Customer Reviews

Starving in the Company of Beautiful Women

5 star:		(6)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

I could recommend this scrappy micro press novella for those seeking some trashy piecemeal restroom reading. Certainly not a a great book, but considering other music scene novels I've had the misfortune to own, it ain't half bad at times either. Based on the life of a (semi?)fictitious "indie" wannabe rock star named Cash Newman, the book is equal parts confusing and amusing.

The narrative is a faux auto-boy-ography of a heroin using rock dude musician and makes a few vague references to real 80's & 90's "indie" bands, which can help set the timeframe involved. The author who obviously digs Bukowski, Burroughs and Bugs Bunny more than Kundera or Kant, supposedly spent his time actually commiting many of these antics. As a reformed "Newman", he now attempts to "Cash"-in and tell a tale of fear and loathing on the road to ruin. Although replete with plenty of drug addled escapades and oddball observations, it has some halfway witty banter and lotsa hard to imagine [these kind of] women. If it really is based on a true story, one wonders where you could find such an abundance of bizarre trollops.

Prone to stilted sex scenes and spurts of silly dialogue, it's still got the basic goods to keep the reader's eyes open in small doses. It flows wildly at times, and at others congeals like literary molasses on it's agnst ridden way to test the attention span of those with little patience for pithy punk rockers in heat. The weak moral payoff at the end leaves a unique, complex story stuck somewhere between comical "cautionary tale" and loud horrifying jumble signifying ???.

This is somewhat fictional, somewhat history, and somewhat hallucinatory. I was there for all of them. I may be stuck there, I don't know. A great first effort that truly conveys punk rock life from a musician's perspective back before punk became a music industry flavor. Back when punk was an attitude not a category. This book oozes attitude.

There are lots of novels about sex and drugs, but I don't think the people who write them have done enough of either. Starving in the Company of Beautiful Women is written as fast and as sexy as its subject matter but doesn't try too hard.

It's a first-hand narrative of Herion-infested, panty-swimming existance of musician, Cash Newmann. It's about love, beauty, ignorance, and ugly. And these topics are often touched within a few sentences of each other.

Michael Dean has enough spunk (no pun intended)to take the english language to the next level. When words fail, he just makes a new one. I'm glad to have added "kittywhore" to my vocabulary since reading his book.

I, like many of the women in the book, felt for Cash in his glimmering moments while still absolutely disgusted by his drugs-are-candy and women-are-bathtowels ideals. Was our hero truly a monster? All the more reason to turn the page.

This decade is starving in the company of forced novels about addiction, lust, and power. Dean mercifully spoons us something substancial.

For every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. And for every legitimate reason to dislike Michael W. Dean's <i>Starving in the Company of Beautiful Women (The Great American Rant)</i> [Kittyfeet Press], there's an equally legitimate one to love it.

Michael W. Dean (see our review of his DVD, <i>DIY or Die</i> on www.nighttimes.com) is no writer in the classic literary sense. Set up as sort of an <i>On the Road</i> for the 1980s punk rock set, Dean's book is full of overly-long narrative, typos (many intentional, such as his mysterious compulsion to capitalize the letter `B' in the word `Beautiful'; his religion, I guess) made-up words ("squimmery" is just great) and invented spellings like "Gurl," "Chix," etc. Now let's counter that with the fact that Dean's a hell of a story teller with vivid imagery and some `Beautiful' prose occasionally sneaks out through the muck again and again. The book is also full of humor. The word `Rockstar' is always followed by a `™'. The mega-Rockstars also get a ® and a ©. And ya gotta love the scene when he's being hired as a bicycle messenger in San Francisco:

<i>"How long have you lived here and what do you do with your time?"

"About a week. I drink...and I brood."

"Well, why should I hire you?"

"Because I have no fear of death."

"Can you start tomorrow?"</i>

[More of this review on www.nighttimes.com--some language is too explicit for this site]

I loved this book so much, I immediately acquired the film rights!! This work is best approached with an open mind, and a willingness to think and read below the surface. Dean is a very lyrical and metaphorical writer... there is much, much more to this work than just sex, drugs, and rock n' roll (though his approach to these subjects is quite interesting as well). While this isn't the first time we've seen a story about the downfall of a lonely, misunderstood rock star, what I loved about "Starving" is Michael's choice to portray the character of Cash as an active hero rather than a passive victim. Things don't just "happen" to him, he is no unfortunate victim of fate or society... he knowingly chooses his path and destiny, fully aware of the consequences, just for the chance to touch something real, something raw - even if just for that brief second on the way down (because, well, that's what we artists do... if you're not living on the edge of death, then you're dead already, pal). Also, keep in mind that before Dean penned this novel he had spent years writing lyrics for hit bands such as Bomb... I think the book's sub-title "The Great American Rant" is a bit of a dis-service, I see it more as 302 pages worth of poetic insight into what it means not only to be an artist, but a human being as well.

man, this cat can write women so well, I almost wonder if it is a woman writing under a mans name. the clarity of thought, and depth of passion is undeniable.

possibly the most fascinating work so far by an author of his generation and stature. dean's grittiness and wittiness is equaled only by his loquacious bodaciousness. words cannot describe the way he use words to describe the way he uses. his soul is bared, as well as his flesh and mind. the fractured wholeness of this tome shall live on through the ages. a true testament to all human endeavour, the search for truth and art and beauty in a mad, mad world.

Starving... is a thrillride-view into the (past) life and mind of michael dean....sexy, destructive, and beautifully addictive, just like his song lyrics......bravo and kisses, mr. dean

This man has influenced my own work.