Customer Reviews

Gypsies Stole My Tequila

5 star:		(2)
4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

While there's nothing earth-shatteringly original here, this is a very well-written, clever, sometimes quite funny novella about an aging rock star and his struggles with mortality and getting older. I read it in a couple hours and was hooked all the way through. Adrienne is a joy to read and I look forward to her next full-length novel, whenever it may happen.

Joe Blood, former frontman of the famous late '70s punk band Blood Blister (you remember them, right?) is -- horror of horrors! -- about to turn 40. However this birthday promises to be very different from the others. Seventeen years ago, Joe and his bandmates Vin and Deke made a blood pact to kill themselves once they reached that age, and a cigar-smoking "time beast" has planted itself in Joe's kitchen calendar to make sure they keep their promise.

Still trying to live his life like it's the '70s, Joe dresses and acts the part of a punk has-been, even though his day job consists of working at a butcher shop (dressed like a cow), and his sole form of transport, a scooter he calls Road Bastard, is robbed daily by preteens who think he is a joke.

But Gypsies Stole My Tequila (which was originally published in the first Amityville House of Pancakes anthology) is not just about the sad life of an aging rock star. Adrienne Jones's comic novella is also about second chances. Joe's second chance comes in the form of Vin's son Max and his bandmates Pez and Shane. They have talent; they just need the guidance of someone with a musical vision. And Vin is convinced that the person they need is Joe.

What follows is bound to be familiar to most readers, but it is rendered no less effective for its conventionality. Hell, the ending is practically sentimental, which makes it by far the most traditional work I've read from this normally outré author. Other than its somewhat orthodox base, however, the only real weak point of Gypsies Stole My Tequila is the time beast itself -- the catalyst of the entire plot -- who, regardless, never comes across as believable or even necessary.

Jones's voice is so unique, however, and she makes the character of Joe so unforgettable, that everything comes across as completely original. In fact, written by just about anyone else, Gypsies Stole My Tequila would be practically groundbreaking, but coming from the author of truly off-the-wall books like The Hoax and Temple of Cod, it can't help but be mildly disappointing. That said, it's still a great introduction for those unfamiliar with Jones's style and hopefully will lead readers to seek out her more exceptional works.

This book was completely amazing. I was so into that nothing other then the book existed. It mixed alot of topics close to my heart.. and blended them so nicely.each turn of the page I was craving more. And I was never let down. It satisfied my hunger. Thank you Adrienne you rock my socks!

A review by Dr. Joseph Suglia

After reading GYPSIES STOLE MY TEQUILA, I am convinced that Adrienne Jones can do no wrong. She is one of the only living writers of English who knows how to properly fashion a sentence. The writing tickles you, teases you. It glints and sparkles. It caroms off your brain. Ageing is a rather ticklish subject -- and there is nothing more pitiful than an ageing punk-rocker -- but at the end of her book, you are literally trembling with laughter. Not laughter as a response to humor, really, nor the laughter of embarrassment, but rather the laughter of giddiness and glee. Even as tendrils of pig intestines spill across the page a la REANIMATOR, you're convulsing with laughter. I attribute such a physiological response to the book's elegant verbal play, its charm and grace. I wrote down several of her sentences on the back of an envelope so that I could luxuriate in them later:

"The lines that separated the days of the month had a mossy growth protruding from them, black and rotted looking, like dead vegetation was pushing its way through the calendar from the back."

"The cliff was beauty, rage and death, swirling in a cacophonous shifting of imagery and emotion."

"A wash of pink and red chunks completely blotted out Max's face momentarily before the innards slid down his body onto the floor."

"He shook it off, but could feel the bloody wetness, clinging to his skin, painting it red."

"The cliff was silent save for the wind and the waves."

Even as the main character, Joe Blood, inches toward his fortieth birthday and possibly his self-imposed destruction, you'll be sliding slipperily down Jones's language slide, your nerves all aflutter.

Dr. Joseph Suglia