Jason Pettus's Reviews > The Doloriad

2022 reads, #17. I admit, author Missouri Williams first came to my attention, while reading the "newest acquisitions" newsletter of the Chicago Public Library, because her first name is the same name of the American state where I grew up, and you simply don't hear of many people in the world named "Missouri," especially one who lives in England. But then I read on and saw that her debut novel is actually right up my alley, a nightmarishly perverted horror show of a post-apocalyptic novel, so I went ahead that day and became the first person in the city to put it on reserve, and just got done with it last week.

The answer to the question, "Is anyone in Generation Z even allowed to make artistic projects that are dark, gross, offensive, and often truly transgressive, or will they be stoned to death for doing so by their earnest, shiny, happy, neon-clothes-wearing, cheerleader-dancing TikTok mouth-breather peers?" (spoiler alert: yes), the novel basically asks what the world might look like after an apocalyptic event if the only people who survived were the worst dregs of society -- the Springer trash, the Trump rioters, the rapists and the con artists and the unmedicated mentally ill? And what if their only option for trying to continue the human race was serial incest not only between the patriarch and matriarch but also any of the children once they reach childbearing years, creating a piglike brood of a next generation who all have physical deformities and barely measurable intelligence? And what if the only way to keep these slobbering, claw-handed animals from going wild and killing everything in sight was to build a harsh Calvinist-style religion around the batshit mother's supposed prophet-like status, ala The Island of Dr. Moreau? Well, it doesn't look too freaking great, I can tell you that without spoiling any of the plot; although I don't really need to give spoiler alerts anyway today, because this is one of those MFA kind of books that's much more about setting a mood than about relaying any substantial storyline.

Unfortunately, though, this was one of those books that I wanted to like a lot more than I actually did end up liking; for not only does Williams assault us with her outre storyline and repulsive characters, she literally writes the story in the most aggressively reader-hostile way possible, using these unending paragraphs that last for four or five pages and sometimes results in page spreads that are nothing but two giant impenetrable black rectangles of ink (no, seriously). It's like she's punishing us for daring to take an interest in her writing, and I have to say, I kinda like that; but a little of that kind of stuff goes a long way, and it didn't surprise me to learn that after an early career so far of short work in impressive places like The Baffler and The Believer, this is her first full-length book, because this very much feels like a short story that Williams tried and mostly failed to squeeze out into a compelling full novel (and just barely at that, clocking in at a shade over 200 pages in a 5 x 7" paperback). Williams is just starting her career, and I'm really fascinated to see where she goes next, which I'm willing to bet will be in even weirder directions, but in the future with more and more of a mature control over her writing and less reliance on gimmicks; but here, while she admirably swings for the fences, the ball drops just short enough that you can't legitimately call the book great, but only on the intriguing side of okay. That would usually get a score of 3 1/2 stars from me, rounded up to 4 here at the no-half-star Goodreads. If you're intrigued at the mental image of a severely autistic, morbidly obese, legless teenage girl dragging her torso across a parking lot of debris using her claw-tipped arms, by all means give this a try; but if you're horrified by that image, then sister, you really don't want to read page two.