Customer Reviews

Passenger

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

 

 

Another great release from Delirium. Ronald Damien Malfi not only has a creepy name that sounds like he's a deranged serial killer that no one can capture, but the guy can spin an excellent tale of how strange and scary it would be to wake up and not know who you are.

The story starts out with its narrator waking up on a bench with his head shaved and only an address written on his hand. He doesn't know who he is, where he came from, or whether or not he committed some terrible crime and if the police are after him.

He's afraid to go to the police because he might be wanted, deciding to wander around the city of Maryland. Along the way he meets some interesting characters in his search to find out who he really is.

Strange things are found out by the nameless man: he can play the piano, and not just a few keys, the guy can really play; he's drawn to a gumball machine that he buys, and is attracted to a church for reasons he doesn't know yet.

Malfi's writing is amazing. His ability to drag you right into each paragraph and hold you there like you are the wandering man with no name, is creepy in itself. His descriptions are about as flawless as you can get, making you feel like you're right in the book the whole way through.

This book is only 221 pages, and once you start, you will not be able to put it down. If you don't finish it in one sitting, you will by the next day. I can't imagine anyone needing more than two days to read through this one.

Don't let this book slip by you.

Horrordude.

Which struggle is greater? To find lost memory or to lose a memory found? To do either, how far backward would a person have to go and how much of present living would be sabotaged in the process? These are the sad and cyclical questions eventually confronted by the protagonist in Passenger by Ronald Damien Malfi. But to say too much on that would be to reveal what the reader begs to have answered throughout the entire reading.

After waking on a bus with only an address scrawled on his hand and no memory of his identity, the protagonist begins his search for a past. The book rides swiftly on constant odd and disturbing revelations, as well as on the crazy, sometimes funny, sometimes brutal adventures the protagonist has with the lively, oddball characters who take him in: Clarence the junk collector who believes that lives, like junk, can be recycled; Patrice, the married woman he takes home, who questions whether life is ever free and clear; the musician brothers who let him play in their murdered brother's place, with clear stipulation that he is not Johnny, "ain't nobody replace Johnny."

Malfi makes the city of Baltimore alive, with the kinds of descriptions that make me leave my world for another, but it's a place where buildings are "arthritic," "black avenues lie unrealized," shops carry both "iron bars and welcome signs," and "neon sings ... in puddles of runoff and sewage and urine and oil." Everywhere in this city, memory haunts the protagonist's amnesic mind. The past feels tangible, yet fragile: walking through the "Egyptian dust" of the pawn shop he encounters "ceramic cats placed strategically like land mines," a piano with missing keys, the owner with suspenders hanging loose.

Like Clarence with his junk, it seems time is being recycled, and history repeats itself. But despite the character's dedicated, willful search, he seems to be on a downward spiral, as if with each step closer to memory, his life disintegrates. At one point the character asks, has anyone ever died from amnesia, "from memory alone?" And when he seeks refuge in a church, the cancer-ridden, "fossilized" nun tells him he is "skin and bones" and looks like a shadow of himself, suggesting maybe he doesn't want to find his memory at all.

At one point, he asks, "Can I be happy?" and it hits hard, like both a universal quest and an eternal frustration. Can we be happy with whatever lies deep in us, even if memory were erased and regrets forgotten? Or is memory rooted deep and inescapable? Malfi's book is a puzzle, a page-turning, stay-up-all-night kind of puzzle. The past haunts and the past warns, and I'm left wondering if a clean slate can ever be found.

This book has some excellent writing, and one can tell the skill of the author. But I didn't care for it, as it was extremely similar in style to the movie Memento. In fact the beginnings and endings were almost identical. But in between it tells its own story, and that was enjoyable to follow. If I had never seen the movie I would have liked this book a lot, as its written well, but I couldn't get the similarities between the movie and the story out of my head and I ended up disliking the story. The author needs to come up with something more original next time out because he has the skill.

Passenger is a novel carved from one solid block of stone. Malfi the sculptor chips away intently revealing a sharp plane here, a smooth curve there, but doesn't unveil the resulting form until the final pages of the book. The novel's concept is deceptively simple, a man wakes up on a Baltimore city bus with no memory and no ID, only an address written on his hand. This allows for plenty of mystery, suspense and even a few comic moments. The plot and main character can wander in a seemingly aiml...more Passenger is a novel carved from one solid block of stone. Malfi the sculptor chips away intently revealing a sharp plane here, a smooth curve there, but doesn't unveil the resulting form until the final pages of the book. The novel's concept is deceptively simple, a man wakes up on a Baltimore city bus with no memory and no ID, only an address written on his hand. This allows for plenty of mystery, suspense and even a few comic moments. The plot and main character can wander in a seemingly aimless manner while the reader avidly searches for clues to the man's identity.

Passenger provides plenty of food for thought about how a person's past makes them who they are, how experiences help create identity. The book goes even further and implies that even when a person's past is unknown it still controls their future.

The book is written in a sparse, haunting style that resonates through each page and seems to swell to fill the slim volume, like a single note played in a large empty room. As always Malfi is the master of mood, creating a slow-building anxiety that forces your eyes to move faster across the page. It's a risky move to rest the whole book on a few final pages however the end does deliver with a satisfying but tragic revelation. Mysterious, thought-provoking and gritty Malfi's Baltimore is a fascinating place to visit but I'm glad I don't live there

Liked the book SNOW, but this seemed endless and too depressing. I was not prepared for the couple of pages of animal cruelty, and sure did not appreciate it. Go ahead and flame me, but I am not the only animal sensitive reader. I am worried that the other book I have by this author THE FALL OF NEVER contains it. I got the message that life was rough for this guy and that part was not needed. I always read reviews ahead of a book for graphic violence and cruelty but none was posted for this book.

As a writer Ronald Damien M. has great insight. I recall how much I Loved the 1st novel "Snow" This book seemed more of a let down. IMO

Like The Wire - The Complete Fifth Season, this is a tour of Baltimore, the seemier side complete with gangsters, bars, homeless people and logos for hope when there's not much hope to be had. The main character wakes up on a bus. He has no memory. He's trying to find it. He knows that he's a musician. He has an address of an apartment but he doesn't know why.

This is a great little book full of atmosphere and scenes. The nameless protagonist wanders through situations that Malfi uses to highlight a city that he loves in all its rough beauty. Unfortunatley, once the main character discovers his identity, the book feels a bit like a cheat. And I'm not entirely sure amnesia works that way, but this is a fast read and it is definitely worth the price.