to desert heat and chocolate-colored smog skies. Rain is kryptonite to these people{...}He's right, you know. I spent five years in Los Angeles, with its frequent earthquakes and occasional riots; its skies glowing orange and gray with wildfires during the hot, dry Santa Ana winds; black helicopters spraying Malathion thundering in from the west (and doesn't "Malathion" sound like a demon's name too?)... before I moved to a place where rain is not such a rarity. But I still think of the place from time to time—and it wasn't all bad. As James Stark himself says,
—p.4
L.A. always looks best in the dark, when it's just lights and the ugly hulks of the buildings have been softened to vague night shapes.
—p.49
"Don't bad-mouth my people. None of them's ever come back with a head in a box."
"Maybe you didn't ask nice enough."
—pp. 14-15