Order SMASHED, SQUASHED, SPLATTERED, CHEWED, CHUNKED and SPEWED here
(also reviewed)
Order SLOUGHING OFF THE ROT here - Read the Review
I'm a dog person. I have a six years old boxer named Scarlett who keeps me company during spells of existential loneliness and acts as the official gatekeeper to my well-documented TBR list. Every long-time reader of this blog knows her. Dogs are great and all, but great literature featuring dogs is hard to find. Mostly because people don't understand the meaning of dogs in chronically lonely people's lives. It's why I keep trying though, like the intellectual coal miner that I am. It's why I picked up Lance Carbuncle's novel with the never-ending title Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed *. Because there is nothing about that wordless bond stating it needs to remain wordless. The novel may or may not had the answer to my spiritual demands, but it had ideas about the subject and it was endearingly out of control.
The narrator of Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed lives on disabilities after an MDMA incident left him mentally incapable to be normal. He lives with his mother and his best friend, an elderly basset hound named Idjit Galoot. The unthinkable happens when the narrator and his mother move to Florida together, they forget poor Idjit behind. Trapped at the other end of America, surrounded by strange people and without his only friend in the world, the narrator will stop at nothing to get back to Idjit. He's not a bad guy our narrator. A little slow perhaps, but he's pure of heart and people of his kind are a dying breed in Florida. Because Floridians tend to prey on them.
Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed is not the first Lance Carbuncle novel I've had the pleasure of reading. He's one of these authors that really make you wonder what the fuck you are reading at the moment you're reading him. I try not to use the term "bizarro" when stumbling upon unique and puzzling authors like Carbuncle because it's a one size fit all term that doesn't really mean anything and that one novel greatly differs from the other. So, Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed is a gonzo road novel injected with generous doses of white trash magic realism (otherwise known as the best form of magic realism) and absurd, provocative humor. It's a pretty intoxicating mix if you don't mind checking your suspension of disbelief at the door **.
But what about the freakin' dog, Ben? See, what's one of the things about Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed that I preferred even if it was somewhat accessory. Idjit Galoot was the metaphorical rug that tied the novel together. The dog is a symbol in the narrator's life and a yearning when he's absent. Idjit Galoot is the flimsy and evanescent feeling of normalcy and comfort the narrator established after the MDMA incident. It becomes the ghost of a former life when the narrator moves away, so he desperately tries to cling unto it. A dog is a dependent being, so it really is just about the best thing in the world to make a lonely person feel important and this feeling is what the narrator seeks when trying to escape Florida to reunite with his basset hound.
It build to a deceptively moving finale that was way too surreal to be corny. I'm notoriously difficult on novel endings, but this one was well handled by Lance Carbuncle.
Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed *** might not be the novel featuring dogs to end all novels featuring dogs, but it's one of the competent ones we got. It captures the beauty of the bond without using it for cheap melodrama. Of course, there is a lot more about this novel to love aside from the relationship between the narrator and Idjit Galoot, but I'm leaving it for you to discover. Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked and Spewed is not exactly a candidate for prime display in any major bookstore (I didn't know it was three years old until I wrote this) and I wanted to give you guys one clear reason you should pick up this book. I had a great time with it and it definitely doesn't deserve the Kindle Store wasteland treatment despite not fitting in a particular genre. Try it (or don't), it's a good time.
* OK, maybe it's not the only reason. Carbuncle might've hit me up on social media, to see if I was interested in reviewing it. I might've also said yes before even knowing this novel featured a dog. Because I seemingly never have enough books to read.
** I would say the checkout is mandatory if you want to enjoy Lance Carbuncle's fiction. If you don't it's going to be a miserable 200 and something pages.
*** Before you ask: I wrote the title only once and then I copy-pasted it throughout the entire piece because fuck writing that title twice. It's a really good book, but no way I'm going to learn this by heart.