The new L.A. novel is

The new L.A. novel is supposed to be rough, tough and gritty. Rachel Resnick’s Go West Young F*cked-Up Chick is all of that, and I enjoyed it immensely, although maybe that’s because half the book is about one of my favorite ex-girlfriends.

Anastasia curls her rubber-flex vavoom body up on a restaurant booth seat, her black bra poking through a stained and tattered black vest that’s missing a button, babbling lovely as a backwoods brook released from the fetters of a makeshift dam, boldly racing from Kant to cryogenics to Lorena Bobbit’s trial, all the images sparkling like skybound drops of water shining with exuberant randomness and rapture, and as she rambles she doodles on a tablecloth, a balloon-bursting head, tiny dot eyes and mouth. She then fills in the frame of the skull with a million stars. “This is my head,” she says.
Two great L.A. non-novels are Sanyika Shakur’s Monster and Wallbangin' by Susan A. Phillips.

originally posted by xowie

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