"Mouth partway open, C-Zone busting, Bioshock"
It's like an extremely disturbing game of Bioshock… against Stephen King and Chuck Palahniuk… in the gloom of Leatherface Hewitt's living room. Norman Bates' tittering cackle ventrilo-dripping from ceiling shadows while he serves ladyfingers—JESUS! Allison Dickson gets into your head and there's no turning back no matter how much you squirm. Totally busted my comfort zone.
Let's get the basics out of the way first and then we'll start this train. The last thing I noticed was the flawless editing. I could've missed something because I sort of got lost in the story at jump, but STRINGS had zero copy edit issues. Which says tons about both the publisher and the writer, outstanding craftsmanship for grammar and prose. Ms. Dickson's voice is well matched to her characters, bringing them to life and shifting with each to create a dark world of organized crime, hedonistic desire, and horrific monsters. The chapter titles are well chosen, adding just as much to the plot and pacing, and becoming part of the story. Kind of like a teaser for "next week's episode," but without the excruciating wait. And the theme of "strings" is strong in different layers from physical to political, but also accompanied by this cool-weird and very human thing she snuck in there, the "winning power of sacrifice."
Ahh. Pacing. Come on. Let's go. And hang on because it don’t stop till END.
The intro is haunting. A solid tension build that spirals from PSYCHO to FUNHOUSE and cuts right at the edge of the seat. The violence and insane body horror that goes into this book rank easily with the cast of producers for SIN CITY, possibly pushing the envelope a bit beyond even Rodriguez' and Tarantino's own comfort zones. I'm not kidding. You’re going to wiggle in your seat in at least a half a dozen places, if not more.
Each of the character's back stories plug into the main flow, adding purpose and emotion that creep up and latch on to your heartstrings. And Ms. Dickson does mention Stockholm Syndrome at one point; yeah, she wields that stuff like sorcery. You can’t tell whom to hate because by the finale you care for them all, even the monsters. Even the ones that "kept it all in the family." *shivers* Well, maybe not that guy.
Speaking of monsters. Full of them. I personally get tired of the whole "real human monsters" cornerstone theme that plagues modern horror because it always ends the same, with that singsong, "the evil of man is far worse…" STRINGS doesn't bother with idyllic comparisons. Ms. Dickson holds nothing back, giving us a seriously disturbing showcase of greed, lust, brutality, incest, fury, mutilation. Mutation. Meat. Strings. Sticky fecund kisses. Teeth. Strings. But don’t get scared just yet. Strings.
It gets worse.
There's real romance. Very real. Real people falling for each other at the least expected times. The most alluring type of conflict: two opposing adults fighting passion and exploding libidos against the insistence of intuition. Real sex. And she does it over and over again, keeping you on your toes, as much over the flaring romance arcs as she does the gut wrenching scenes. And I'm leaving that one right there. Enjoy.
Finally, plot. There's a point where I saw where this thing was going, and then it turned on its head all Palahniuk-gundam style and the pages wouldn't move fast enough. And at the three-quarters mark it flipped AGAIN, leaving no doubt where this meat train was headed. Ms. Dickson takes on subjects most male writers seem to be afraid to approach, the really squishy, scraping, penetrating ones that rip parts of a person's humanity out with a yank when they're done with you.
Not only do I recommend this book, but by the time I finished writing the review, a young Army Private—shoulder surfing and breathing heavy—asked me what's up and so I told him what's up and so now he's all curled in a corner with his very own copy of STRINGS. Mouth partway open.
I think I just need some time… maybe a friend. And a nightlight. Bet your Bioshock, Five stars.