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Review
This is a fresh book by someone who's lived on the streets. His novella character does likewise. But he doesn't do anything low, in the sense of wicked, to get by. He's kind of an innocent. He's not afraid to say what he thinks, not afraid to say he's afraid. He gets surprised. He finds that life keeps him moving. We readers are gently, gradually surprised, too, by some pretty big smacks upside the head. But there's tenderness. I came to appreciate the rough editing. It resonated with the street tone. Living unprotected on the street is an offkilter way to be. The resulting writing isn't always going to be buffed. You're going to go on a ride like you haven't been on before. Through places you might think you know. --OutYourBackDoor.com
EXCERPT:
We have a little job for you.
OK
Take something to note it down please.
Yes I have a pen.
All right then, it is for the guarding of a bank in a suburb called Posledny.
Tom felt a sudden chill of stark terror remembering the evil looking housing project on the hilltop and he let out a weak, oui. The sorrowful voice then gave the work details as Tom jotted them down with a trembling hand.
After a not very encouraging good luck Tom was left alone in the cold predawn apartment to prepare himself to confront a day that threatened to be the worst yet. A strong pot of coffee only gave him the jitters so bad that he had trouble tying his tie. Navigating through the subway on the way to the suburban train station he felt like an unwholesome morsel of food that was slowly being digested by the intestines of a monster. After transfering to the commuter train he could feel the palpable presence of a certain doom approaching and when crossing the plain towards the institutional looking residential block he felt like a condemned man on a police skiff seeing Alcatraz rising from the green waves of San Francisco bay.
After getting off the train in the dank underground station and climbing up a series of sabotaged escalators he found himself in the deserted center of a group of blank hundred foot wall like buildings that showed no sign of life except for black fire stains running up their sides, making them look as if they had been attacked by beseiging hordes and left pillaged; all the inhabitants carried away or massacred. Feeling small and vulnerable he looked around the square for the bank that he was supposed to be guarding.
The few attempts to cheer up the landscape, a fountain and a childrens playground, had been so savagely vandalised it looked as if a tornado had passed. All the businesses were boarded up except for one in the corner farthest from him that was covered with thick metal shutters and looked as if it too had been attacked by the pyromaniac maurauders. He walked past all the storefronts feeling like the last man on earth. When he came to the last one he saw the logo of the bank he had been told to go to. How could I be working here? he thought. It looked even more damaged than all the others; he couldn t possibly imagine that it would open. Surveying the place again he saw no other possibilities, then he spotted a man dressed in a black military type uniform coming towards him. Wanting to runaway but not knowing where to go Tom crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to see what would happen. --Security, the novel
About the Author
Nowlan was a skidrow wino from the age of fourteen. Somehow he ended up living in France (he thinks that maybe someone hit him on the head and took him there in a sack). He worked as a security guard in Paris and almost went insane. He'd be okay now but just can't forget that everyone is out to get him. Really.
This is a fresh book by someone who's lived on the streets. His novella character does likewise. But he doesn't do anything low, in the sense of wicked, to get by. He's kind of an innocent. He's not afraid to say what he thinks, not afraid to say he's afraid. He gets surprised. He finds that life keeps him moving. We readers are gently, gradually surprised, too, by some pretty big smacks upside the head. But there's tenderness. I came to appreciate the rough editing. It resonated with the street tone. Living unprotected on the street is an offkilter way to be. The resulting writing isn't always going to be buffed. You're going to go on a ride like you haven't been on before. Through places you might think you know. --OutYourBackDoor.com
EXCERPT:
We have a little job for you.
OK
Take something to note it down please.
Yes I have a pen.
All right then, it is for the guarding of a bank in a suburb called Posledny.
Tom felt a sudden chill of stark terror remembering the evil looking housing project on the hilltop and he let out a weak, oui. The sorrowful voice then gave the work details as Tom jotted them down with a trembling hand.
After a not very encouraging good luck Tom was left alone in the cold predawn apartment to prepare himself to confront a day that threatened to be the worst yet. A strong pot of coffee only gave him the jitters so bad that he had trouble tying his tie. Navigating through the subway on the way to the suburban train station he felt like an unwholesome morsel of food that was slowly being digested by the intestines of a monster. After transfering to the commuter train he could feel the palpable presence of a certain doom approaching and when crossing the plain towards the institutional looking residential block he felt like a condemned man on a police skiff seeing Alcatraz rising from the green waves of San Francisco bay.
After getting off the train in the dank underground station and climbing up a series of sabotaged escalators he found himself in the deserted center of a group of blank hundred foot wall like buildings that showed no sign of life except for black fire stains running up their sides, making them look as if they had been attacked by beseiging hordes and left pillaged; all the inhabitants carried away or massacred. Feeling small and vulnerable he looked around the square for the bank that he was supposed to be guarding.
The few attempts to cheer up the landscape, a fountain and a childrens playground, had been so savagely vandalised it looked as if a tornado had passed. All the businesses were boarded up except for one in the corner farthest from him that was covered with thick metal shutters and looked as if it too had been attacked by the pyromaniac maurauders. He walked past all the storefronts feeling like the last man on earth. When he came to the last one he saw the logo of the bank he had been told to go to. How could I be working here? he thought. It looked even more damaged than all the others; he couldn t possibly imagine that it would open. Surveying the place again he saw no other possibilities, then he spotted a man dressed in a black military type uniform coming towards him. Wanting to runaway but not knowing where to go Tom crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to see what would happen. --Security, the novel
About the Author
Nowlan was a skidrow wino from the age of fourteen. Somehow he ended up living in France (he thinks that maybe someone hit him on the head and took him there in a sack). He worked as a security guard in Paris and almost went insane. He'd be okay now but just can't forget that everyone is out to get him. Really.
100 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2007
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