Hey, yall!
We're changing things up in 2019 and are adding a new feature to Story and Grit. If you've followed the 'zine you're familiar with Jesse Rawlins interview series Ink-Quisitions and her book review series Bad-Ass Book Reviews. Six Stabs is a sort of combination of the two. In it Jesse will be taking six stabs at the author, their books, and their writing. The interview will be followed by Jesse's review of that author's current work.
Jesse has a great lineup of Six Stabs coming. Hope y'all follow along and enjoy what she brings.
Have a good one,
Mark
Jesse Rawlins and Six Stabs with Tom Pitts
1. Where do the settings for your latest novel 101 take place, Tom? And why?
TP: Most of the action
takes place in the hills of Humboldt County and Oakland. And of course, along
the northern stretch of California’s Highway 101. The book’s set in the world
of pot growers—and Humboldt County has long been ground zero for some of the
best weed in the world. It’s the Napa Valley of marijuana.
2. Do you consider your
latest novel similar to your other books? Or different than your other books?
If different “how?”
TP: 101 is the third in
what I call my Northern California Quartet, and although it’s not a series,
they have a few common denominators. It’s a fast-moving crime story told mostly
from the criminal’s perspective. It was unintentional, but each book expands a
little further geographically. The next one, Coldwater, actually is set
in Sacramento, but finishes in Malibu, of all places.
3. What Six words do you
believe best describe 101?
TP:
Fast, bloody, unrelenting, savage, funny, and hopefully, satisfying.
4.
How kind of you, Tom. You just gave me 8 words. You’re a sicker puppy than I
thought: I get to stab you two extra times.
Ah!
Aren’t you the wide-eyed-boy. So what are your three favorite movies?
Sorry,
I couldn’t hear you. Don’t rush—get your breath back.
TP:
True Stories, Goodfellas, and Phantom of
the Paradise.
5.
Who are your three favorite sources to buy weed from?
Just
kidding. Let’s keep things safe. What are three of your favorite bars—any
place, anywhere—and why?
TP:
Blind Kat at 24th and Treat Street in SF. Why? I have a lot of history there.
We’ll leave it at that. Um ... so many choices. Hell, I could give you three
this side of Cezar Chavez. Specs in San Francisco, off Columbus, has a great
vibe. Right across from City Lights. It’s one of the last remnants of the
Barbary Coast. My current fave is an old lesbian bar on Cortland Street called
the Wild Side West. No pretense, no bullshit. I love that joint.
6.
What are three of your favorite places where you’ve done a “Reading?”
TP: The Mandrake in LA.
I think that’s my favorite. Always a good crowd at the LA Noir at the
Bars. But in San Francisco? So many places. Perhaps the Beauty Bar at 19th
and Mission. And Green Apple Books in SF, that’s a good one, too. Of course,
after this I'll be thinking of plenty I-should’ve-said readings, but off the
top of my head, that’s three.
JHR: Well, thanks, Tom.
Couldn’t have played 6 Stabs without you. Before S&G’s onsite medical staff
attends to your wounds, I brought you a copy of Dragon’s Naturally Speaking
software in case your hands don’t recover properly. You talk—and Dragon will do
the typing for you. Even if your hands work well, some of the other writers in
this series may not prove as fortunate. So I hope you’ll give Dragon a ride and
also write a review so the Lit community can benefit.
Badass Book Reviews
Okay, Ink-Quisitive
audience let’s dive into 101!
If you’re the type that
likes things simple, I rated this book a kick-ass 5 stilettos—go forth BUY and
enjoy!
Maybe curious to hear
more? Wanna learn my thoughts (for whatever they may be worth)? Awesome, here
they are: they’re aimed at letting you know what you will and won’t find in
101.
I look for three key
things in a crime book: hard-asses, dumb-asses, and hot-asses—and the two big
questions are—does this assembly of asses keep their booties in constant action
while keeping me entertained?
Soon after we step inside
his roving 101 tour bus, Pitts dumps us in the middle of nowhere—a surreal
place called Garberville, where indigent hustling addicts roam the street. He also
tosses us two dumb-ass kids (Jerry and his main squeeze Piper) who set this
saga’s wheels in motion. And plenty of asses pay for these two shitheads’
fuck-ups.
Next stop on this tour?
Hidden pot plantations—where “trimming” doesn’t mean hanging tinsel on family
Christmas trees. Orange Dream. Strawberry Sunshine. An array of different “cookies.”
Lemon Dream. Dragon Berry. These ain’t the names of Little Debbie snack cakes.
But if you think Humboldt
County California sounds like a slice of heaven, you’d better guess again. The
hills of Humboldt County ain’t at all like Beverly Hills. At least not on “The
Hill” where these particular growers live. Most folks wouldn’t survive there
for two main reasons—
The cell phone reception
sucks. And Domino’s doesn’t deliver. (Neither does anyone else.)
While the scenes Pitts
presents us with are vivid and easy to see—and the characters and their
lifestyles intrigue us beginning-to-end, the book fails to give us a wide-angle
look at Humboldt County itself. As a storyteller he’s concerned with events on
“The Hill”—which we see is forested in some places. And we learn “The Hill”
stands about 270 miles north of San Francisco.
Readers could easily get
the impression that this Napa Valley of weed is nothing but Redwoods, cedars, brambles, and pot plants. And that other than
the growers and those who work for them in season almost no one tends to live
there. Me being inquisitive me, I felt compelled to research further. Sure the
region’s rural. But it ain’t the top of Mount Everest either. According to
Google, about 137, 000 people dwelt in Humboldt County in 2017. The county’s
western border kisses the Pacific, and about 27,000 live in the county seat
port city of Eureka—which lies only a hundred miles south of the Oregon border.
Where the remaining 110,000 live I didn’t check (but they’re out there
somewhere). Google search results failed to quickly show how many miles inland
Humboldt County stretches; only that the entire area encompasses a bit more
than 4,000-square miles—with about 1,000 of them (25%) consisting of protected
or strictly preserved Redwood forests.
I read this book in
three sittings. And in no way did the lack of these details detract from my
enjoyment while reading 101. Only each time I put the book down did these
questions about the region spring to mind. However, what I perceive as a lack
of geographical context in terms of being introduced to one lone hill while
learning nothing else about the rest of Humboldt County did influence my
decision to award 101 five stilettos instead of six. (A minor event near book’s
end also left me feeling incredulous: though likely intended as humorous I felt
it wasn’t necessary since the book as a whole presented itself as fairly
credible.)
I believe two factors
falsely colored my expectations for thinking 101 would prove a novel that went well
beyond being a typical crime adventure in terms of fact and scope: 1) Humboldt
County’s factual history as a premier environment for cultivating marijuana and
2) Prior to my reading this book, exposure to Public attention and comments
about 101 drew attention to another historical fact—the book takes place in May
2016 … just as California is on the verge of making recreational marijuana
legal (recreational use retail stores ultimately opened their doors for the
first time on January 1, 2018).
These two misperceptions
aside, to his credit—and our satisfaction—Pitts delivers plenty of action. As
well as some circus side-show freaks. Meth Master Mike? Vlad the Inhaler? Who
wouldn’t want a front row seat? (Pot brownies not included.)
Speaking of seats and
asses, one thing you won’t find in 101 is hot-ass sex. Yet as an added bonus
(which almost makes up for the
absence of hot-asses), Pitts presents us with lard-asses—more respectfully
known as “Bikers.” The bikers in these gangs must be pretty low on the
self-respect totem pole though. Unlike the bikers I’ve been around, none of
these dudes have motorcycle chicks. A pretty big reason why 101 has no sex
scenes. (As a writer I don’t blame Tom; not his fault these guys are losers and
can’t get laid on a Friday night. Let alone the other six days of the week.)
I’m guessing the potency
of the pot up there in Humboldt County also contributes to the lack of sex in
101. After a night of drinking and sampling some of the region’s primo stuff
for the first time, dickhead Jerry passes out in a chair … and wakes in the morning
… his mouth and throat about as dry as if he tried to swallow granny’s cotton
tighty-whities.
But not everyone in 101
suffers from impotency. Bad-ass grower Vic knows how to charm the ladies (and
yeah, he’s gettin’ some, but always behind closed doors). Meanwhile San Francisco
cop Roland Mackie sports a hellacious hard-on for Vic’s bad ass. He even dreams
about the dude almost every night. Mackie wants to nail Vic bad—
Though not in a
boyfriend kind of way.
Seriously though … in this
novel, Pitts excels as a writer in three key ways. First, we meet a caravan of
characters—many of them fairly quickly: and it’s this veritable army of misfits
that drives the suspense throughout this bus ride, while the plot’s tires screech
on the countless hair-pin turns. Adding to the intrigue, many of the hell-bent
major players are obsessed with the dumb-ass kids—but for secret reasons. Who might prevail? That’s anybody’s guess.
Unlike lesser writers, however,
Pitts avoids the common trap of merely bombarding us with a bunch of meaningless
names that leave us comatose or confused. Nor like many writers does he
continually slam the brakes on the bus—bringing the action to a dead halt
time-and-time-again in order to describe every zit and hair that sprouts from each
of the character’s noses.
His skills particularly
stand out as we meet and get involved with some of the individual bikers. In
fact I found this the most fascinating part of 101—because even though some are
merely foot soldiers rather than major players, Pitts provides us with psychological
insights as to why they became
members in this clan of brotherly thugs.
Also significantly to
this tale, the central bad-ass Vic didn’t become a Legend easily or overnight.
The dude’s got a grim backstory. (And that’s likely why Tom chose the word
“savage.”)
Pitts swiftly introduces
Vic’s backstory in 101 … but abandons that past just as quickly, allowing our
curiosity to fester. And unlike unskilled novelists, Pitts never jams Vic’s backstory
down our throats. His hand-feeding’s more like foreplay: and when the timing’s
right all the taunting veils get peeled like an orange—and the longed-for-juices
drip. But in bright red detail.
Bullets fly and people
die in 101. So, yes there’s blood …. But think of chefs cooking steaks: they
can range from oozing-rare to bone-dry shoe leather. Compared to other books
I’ve read, blood doesn’t drip from Pitts’s pages in this saga. I’d call 101
“medium rare.” And that’s a compliment, not a “knock”—I’m not into gratuitous
violence. Readers get to mentally choose how they visualize the violence based
on the blood trail evidence Pitts smatters in his scenes. My biggest WHOA
moment in this book involved a single sentence that didn’t mention blood or
visceral words of any kind. But I literally backed away from the pages—and read
the line once again to try and visualize the event—while re-thinking my “take”
on this particular character.
I didn’t find a boatload
of humor in 101—but I enjoyed the occasional lines I encountered. The best
quips prove even more enjoyable because they’re usually delivered in
dialogue—and the dumb-asses the barbs typically get directed at don’t get the
punchlines.
I’d describe 101 in just
three words: fast, unrelenting—and satisfying. If you’re looking for a
fast-paced thrill-ride without gratuitous or graphic violence that seems
reasonably credible, I believe you’ll enjoy 101.