There are borders and then there are borders. Between right and wrong. Between Texas and Mexico. The first is a joke to Dodd Raines, the second a payday. Then there's the borders he's made. Between himself and his estranged daughter, the border patrol agent. Between himself and his one-time employers. And there's another border, one he cares about even less than the Rio Grande: the border between life and death. Used to, the shadow Dodd Raines cast when he stood dripping from that water - it was the shadow of a fugitive. But now that fugitive's coming home, and the shadow he's casting? It's got rabbit ears. Listen, you can hear the chupacabras padding along beside him - their new master. He's that big guy in the hood, slouching out by the gas pumps. Walking north, for justice. Austin's never seen anything like Dodd Raines, and never will again. Get ready.
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The cover literally screams genre fiction, but under the hood we realize that Jones is using genre conventions and plotting (zombies, chupacabras, border cops, etc.) in this tale of what might otherwise be considered lit-fic, given his sharp prose and characterizations. The "voice" he adopts for the daughter's POV in the second half is rendered perfectly and really draws you in as she pieces together her fathers' fate. My only disappointment (which doesn't linger in hindsight, only during), was my expectation of violence -- flesh-gnawing, brainthirtsy violence -- most of which happens off the page. We deal with its results rather than the acts themselves ... which is more appropriate for the character and her job.
Del Rio would make an excellent introduction to Jones's work for first-timers, as I believe it's his most enjoyable overall read. And if adding a visual element mightn't spoil the first half, I'd even say this would play well as a Coen Brothers film adaptation (maybe flip the two halves, or crosscut them). Buy it!
This is bare bones rural noir for people who think Twilight Zone isn't weird enough. Stephen Graham Jones delivers grittily poetic sentences that would make Cormac McCarthy give up and a story that goes over the top but by the time it does, you're there in the passenger seat, eyeing the keys maybe, but riding it out, seeing where it goes. And it's worth it, trust me.
There is so much going on here. It’s like American Gods minus the cultural tourism. Things that seem like incidental character building drive the story. I raced through it and regretted that it was over. And so many beautiful lines...
Wow! The narrative prose in this book enthralled me. I would read certain parts several times, savoring the words, studying the style. The story was wonderful and full of twists and turns that kept me reading to see how it would all come out in the end. The author made the setting come to life--the smells, the sights, the sounds. The concept was fresh and fun, the story mesmerizing. I look forward to reading more from Stephen Graham Jones!
I've heard Jones name more and more decided to start to see what the hype is and yeah, he can really write an original interesting story. This book is like nothing else I have ever read and can't wait to start reading all his other books now!
There are books, then real books, real like Plato's ideals, how there's this abstract floating around in the aether that encapsulate what a book really is supposed to be, perfect and pure, and if you can reach up there into irreality and pull it down here, to the mundane and the boringly corporeal, you can see that the books you've been reading your whole life are just replications of this ideal, they're not perfect or pure or holy, these imitations, when you try to read them again, they'll come off as false, they'll never be the same again.
Which is to say that, somewhere, there is that one absolute out there, something against which all other books should be judged.
It Came From Del Rio, it's not the Platonic Ideal of what a book should be, because if it were, it wouldn't exist as ink on paper, and I couldn't read it, nor could any of you because as mere humans, we wouldn't be worthy.
But it exists, this book.
And it's so close to perfect it makes me want to cry a little. The story should be absurd, you know that if you know anything about it, a zombie with the head of a bunny and chupacabras following it around like he was their shepherd, that should be something to deride, but it is impossible to cast aside this book because it's so much better than that.
When Stephen Graham Jones takes a dead smuggler with the head of a bunny and sets him on a course of revenge against those that killed him, there is nothing to laugh at, nothing but fishhooks in your soul bringing you deeper. When Dodd tells you about him and his little girl, the two whitest people in Mexico with Spanish names, how they got there and what they left behind, how all that was blown away by those that sent him on his last border crossing, you feel every bootless footstep through the desert, every minute without water. You hear the coyotes scenting you across the night, their black lips salivating at the thought of your meat. You feel the absence he feels, how far away he is from his little girl.
Then that little girl grows up. Fifteen years fly by as they only can when you're dead, and your little girl is now working the other side of the border, keeping people like you out and growing up with a different father. She still remembers you, her first father, and her mother, and what happens will hollow you out, those fishhooks ripping your soul away.
It Came From Del Rio is a wonder of a book. It's not ideal, because that's impossible down here in the reality, but it's real, and it holds you with every word, every page.
I had heard nothing but good things about this book, and found the Kindle sample fairly promising. Unfortunately the more and more of the book I read, the less and less I enjoyed it. The story seemed to plod along with no real pace, explanation or characterisation, not helped by the fact that there is only two chapters. I also found the writing style of the author made it very difficult to understand what was going on half the time.
Maybe I was expecting something else? The cover and description made me hope for a light hearted horror (It IS about a killer rabbit after all), a more outrageous Stephen King.