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An Angel of Sodom
An Angel of Sodom is the title short novel, which is followed by 13 short stories, by David Vardeman, long-neglected, long at work, always writing. Now that he is published a unique and frankly indescribable author has come to haunt the literary milieu with is perverse, absurd, realist, Midwestern, US American, human being tales of people who generally go about their mundane quotidian while navigating the most difficult task of all--living sanely. In each story, the characters seem to be confounded by the banality of normal, while the undertow of an unglimpsed all-powerful strange tugs at them.
What they don't notice, luckily Vardeman does. His writing provides a variety of pleasures, including humor and puzzles that prick the intellect to discomfort, but his primary talent lies in providing endless surprises. Not a page goes by without unpredictable reactions, urges, indabas, insights, petty cruelties, odd moments of tenderness--which in this world are indeed odd, and not likely to last.
What they don't notice, luckily Vardeman does. His writing provides a variety of pleasures, including humor and puzzles that prick the intellect to discomfort, but his primary talent lies in providing endless surprises. Not a page goes by without unpredictable reactions, urges, indabas, insights, petty cruelties, odd moments of tenderness--which in this world are indeed odd, and not likely to last.
- GenresShort Stories
416 pages, Paperback
Published June 4, 2020
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
September 12, 2020
Primarily through comedy, Vardeman's experimental stories run the gamut of human emotion, from hilarity to harrowing heartbreak.
From page one he offers an unflinching and unflattering view of the human animal's foolish and various ways of tackling life. It is with a unique literary mastery of his chosen arguments that he depicts the often pathetically inept actions of his characters.
Above all, these are character-driven tales, taken to the very edge of believability. The conversations always take a turn for the bizarre, even as they touch on stunning human truths.
The aplomb on display is equalled on by the control of his gamma-knife-sharp wit. What results, is an utterly devastating circus of dream visions.
The first story forsakes punctuation except full stops, which makes for a learning curve. Force your mind around his rhythmic style and you will likely get addicted to the surprises to be found within and around every unexpected word.
Several of the stories capture convincing perspectives of troubled youth seeking after a place to belong, employing sardonic logical fallacies, coupled with rude, salacious, and satirical narration.
These are characters who take dysfunctionality to an art form, stroking their Godzilla-sized vanity with absurdist fantasies, indulging in their incurable blindness toward common sense and everyday propriety by behaving in shocking and silly ways.
I sensed touches of bizarro-fiction, but this could have only been my perception - a result of the constant fluctuations of bewilderment. You might describe this work as disturbing, twisted, demented, riotous, or profound. Vardeman asks the relatable question: why doesn’t anyone take me seriously as a human being? Am I a joke? Can’t anyone see past my obvious flaws to the brilliant unique individual beautiful person inside? The most commonly posited answer is: No. Or if they can, they don’t care, and are too worried about themselves to listen to your whiny pity party soundtrack/ sob story - like, get over yourself, join the party, get in line, etc.
Flying in the face of society’s strictures, the characters find hope and consolation in resistance to the norm, the safe, and the boring. They seek adventure and excitement as a means to define themselves and assign meaning to their terrifying lives.
“A Young Guy and his Career” is a bizarro detective story. It is unlike anything I have ever read.
“Farm Girl” is an immersive story about a girl growing up on a farm, longing to become a literary immortal, who thinks running away to Paris is sufficient qualification to become the next Proust.
The title story is poignant, and bizarrely descriptive, easy to parse, fast-paced, intuitive, with integrated dialogue and a pervasive sense of grotesque humor. I laughed out loud on almost every page. Utterly ridiculous. But it operates within the confines of its established logical landscape, becoming miraculously readable through rhythmic stylistic thrusts, charming through blasphemy, wrestling with biblical undertones, sliding into the just-plain-weird, until the sheer outrageousness becomes entertaining in a reality TV sort of way, but far more condensed, unrepetitive and deep. Vivid description accompanies sharp dialogue, again, dependent entirely on quirky character facets, often bordering on insanity, full of quips and egregious cleverness, and morbid in the extreme. The commentary on art and idolatry, pop culture, the media, tourists, and the backwater residents of America’s heartland were pointed, affecting, and effective. Its delusional characters shed light on our times and foibles. In complete helplessness, their confrontation with harsh reality cannot but be the anodyne for the oversaturated postmodern literary landscape we face today.
“Perversion is only a lack of acquaintance,” one of the characters says. This is during an exquisite punk rock satire, suffused with a sense of lost youth, spoiled potential, an inescapable dejection, amid moral decay, within a bereavement for the nostalgic pastures of youth, grappling with a sick sort of logic - all of which provide motivations to propel the narrative.
The author's sophisticated commentary on religion through creative blasphemy lends itself to a range of interpretations. No matter how susceptible you are to the uncanny and the odd, Vardeman's debut is a forceful example of honed aesthetic principles. For the herniated metaphors, and the stomach-churning detail of a pork-themed restaurant debacle alone, he deserves five stars.
From page one he offers an unflinching and unflattering view of the human animal's foolish and various ways of tackling life. It is with a unique literary mastery of his chosen arguments that he depicts the often pathetically inept actions of his characters.
Above all, these are character-driven tales, taken to the very edge of believability. The conversations always take a turn for the bizarre, even as they touch on stunning human truths.
The aplomb on display is equalled on by the control of his gamma-knife-sharp wit. What results, is an utterly devastating circus of dream visions.
The first story forsakes punctuation except full stops, which makes for a learning curve. Force your mind around his rhythmic style and you will likely get addicted to the surprises to be found within and around every unexpected word.
Several of the stories capture convincing perspectives of troubled youth seeking after a place to belong, employing sardonic logical fallacies, coupled with rude, salacious, and satirical narration.
These are characters who take dysfunctionality to an art form, stroking their Godzilla-sized vanity with absurdist fantasies, indulging in their incurable blindness toward common sense and everyday propriety by behaving in shocking and silly ways.
I sensed touches of bizarro-fiction, but this could have only been my perception - a result of the constant fluctuations of bewilderment. You might describe this work as disturbing, twisted, demented, riotous, or profound. Vardeman asks the relatable question: why doesn’t anyone take me seriously as a human being? Am I a joke? Can’t anyone see past my obvious flaws to the brilliant unique individual beautiful person inside? The most commonly posited answer is: No. Or if they can, they don’t care, and are too worried about themselves to listen to your whiny pity party soundtrack/ sob story - like, get over yourself, join the party, get in line, etc.
Flying in the face of society’s strictures, the characters find hope and consolation in resistance to the norm, the safe, and the boring. They seek adventure and excitement as a means to define themselves and assign meaning to their terrifying lives.
“A Young Guy and his Career” is a bizarro detective story. It is unlike anything I have ever read.
“Farm Girl” is an immersive story about a girl growing up on a farm, longing to become a literary immortal, who thinks running away to Paris is sufficient qualification to become the next Proust.
The title story is poignant, and bizarrely descriptive, easy to parse, fast-paced, intuitive, with integrated dialogue and a pervasive sense of grotesque humor. I laughed out loud on almost every page. Utterly ridiculous. But it operates within the confines of its established logical landscape, becoming miraculously readable through rhythmic stylistic thrusts, charming through blasphemy, wrestling with biblical undertones, sliding into the just-plain-weird, until the sheer outrageousness becomes entertaining in a reality TV sort of way, but far more condensed, unrepetitive and deep. Vivid description accompanies sharp dialogue, again, dependent entirely on quirky character facets, often bordering on insanity, full of quips and egregious cleverness, and morbid in the extreme. The commentary on art and idolatry, pop culture, the media, tourists, and the backwater residents of America’s heartland were pointed, affecting, and effective. Its delusional characters shed light on our times and foibles. In complete helplessness, their confrontation with harsh reality cannot but be the anodyne for the oversaturated postmodern literary landscape we face today.
“Perversion is only a lack of acquaintance,” one of the characters says. This is during an exquisite punk rock satire, suffused with a sense of lost youth, spoiled potential, an inescapable dejection, amid moral decay, within a bereavement for the nostalgic pastures of youth, grappling with a sick sort of logic - all of which provide motivations to propel the narrative.
The author's sophisticated commentary on religion through creative blasphemy lends itself to a range of interpretations. No matter how susceptible you are to the uncanny and the odd, Vardeman's debut is a forceful example of honed aesthetic principles. For the herniated metaphors, and the stomach-churning detail of a pork-themed restaurant debacle alone, he deserves five stars.
July 28, 2020
I wrote the summary and shepherded the book to publication, so I guess I think it's a damn good collection.
Second read of the title story. This time the stunning and hilarious gradually became less funny and right now this feels like the saddest novel I have ever read.
Second read of the title story. This time the stunning and hilarious gradually became less funny and right now this feels like the saddest novel I have ever read.
September 27, 2020
David Vardeman's prose bites. It bites, it claws, scratches and gnaws at our facade of normalcy, at our belief in superiority. It's fresh. Surprising. It forces us to face the strangeness of the Other and see, by twist of nature, nurture, or quirk of fate, ourselves. Flawed. Absurd. The characters are strange, twisted, surreal, and more like us than we want to accept, for no matter how bizarre they appear, there is a despairing humanity there – and a great deal of humor -- why else would we feel compelled to read. And as I turned the pages, story after strange and lovely story, I couldn't help but imagine scenes from Waters, Cronenberg, and Lynch, with intimations of Beckett, Ionesco, Sarte, Burroughs and Kafka. These characters – Little Fur Baby, Poor Fat Jackie, Mr. “Pighead” Perlmutter, the Peroxide Bitches, Proust-obsessed Beryl Funk, or Mrs. “Spider” Box – they all dwell in a Vardemanian purgatory, a realm governed by bizarre logic, where God is distant, where this no longer follows from that, many seeking some form of redemption, like nasty Mrs Box in The Last Evil, suffering the horrific loss of self-identity, a literal body-snatching, or sad Patrice, disgraced nun of Tramp on the Street, who still talks to God and draws penguins.
Each story is unique, told in a fresh voice, all clearly residing in the only place that would have them, this one wonderful, eccentric universe of Vardeman's design.
Each story is unique, told in a fresh voice, all clearly residing in the only place that would have them, this one wonderful, eccentric universe of Vardeman's design.
January 11, 2021
I really liked Mr Vardeman's delivery of these deadpan dead funny stories. He's a unique voice.
January 9, 2021
The funniest damn thing. The humor, for those who like such comparisons, reminded me at various points of Kafka, Lipsyte, and the Coen Brothers; but Vardeman is mixing up his own bizarre concoctions.
Here is an interview the great George Salis conducted with Vardeman for The Collidescope:
https://thecollidescope.com/2020/07/2...
Here is an interview the great George Salis conducted with Vardeman for The Collidescope:
https://thecollidescope.com/2020/07/2...
March 18, 2021
An inclusive, funny book for anyone who has ever felt excluded that at times hits too close to home and leaves this reader who was a queer pubescent that shopped in the husky section feeling quite violated. We are all of us ugly ones angels of Sodom, and this book sets me at ease. There is company in the invisibility of mediocrity, and perhaps something holy too, and at the end of it all, our repulsive looks and untouchable behaviors will never be as ugly as the society that excludes us.
"I am a man with a knife in his heart who knows that love is a barbarity too. It is the thing that drags you into the clearing in the sacred grove, lays you out on the bloody stone, and plunges the sacrificial dagger into your heart. It bears all things. Even in its death it goes on living." (188)
"I am a man with a knife in his heart who knows that love is a barbarity too. It is the thing that drags you into the clearing in the sacred grove, lays you out on the bloody stone, and plunges the sacrificial dagger into your heart. It bears all things. Even in its death it goes on living." (188)
May 2, 2021
There aren’t very many story collections I can honestly describe as being “perfect,” by which I mean I somehow end up enjoying every single story on offer. Even with my favorite collections, there will usually be a dud, sometimes several, or at very least a few that while technically great from a writing standpoint just don’t end up grabbing me for any number of reasons. But every now and again I luck out and land on a “perfect” one, and An Angel of Sodom by David Vardeman is one of them.
For the record, I didn’t really know what to expect when I picked this book up. I knew it consisted of a novella and a selection of shorter stories, and I had been told to expect lots of humor and sadness. That’s all I really knew, and I happened to have left the other book I had just started reading at work and needed something to read one evening, so I elected to read some short fiction and figured I’d give this book a shot.
On the first page of the title novella, I was greeted with this very strong opening paragraph:
“Mom stood up at your funeral and said Hello Everyone. I am Jackie’s mother and I am here with an important announcement. Our Jackie did not hang himself with a belt from his fat jiggling machine. I wanted you to know that. Thank you very much for coming. And now on with the show.”
On with the show, indeed. Or rather, on with the shows (14 including the title novella). There are no dull moments on offer here. These are wild stories, full of unexpected happenings, surreal turns of fate, strange behavior, oddities all sorts. Vardeman has a wonderful sense of humor; a warped one, to be sure, and a frequently dark one also, but it had me laughing aloud so many times I lost count. More than a few of these also left me very sad, devastated even (the title story, “Pig,” “No Exit,” and “Farm Girl” come immediately to mind). I admire the hell out of Vardeman for being able to balance these disparate elements so well, and for making it seem so effortless. The only thing I can really think of to compare it to are the films of Todd Solondz (long a favorite of mine).
I’ll just wrap this up by saying I loved this collection and recommend it to all lovers and appreciators of short fiction. This collection was an absolute pleasure from start to finish, and I’ll most definitely be reading more David Vardeman in the very near future. In fact, I’m going to cut this short right now and dive into April is the Cruelest Month/Suddenly, This Summer.
Highly recommended. Vardeman deserves to be much more widely known.
For the record, I didn’t really know what to expect when I picked this book up. I knew it consisted of a novella and a selection of shorter stories, and I had been told to expect lots of humor and sadness. That’s all I really knew, and I happened to have left the other book I had just started reading at work and needed something to read one evening, so I elected to read some short fiction and figured I’d give this book a shot.
On the first page of the title novella, I was greeted with this very strong opening paragraph:
“Mom stood up at your funeral and said Hello Everyone. I am Jackie’s mother and I am here with an important announcement. Our Jackie did not hang himself with a belt from his fat jiggling machine. I wanted you to know that. Thank you very much for coming. And now on with the show.”
On with the show, indeed. Or rather, on with the shows (14 including the title novella). There are no dull moments on offer here. These are wild stories, full of unexpected happenings, surreal turns of fate, strange behavior, oddities all sorts. Vardeman has a wonderful sense of humor; a warped one, to be sure, and a frequently dark one also, but it had me laughing aloud so many times I lost count. More than a few of these also left me very sad, devastated even (the title story, “Pig,” “No Exit,” and “Farm Girl” come immediately to mind). I admire the hell out of Vardeman for being able to balance these disparate elements so well, and for making it seem so effortless. The only thing I can really think of to compare it to are the films of Todd Solondz (long a favorite of mine).
I’ll just wrap this up by saying I loved this collection and recommend it to all lovers and appreciators of short fiction. This collection was an absolute pleasure from start to finish, and I’ll most definitely be reading more David Vardeman in the very near future. In fact, I’m going to cut this short right now and dive into April is the Cruelest Month/Suddenly, This Summer.
Highly recommended. Vardeman deserves to be much more widely known.
January 30, 2025
Traditional accolades don't cut it when it comes to reviewing David Vardeman's unique talent - let me offer you a parable instead...
A lady and her young daughter enter an exclusive restaurant (invite only). There are no menus; they must implicitly trust the chef will delight them (and more than just mere satiation).
The lady and the daughter finish their meal and sit in silence, neither one able to express their myriad feelings. The waiter sidles over and offers the daughter a playing card with a question mark printed on it. The daughter whispers boldly in his ear to which the waiter turns and announces to the room:
"My dear, today you will pay no bill."
Bemused and secretly envious, the lady looks at her daughter; how could this immature child know the answer to such a momentous question: Who was the Chef, but more importantly: Why was the Waiter?
A lady and her young daughter enter an exclusive restaurant (invite only). There are no menus; they must implicitly trust the chef will delight them (and more than just mere satiation).
The lady and the daughter finish their meal and sit in silence, neither one able to express their myriad feelings. The waiter sidles over and offers the daughter a playing card with a question mark printed on it. The daughter whispers boldly in his ear to which the waiter turns and announces to the room:
"My dear, today you will pay no bill."
Bemused and secretly envious, the lady looks at her daughter; how could this immature child know the answer to such a momentous question: Who was the Chef, but more importantly: Why was the Waiter?
September 28, 2022
Vardeman, David - An Angel Of Sodom
Who let this guy loose?
The opening title story is a wild read and an avalanche of deranged images. Fifteen year old Jackie weighs 342 lbs, his knockers are the envy of most girls. Under his belt lurks his mantool, buried beneath folds of flesh. Folds that prove resistant to hygiene, so they waft like only body stench can.
Such is merely the opening of a painfully funny novella.
Within weeks, however, Jackie experiences “growing up” lessons, and his outlook detours into a sadder perspective.
Oh, the novella is written without commas or quotes. Yeah, yeah, the author is being artsy.
“… I’ve always had to do the wrong thing to find out what the right thing would have been …”
So sighs Mrs. Windbourne, pondering her quietly misspent life. She has struck up a conversation with a new friend in “Stomboli” as their cruise ship circles the volcanic island of the same name. Both females, one insecure, the other incisive, drink cocktails on deck, and their exchanges grow ever more irrational and incoherent.
The next outing bears a conversational tone, with a repetitive narrative style. Meaning a phrase or sentence is echoed in varying degrees. This repetition, for me, became like an annoying coworker.
Anyway, “A Young Guy And His Career” might just as well be Detection 4 Dummies. One morning, Wally decides he is a detective. He posts an advertisement, and lands his first case within 15 days. From there, the tale moseys from Pigge to pig. I kid you not. A satire on hard boiled dicks and the Great American Way, if a little hammy.
“Tramp On The Street” is another long tale. Opening paragraphs resemble a standup monologue. Our narrator’s mother has just died – so – doing as you or I, he heads to the local saloon.
The usual table, the usual cronies, spouting alcohol soaked wisdom and philosophy. Much of your sympathy here may depend on your thoughts on the human race.
There are one or two interludes where our narrator, Kap, leaves the table and reflects. Situations, observations, paths untaken. Mr. Vardeman enters more serious territory here, before stepping back and returning to sarcasm de jour.
This is not a collection to trot through or to read solo, one story after another. The author’s voice has a “samey” quality, and I found it best to space these between stories or novels by other writers.
Who let this guy loose?
The opening title story is a wild read and an avalanche of deranged images. Fifteen year old Jackie weighs 342 lbs, his knockers are the envy of most girls. Under his belt lurks his mantool, buried beneath folds of flesh. Folds that prove resistant to hygiene, so they waft like only body stench can.
Such is merely the opening of a painfully funny novella.
Within weeks, however, Jackie experiences “growing up” lessons, and his outlook detours into a sadder perspective.
Oh, the novella is written without commas or quotes. Yeah, yeah, the author is being artsy.
“… I’ve always had to do the wrong thing to find out what the right thing would have been …”
So sighs Mrs. Windbourne, pondering her quietly misspent life. She has struck up a conversation with a new friend in “Stomboli” as their cruise ship circles the volcanic island of the same name. Both females, one insecure, the other incisive, drink cocktails on deck, and their exchanges grow ever more irrational and incoherent.
The next outing bears a conversational tone, with a repetitive narrative style. Meaning a phrase or sentence is echoed in varying degrees. This repetition, for me, became like an annoying coworker.
Anyway, “A Young Guy And His Career” might just as well be Detection 4 Dummies. One morning, Wally decides he is a detective. He posts an advertisement, and lands his first case within 15 days. From there, the tale moseys from Pigge to pig. I kid you not. A satire on hard boiled dicks and the Great American Way, if a little hammy.
“Tramp On The Street” is another long tale. Opening paragraphs resemble a standup monologue. Our narrator’s mother has just died – so – doing as you or I, he heads to the local saloon.
The usual table, the usual cronies, spouting alcohol soaked wisdom and philosophy. Much of your sympathy here may depend on your thoughts on the human race.
There are one or two interludes where our narrator, Kap, leaves the table and reflects. Situations, observations, paths untaken. Mr. Vardeman enters more serious territory here, before stepping back and returning to sarcasm de jour.
This is not a collection to trot through or to read solo, one story after another. The author’s voice has a “samey” quality, and I found it best to space these between stories or novels by other writers.
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