But for the true fans, the folks that have not read a goddamn thing since my hiatus, the people who require the Nerd's seal of approval before venturing out to the bookstore, for you - the invisible, non-existent few - I will now drop a bit of fucking gold in your laps in the form of Vicki Hendricks' latest novel, Cruel Poetry. Okay, so I'm not dropping the actual book in your laps. (that would be fucking sweet, though, wouldn't it?), but I am dropping a review onto your computer screens, which is almost as good...in a not-nearly-as-fucking-good sort of way...
I know what you're thinking, dear reader. You're all like, Surprise sur-fucking-prise, Nerd. You like a Vicki Hendricks novel. Well, weary-of-the-world-douche reader, I...I guess I have no proper response. I likes what I likes and Vicki Hendricks fucking writes said shit I like like the mean motherfucker she is. Sex, violence, obsession, and dark, twisted comedy. How can a basement crazy like myself resist such a sick, heady brew?
I could just stop this fucking review right there, say read that shit, good night, 2-for-1's end at midnight, the lamb chops here are amazing but I'm a man of excess who likes to pad his reviews with curses. So let's move the fuck on to the plot description already, waddaya say?
Cruel Poetry is the story of a Miami hooker named Renata, a gorgeous piece of ass who seems to put a spell on all who get within a hundred yards of her. Julie, the shy struggling writer who lives in her building, is fast becoming obsessed with her, as is Richard, a married poetry professor and Renata's best customer. And really, how could they not want Rennie? She's beautiful, dangerous and just a slight breeze gives her a head-shattering orgasm.
But Renata's reckless lifestyle soon leads to dead bodies and vicious castrating gangsters, and both Richard and Julie gladly sacrifice everything to help her out of her increasingly bloody problems, even if it means their own doom...
And so the blood and other sticky bodily fluids flow (What? You thought the Nerd was above a fucking cum reference?) until it all comes down to a great and truly fucked up, deliriously operatic final act. A novelist known for her explicit sex scenes and a willingness to take her noir-soaked characters to the very fucking edge, Hendricks outdoes herself with Cruel Poetry.
Holy shit! Did you just read that last sentence? That was almost like a printable fucking blurb or some such bullshit. I gotta watch myself or I'll be on every other book cover like I'm fucking Connelly or Child or something (because I'm so fucking obviously that huge in the publishing world...). And would you look at that. Connelly is blurbed on the cover of this boo already. Color me fucking shocked.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Cruel Poetry. It kick ass. You read now. Nerd need beer.