It begins as a routine trick: two guys on a beach after midnight. Instant attraction, chemical overload, but in the heat of the moment they are interrupted. Brutalized by police, they fight back, a cop dies, and Nick and Jeff are on the run through Los Angeles at its worst. James Robert Baker's cult first novel-originally published under the name James Dillinger-is at once an anarchist's howl of rage at oppression and the soulless culture of Hollywood, and it is a noir thriller peppered with hilarious vignettes and ironic insight.
James Robert Baker's cult classic is a fast read, intense, and in its own, rough, plain-spoken way, a masterpiece. A horrific, terrifying vision of an America with no integrity and a hatred of homosexuals, the story has few heroes, though the handful of decent people who grace its pages stand out with a kind of moral purity that helps create a pitch black context for the anti-heroes at the core of the story and the brutal, relentless villains that pursue them on a wave of violent homophobia and self-loathing. A transgressive, neo-noir thriller that has no problem being more than just a little bit trashy, there is something truly refreshing about homosexuals at the center of such a story, even if it does occasionally trip into utter absurdity or rely a little too heavily on stereotypes of gays and straights alike. Still, the hat trick narrative is deeply satisfying as it comes to a close, with its central fugitives attaining a kind of gay folk hero status via an apocalyptic finale at a send up of Disneyland, and Baker's underground assault on conservative Christian values and hypocrisy is, in many respects, a genre defining tour-de-force that reminds us that angry gay men existed in the era of transition out of the shadows of the American psyche, and that any population, if brutalized enough, will one day rise to bring hell down on its oppressors.
Reading Baker's first novel has taught me the limits of vitriol. Baker's anger and mistrust towards the dominant, homophobic culture is palpable, yet this novel in particular does not achieve the radical depth that Baker's reputation (and more than likely his later works) achieves.
What can I say, it's a first novel. It would've been sitting pretty at a tight 200 pages, but Baker's electric vitriol couldn't leave well enough alone. It's a parade of blah characters, all archetypes that have, I suspect, agitated Baker at one point or another. Some are compelling, but most aren't.
Obsessive. Twisted. Neurotic. Erotic. Insane. I've never found a narrative voice quite like James again. He is one of my favorite authors. Too bad the film version is a kind attempt, but really an abortion to his true style. One of a kind writer.
Adrenaline is by far one of the worst novels I have ever read and the worst novel by James Robert Baker. It's no wonder Baker used a pseudonym when it was initially published. All the characters are completely unlikable including Nick and Jeff and they're the ones we're suppose to be rooting for. Every male character is either gay, a closeted gay or hates gays. The situations in this novel are so far fetched over-the-top unbelievable that all credibly is blown out the window. Whenever Nick and Jeff are backed into a corner they either come across someone they know who helps them out, miraculously dodge bullets and thwarts an entire police department or they find a super hero way out like jumping through a skylight, landing unscathed on their feet to continue running without missing a beat. This novel reads like Jackie Collins on gay crack and that's insulting to Jackie. I moaned and groaned through the entire novel, and not in a good way.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a huge fan of James Robert Baker and there is plenty of evidence in Adrenaline of the great things to come such as Tim & Pete and Testosterone. Even his posthumously released work of over-the-top absurdist fiction Anarchy is four stars above this.
A must read if you're a Baker fan but prepare to be a bit insulted and a bit disappointed.
Prophetic. Baker was a radical queer who forced readers to face the desire of straight society to annihilate the queers. The words HIV or AIDS are never uttered, yet queer extermination is everywhere.
Also laugh out loud funny.
Baker was not so good on intersectionality and the anti-Blackness is really disappointing. (He gets better in later books)
This is a pulpy summer read for a beach or humid afternoon, laying in the air conditioner, escaping the heat. It is all escapism, and completely over the top.