Well, folks, we've reached the end. This is the end of the
line for the ole Chronicler. What's more is we're going out like we should -
with a Viking funeral, or a burnt offering. What is being offered up and sent
off? A book, of course, but not just any book. It goes by the name of Pig Iron. The author is one near and
dear to me, David James Keaton. This book? It'll set your mind ablaze.
Pig Iron is a
western but it's a western like all of those trippy spaghetti western movies
from the 60's and 70's, mixed with some alternative rock and born into a world
post-Bizarro. The plot takes place in the town of Aqua Fria, a town
straight out of Django Kill. The wells have run dry and there's a gunslinger
named Red who has come to town. I don't know if there's any point in talking
much more about this book. I loved it so damn much that I burned it. I liked
watching it burn (fire figures prominently in the thing itself, after all) and
I could hardly think of a more fitting tribute to the book or the man who wrote
it.
Keaton is a man working and writing his ass off on the
frontlines in the war against literary complacency. The Last Projector, also by
Keaton, was my favorite read of last year. I don't know if Pig Iron will be my
favorite this year - it's got Skullcrack City to contend with, after all - but
it is a hell of a read. It's got a strange cinematic quality to it that will
make you blaze (ha! blaze! get it?) through it and want to return to its pages
again and again in the future.
The dialogue is crisp, the characters are rich, the prose is
sharp, and the pages burn awful nice. Go and get you a copy. Keep yours on the
shelf though.
