Jeremy Maddux > Recent Status Updates

Robert Allen has done the unthinkable. He made me glad for the death of a child character. That sounds incredibly harsh, but trust me, this kid was damaged goods, a total sociopath with no potential for rehabilitation.

'Instead of fish, I see herds of sunken spirits galloping with the undercurrent. I see Capricorn goats, sea horses, and selkies, all charging along the river bed. It’s a kelpie on the end of my line. I could tell by the way it shape-shifted. One second it looked like a big old gator, slashing about, the next second a little water sprite, dancing about.'

‘I mean, Jesus, no one would accuse the Mundinos of being great philosophers, but even they could see the nonsense in that! So could a fucking tribeswoman on the New Guinea Highlands who prays to aeroplanes! I mean, think about it. Consciousness is “just an illusion” but quarks are real! Really? Come on! Oh, and wait a minute, what are quarks made of?’

This is one of the most imaginative books I've ever read. The worldbuilding and lore of the landscape's strange species is rendered stunningly plausible while remaining out of convention's reach to catalogue. A deft hand wrote this one. The Duendes are a fascinating species that are always just out of reach to explain.

“Every time we manage to make some money, either the state or the feds step in and take it. And then, just to rub it in, they accuse us Indians of being lazy because we’re poor. And we’re poor because they keep raiding what little wealth we have. But again, that’s how things work on the rez.

Kildare. Boomwild (pp. 45-46). Kildare Press, LLC. Kindle Edition.

'“We don’t know much about how things are run around here.” Jesús said. “We’ve been told it’s a mess.” Charlie snorted. “That’s an understatement, but that’s always been the case. We make the best of it. Not much else we can do. The feds don’t want us to be dependent on the government, but they don’t want us to be free, either, and they can’t figure out that those two goals are incompatible.'

“Look at that shit they openly spray on our heads. Fuckin’ sky has lines this way, grids that way. Get the fuck outta here. That shit ain’t no contrails. Sure as fuck ain’t clouds. Sky turns white, last all fuckin’ day. These fucks been spraying that shit on LA almost daily. My cousin says back home, New York too. That’s in plain fuckin’ site!"

'Now, mind that I don’t sneak up and discharge into your dog cone while you blindly trust directives harum-scarum! Never proffer your gizzard, folks – not to someone with this chunky a spread. Sticking berries in the stork’s beak won’t make my syrupy load an okay chaser, I’m afraid. And I am afraid. For you. I don’t like my audience sipping knowledge from a cloven hoofprint.'