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Donnybrook
The raw and as-insane-as-anticipated first novel from Frank Bill, author of
Crimes in Southern Indiana
The Donnybrook is a three-day bare-knuckle tournament held on a thousand-acre plot out in the sticks of southern Indiana. Twenty fighters. One wire-fence ring. Fight until only one man is left standing while a rowdy festival of onlookers—drunk and high on whatever's on offer—bet on the fighters.
Jarhead is a desperate man who'd do just about anything to feed his children. He's also the toughest fighter in southeastern Kentucky, and he's convinced that his ticket to a better life is one last fight with a cash prize so big it'll solve all his problems.
Meanwhile, there's Chainsaw Angus—an undefeated master fighter who isn't too keen on getting his face punched anymore, so he and his sister, Liz, have started cooking meth. And they get in deep. So deep that Liz wants it all for herself, and she might just be ready to kill her brother for it. One more showdown to take place at the Donnybrook.
As we travel through the backwoods to get to the Donnybrook, we meet a cast of nasty, ruined characters driven to all sorts of evil, all in the name of getting their fix—drugs, violence, sex, money, honor. Donnybrook is exactly the fearless, explosive, amphetamine-fueled journey you'd expect from Frank Bill's first novel . . . and then some.
The Donnybrook is a three-day bare-knuckle tournament held on a thousand-acre plot out in the sticks of southern Indiana. Twenty fighters. One wire-fence ring. Fight until only one man is left standing while a rowdy festival of onlookers—drunk and high on whatever's on offer—bet on the fighters.
Jarhead is a desperate man who'd do just about anything to feed his children. He's also the toughest fighter in southeastern Kentucky, and he's convinced that his ticket to a better life is one last fight with a cash prize so big it'll solve all his problems.
Meanwhile, there's Chainsaw Angus—an undefeated master fighter who isn't too keen on getting his face punched anymore, so he and his sister, Liz, have started cooking meth. And they get in deep. So deep that Liz wants it all for herself, and she might just be ready to kill her brother for it. One more showdown to take place at the Donnybrook.
As we travel through the backwoods to get to the Donnybrook, we meet a cast of nasty, ruined characters driven to all sorts of evil, all in the name of getting their fix—drugs, violence, sex, money, honor. Donnybrook is exactly the fearless, explosive, amphetamine-fueled journey you'd expect from Frank Bill's first novel . . . and then some.
242 pages, Trade Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
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August 12, 2016
You say you’d like to spend a weekend getting drunk out in the countryside while watching a bunch of rednecks beat each other bloody with their bare hands? I’ve got just the place. Toss a cooler loaded with beer into the back of your El Camino, do a bump of that crank you scored off that stripper back at the club, make sure that pistol under your seat has a round in the chamber, crank up that cassette tape of Lynard Skynard and then hit the gas so you can join your fellow sports fans at the Donnybrook.
The first few pages of this book feature a guy nicknamed Jarhead robbing a gun store and cracking the owner’s head with the butt of a shotgun, and the craziest part is that Jarhead is the most sympathetic character in the book. There’s also Chainsaw Angus, a vicious street fighter and former lumberjack who earned his nickname when his face met the business end of one of his saws. His sister Liz partners with Angus in his new career of cooking meth, but since they hate each other Liz uses sex to rope in a new partner to take the latest batch and kill her brother. A Chinese martial arts expert is after Angus to collect on a debt he incurred by killing someone. A cop with a lot of ugly family secrets is out for revenge, and there’s someone who appears to be an honest-to-god prophet.
All of these characters and many more wind up double-crossing and fighting each other, and all of their paths converge at a bare knuckle brawling contest run by a sadistic backwoods kingpin.
You don’t have to take my word at how batshit insane all of this is. Among the many blurbs praising the book are these words of wisdom from an expert:
“Good lord, where in the hell did this guy come from? Blasts off like a frigging rocket ship and hits as hard as an ax handle to the side of the head after you’ve snorted a nose full of battery acid and eaten a live rattlesnake for breakfast. One of the wildest damn rides you’re ever going to take inside a book.”
- Donald Ray Pollock, author of The Devil All the Time and Knockemstiff
Just to put this into perspective, that is Donald Ray Pollock, the guy who took hick lit to a whole new violent level saying that Frank Bill blew his mind. That’s kind of like if Hunter S. Thompson was in a bar watching another customer and said, “Sweet Jesus, but I’ve never seen anyone drink that much!”
As in his great short story collection Crimes in Southern Indiana, Bill mixes wild characters with over the top violence in a rural setting to good effect. This is part of the country where the citizens have little education and few job opportunities, and they’re all heavily armed. Add rotgut booze and narcotics to the mix and you’ve got a whole bunch of powder kegs that Bill detonates one after another.
Even though I enjoyed the hell out of this, there were a couple of problems with it. First is that just as in Crimes of Southern Indiana, Bill tends to overplay the ultra-violence. Call it the Garth Ennis Effect. In the right hands, graphic violence can add to a story outside of the gore just for gore’s sake like the torture porn that passes for horror these days. Bill has the Ennis touch of using it for maximum shock value and to make you feel the bone-crunching reality of it, but he never knows when to dial it down so after a while it can get repetitive. Almost every single interaction of characters in this book results in some kind of moment of pain. It adds to the fast pace of the storyline, but if you know that someone is getting their ass kicked or killed in some fashion in every scene, it loses it’s power.
I also didn’t realize that this is apparently the first book in a larger story so I was a little disappointed that the ending had little overall resolution and was mainly set-up for the next phase.
Still, these are minor quibbles about a book that I read with wide-eyes while frequently shouting, “Holy shit!” and “OUCH!”
Also posted at Kemper's Book Blog.
The first few pages of this book feature a guy nicknamed Jarhead robbing a gun store and cracking the owner’s head with the butt of a shotgun, and the craziest part is that Jarhead is the most sympathetic character in the book. There’s also Chainsaw Angus, a vicious street fighter and former lumberjack who earned his nickname when his face met the business end of one of his saws. His sister Liz partners with Angus in his new career of cooking meth, but since they hate each other Liz uses sex to rope in a new partner to take the latest batch and kill her brother. A Chinese martial arts expert is after Angus to collect on a debt he incurred by killing someone. A cop with a lot of ugly family secrets is out for revenge, and there’s someone who appears to be an honest-to-god prophet.
All of these characters and many more wind up double-crossing and fighting each other, and all of their paths converge at a bare knuckle brawling contest run by a sadistic backwoods kingpin.
You don’t have to take my word at how batshit insane all of this is. Among the many blurbs praising the book are these words of wisdom from an expert:
“Good lord, where in the hell did this guy come from? Blasts off like a frigging rocket ship and hits as hard as an ax handle to the side of the head after you’ve snorted a nose full of battery acid and eaten a live rattlesnake for breakfast. One of the wildest damn rides you’re ever going to take inside a book.”
- Donald Ray Pollock, author of The Devil All the Time and Knockemstiff
Just to put this into perspective, that is Donald Ray Pollock, the guy who took hick lit to a whole new violent level saying that Frank Bill blew his mind. That’s kind of like if Hunter S. Thompson was in a bar watching another customer and said, “Sweet Jesus, but I’ve never seen anyone drink that much!”
As in his great short story collection Crimes in Southern Indiana, Bill mixes wild characters with over the top violence in a rural setting to good effect. This is part of the country where the citizens have little education and few job opportunities, and they’re all heavily armed. Add rotgut booze and narcotics to the mix and you’ve got a whole bunch of powder kegs that Bill detonates one after another.
Even though I enjoyed the hell out of this, there were a couple of problems with it. First is that just as in Crimes of Southern Indiana, Bill tends to overplay the ultra-violence. Call it the Garth Ennis Effect. In the right hands, graphic violence can add to a story outside of the gore just for gore’s sake like the torture porn that passes for horror these days. Bill has the Ennis touch of using it for maximum shock value and to make you feel the bone-crunching reality of it, but he never knows when to dial it down so after a while it can get repetitive. Almost every single interaction of characters in this book results in some kind of moment of pain. It adds to the fast pace of the storyline, but if you know that someone is getting their ass kicked or killed in some fashion in every scene, it loses it’s power.
I also didn’t realize that this is apparently the first book in a larger story so I was a little disappointed that the ending had little overall resolution and was mainly set-up for the next phase.
Still, these are minor quibbles about a book that I read with wide-eyes while frequently shouting, “Holy shit!” and “OUCH!”
Also posted at Kemper's Book Blog.
May 4, 2018
"Got a mess of trouble. They's four county cruisers out in the drive."
Down the hall a cop's fist pounded on the kitchen door.
Alonzo told Tig, "Go get the guns."
Yeah, that's not gonna end well. Not much in this book does. It is INSANELY VIOLENT; nary a page goes by without someone getting beaten, bludgeoned, shot, stabbed, pummeled, or called a hurtful name. In comparison, Fight Club seems like a genteel drawing room comedy. Luckily, you don't really care about any of the characters, and really don't mind the bad things that happen to them. Eventually everything gets so over-the-top, it becomes a little cartoonish. The words "I dropped an anvil on that guy, and he kept fighting as an accordion!" are uttered by no one in this book, but . . . they could be.
I'm waffling between three and four stars here. On one hand, I didn't think the writing lived up to the hype. I was also annoyed that the plot was helped along by a mystical prognosticator who guides one of the characters to make sure he's always in the right place at the right time. On the other hand, I'll probably never forget it. AND, because I have no self respect, I'll undoubtedly read the sequel(s).
Four stars it is. But, I don't really recommend it.
November 22, 2017
Holy shit snacks, people. This book is intense!!! I need a moment to compose myself. But there will be a review.
I was already familiar with Frank Bill's writing after surviving a close encounter with his debut -- the short story collection Crimes In Southern Indiana. Upon finishing those stories, my only thought was: "Jesus Christ, this man is a lunatic" -- and then immediately, "I want more!" For sure the stories are raw and unpolished, and perhaps a little too overeager to tell rather than show, but there is also an urgency, a ferocity to the writing that refuses to be ignored. It's so in your face that at times it feels like an assault. I loved it!
So you can bet when I heard this guy was about to publish his first novel I became very afraid, and very, very obsessed with getting my hands on it to read it.
Usually my eyes tend to glaze over and ignore most book blurbs because they always seem so generic and at their worst, sycophantic. But at their best, book blurbs can capture in a few short phrases the very tail of the beast itself and show you its face. As much as I loathe the majority, there are some that do their job so well, they deserve to be recognized along with the book they're blurbing. I only say this now to emphasize that Bill has attracted the attention of authors I love and respect and if you're not going to listen to me when I say this guy's the real deal, then maybe you'll listen to them:
Then there's meth-making brother and sister Angus (nickname Chainsaw) and Liz who put the F.U.N. in family dysfunction. They've just lost their last batch of dope and are determined to recoup their losses, no matter who gets in their way, even if it means each other. Like any great rural crime story, you've got the steely, determined deputy Sheriff following a trail of dead bodies into a trap he has no idea lays in wait for him. Last but not least, there's Chinese "collection agent" Fu, who's about as badass a dude as you're ever going to meet. He is awesome.
This mad, manic mélange of murderers, misfits and miscreants will eventually descend upon the Donnybrook -- a three day stint of brawling, booze and drugs run by a man named McGill, who makes the Governor from the Walking Dead comics look like Mr. Rogers. But it's not about the final destination folks, but the journey to get there, and (to quote one of my favorite movie taglines ever): who will survive and what will be left of them. Reading this book I couldn't help but be reminded of the lucid insanity of some of Tarantino's best work -- the ensemble characters, the multiple plot threads, and how it all comes crashing together in the end with defined, divine purpose. Hells yeah, people. This is the good shit. Heisenberg grade blue.
Frank Bill is a writer you want to watch. You can find out more about him at his blog House of Grit or follow him on Twitter @HouseofGrit. And as my mama always told me -- never trust a man with two first names.
This review also appears at Busty Book Bimbo and Shelf-Inflicted.
I was already familiar with Frank Bill's writing after surviving a close encounter with his debut -- the short story collection Crimes In Southern Indiana. Upon finishing those stories, my only thought was: "Jesus Christ, this man is a lunatic" -- and then immediately, "I want more!" For sure the stories are raw and unpolished, and perhaps a little too overeager to tell rather than show, but there is also an urgency, a ferocity to the writing that refuses to be ignored. It's so in your face that at times it feels like an assault. I loved it!
So you can bet when I heard this guy was about to publish his first novel I became very afraid, and very, very obsessed with getting my hands on it to read it.
Usually my eyes tend to glaze over and ignore most book blurbs because they always seem so generic and at their worst, sycophantic. But at their best, book blurbs can capture in a few short phrases the very tail of the beast itself and show you its face. As much as I loathe the majority, there are some that do their job so well, they deserve to be recognized along with the book they're blurbing. I only say this now to emphasize that Bill has attracted the attention of authors I love and respect and if you're not going to listen to me when I say this guy's the real deal, then maybe you'll listen to them:
Donnybrook is vivid in its violence, grim in its grimness. It reams the English language with a broken beer bottle and lets the blood drops tell the story. -- Daniel Woodrell, (Winter's Bone)I also like this one by Bonnie Jo Campbell: "Don't poke this book with a stick or you'll make it angry." And trust me -- you won't like this book when it's angry. Goodreads friend Jacob writes in his review:
With action like a belt across the face and vivid prose like a stroke up the neck, Frank Bill's astonishing novel...renders you punch-drunk. Here's the writer to watch: mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Megan Abbott, (Dare Me)
something this good should be illegal, because the act of hunting down a banned copy and hiding from the censors and morality police to read it is the only goddamn way it could get any better. Donnybrook is a relentless, no-holds-barred, total fucking mind-fuck of endless violence...Yeah, like that. But now you're looking at me tapping your foot impatiently saying: "Yeah, but what the hell is this book about?" I could give you the plot summary lowdown -- about bare-knuckle fighting in the backwoods of Southern Indiana, about desperate family man Jarhead Johnny Earl who's going to steal a thousand dollars to cover the entry fee into the infamous annual Donnybrook tournament.
Then there's meth-making brother and sister Angus (nickname Chainsaw) and Liz who put the F.U.N. in family dysfunction. They've just lost their last batch of dope and are determined to recoup their losses, no matter who gets in their way, even if it means each other. Like any great rural crime story, you've got the steely, determined deputy Sheriff following a trail of dead bodies into a trap he has no idea lays in wait for him. Last but not least, there's Chinese "collection agent" Fu, who's about as badass a dude as you're ever going to meet. He is awesome.
This mad, manic mélange of murderers, misfits and miscreants will eventually descend upon the Donnybrook -- a three day stint of brawling, booze and drugs run by a man named McGill, who makes the Governor from the Walking Dead comics look like Mr. Rogers. But it's not about the final destination folks, but the journey to get there, and (to quote one of my favorite movie taglines ever): who will survive and what will be left of them. Reading this book I couldn't help but be reminded of the lucid insanity of some of Tarantino's best work -- the ensemble characters, the multiple plot threads, and how it all comes crashing together in the end with defined, divine purpose. Hells yeah, people. This is the good shit. Heisenberg grade blue.
Frank Bill is a writer you want to watch. You can find out more about him at his blog House of Grit or follow him on Twitter @HouseofGrit. And as my mama always told me -- never trust a man with two first names.
This review also appears at Busty Book Bimbo and Shelf-Inflicted.
January 31, 2022
Go ahead and toss this one onto the pile of yet another solid entry into what is quickly becoming one of my favorite genres - Hick Lit. I’ll be damned if it don’t pack one hell of a punch (pun intended). This book is intense, brutal, ultra-violent, and just relentless. And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but at times it was a bit overwhelming. However, the writing was so ridiculously good that you might need to elevate this into the realm of literary fiction.
Looking for a redeemable character or somebody to root for? Good luck! The story is told through a rotating point of view that leaps around between a few nasty individuals whose paths cross on the road to Donnybrook - a winner-take-all bare-knuckles tournament in the backwoods of Indiana. Fade in to Jarhead Earl as he’s pistol-whipping a shop owner to collect his $1000 entry fee. Cut to Chainsaw Angus and his sister Liz as they watch their small-time meth operation go up in smoke. Their switch to Plan B doesn’t go much smoother because murdering an ol’ boy indebted to the Chinese mob is damn near suicidal with a fixer like Fu Xi waiting in the wings. He’s a martial arts expert and all-around badass tasked with collecting that debt by any means necessary. And then lastly, with arguably the toughest job of all, Deputy Sherriff Ross Whalen has to try to corral all the madness. The only problem is that things are about to get personal!
Sprinkle in a bit of:
A dash of:
And what you’re left with is one crazy, ruthless, nonstop tale, that don’t ever let up. With precise writing and absolutely no filler, the amount of plot Bill’s able to squeeze into such a short novel is utterly remarkable. He’s also got a hell of a knack for turning the darkest, nastiest passages into something quite eloquent. Take for example this early scene:
Angus ran a hand into his bibs. Removed a tool for killing.
“The shit you doing?” Flat demanded.
“Putting your mutt brother out of his misery.”
Beatle’s begging moistened and bounced from the soil. Angus turned the pistol to Beatle’s singed hair and words found silence.
Flat stutter-stepped. Said, “Motherfuck—”
Angus raised the .45 to Flat’s ash-smudged face. Pulled the trigger. Red parted white. Flat lost his shape, fell to the earth.
This was an easy 5-star read right up until he ruined things by inserting some supernatural mumbo-jumbo into the narrative towards the end. He also lost me by going a little too Hollywood when bullets exploded gas tanks and shotguns blasted folks across rooms and whatnot. Even still, this was a damn fine tale that stands out among its peers due to the exceptional writing.
Not sold? Check out what one of his peers had to say about it:
“Frank Bill’s Donnybrook is a backwoods, gut-punch masterpiece. Bill manages to imbue his characters with a full and deep range of human emotion in spite of the fact that their lives come in only two styles: hard and harder. Read and get schooled.”
—Reed Farrel Coleman
Looking for a redeemable character or somebody to root for? Good luck! The story is told through a rotating point of view that leaps around between a few nasty individuals whose paths cross on the road to Donnybrook - a winner-take-all bare-knuckles tournament in the backwoods of Indiana. Fade in to Jarhead Earl as he’s pistol-whipping a shop owner to collect his $1000 entry fee. Cut to Chainsaw Angus and his sister Liz as they watch their small-time meth operation go up in smoke. Their switch to Plan B doesn’t go much smoother because murdering an ol’ boy indebted to the Chinese mob is damn near suicidal with a fixer like Fu Xi waiting in the wings. He’s a martial arts expert and all-around badass tasked with collecting that debt by any means necessary. And then lastly, with arguably the toughest job of all, Deputy Sherriff Ross Whalen has to try to corral all the madness. The only problem is that things are about to get personal!
Sprinkle in a bit of:
A dash of:
And what you’re left with is one crazy, ruthless, nonstop tale, that don’t ever let up. With precise writing and absolutely no filler, the amount of plot Bill’s able to squeeze into such a short novel is utterly remarkable. He’s also got a hell of a knack for turning the darkest, nastiest passages into something quite eloquent. Take for example this early scene:
Angus ran a hand into his bibs. Removed a tool for killing.
“The shit you doing?” Flat demanded.
“Putting your mutt brother out of his misery.”
Beatle’s begging moistened and bounced from the soil. Angus turned the pistol to Beatle’s singed hair and words found silence.
Flat stutter-stepped. Said, “Motherfuck—”
Angus raised the .45 to Flat’s ash-smudged face. Pulled the trigger. Red parted white. Flat lost his shape, fell to the earth.
This was an easy 5-star read right up until he ruined things by inserting some supernatural mumbo-jumbo into the narrative towards the end. He also lost me by going a little too Hollywood when bullets exploded gas tanks and shotguns blasted folks across rooms and whatnot. Even still, this was a damn fine tale that stands out among its peers due to the exceptional writing.
Not sold? Check out what one of his peers had to say about it:
“Frank Bill’s Donnybrook is a backwoods, gut-punch masterpiece. Bill manages to imbue his characters with a full and deep range of human emotion in spite of the fact that their lives come in only two styles: hard and harder. Read and get schooled.”
—Reed Farrel Coleman
April 9, 2013
"I don't make threats. I offer moments to reconcile one's shitty choices."
Fuck, this is a violent book.
I think I described reading the Flannery O'Connor book last week as being like getting punched in the face, and then kicked in the stomach, and blah blah blah repeating different places you can get hit.
That was more on the emotional level though.
This book is sort of like getting pistol whipped, having your forehead cracked open with some short elbows, beaten in various ways while laying curled up on the ground and then pissed on to bring you back to consciousness, beat up some more and finished off by being curbed, but not before having your kneecaps shot out with the pistol.
I should have drawn out that pained analogy for a few hundred more words, just to give you even more of an idea what this novel is like.
The violence was kind of too much for me. It was too relentless and dissolved into an ultra-violent cartoon after awhile. People had things happen to them that just made no sense, AR-15s could spray a room, riddling someone with bullets and they were back up and beating some deranged redneck into a bloody pulp a few minutes later.
The book is about some dudes trying to get to this backwoods, redneck, battle-royal bare-fisted fighting match. Where twenty dudes beat the shit out of each other until one is left standing, and then the winners duke it out and the winner gets a bunch of money while a whole slew of degenerate white-trash get shitfaced, tweak and holla' for blood.
The book is also about a relationship built around meth going sour and the repercussions that follow.
A lot of meth. A lot of violence.
For the first hundred pages I was loving this book. Then it seemed to pass a point where the violence became too much, where a level of ridiculousness was reached. After that there were still some great moments in the book, but they were quickly overshadowed by some fucked up shit.
I am looking forward to reading some more from Frank Bill. I think he's got it in him to be more than an uber-Chuck Palahniuk (the least bad-ass character in this book would eat Tyler Durden for breakfast) of tweakers and rednecks. There are some great moments in the book, but they are drowned in all the blood.
Fuck, this is a violent book.
I think I described reading the Flannery O'Connor book last week as being like getting punched in the face, and then kicked in the stomach, and blah blah blah repeating different places you can get hit.
That was more on the emotional level though.
This book is sort of like getting pistol whipped, having your forehead cracked open with some short elbows, beaten in various ways while laying curled up on the ground and then pissed on to bring you back to consciousness, beat up some more and finished off by being curbed, but not before having your kneecaps shot out with the pistol.
I should have drawn out that pained analogy for a few hundred more words, just to give you even more of an idea what this novel is like.
The violence was kind of too much for me. It was too relentless and dissolved into an ultra-violent cartoon after awhile. People had things happen to them that just made no sense, AR-15s could spray a room, riddling someone with bullets and they were back up and beating some deranged redneck into a bloody pulp a few minutes later.
The book is about some dudes trying to get to this backwoods, redneck, battle-royal bare-fisted fighting match. Where twenty dudes beat the shit out of each other until one is left standing, and then the winners duke it out and the winner gets a bunch of money while a whole slew of degenerate white-trash get shitfaced, tweak and holla' for blood.
The book is also about a relationship built around meth going sour and the repercussions that follow.
A lot of meth. A lot of violence.
For the first hundred pages I was loving this book. Then it seemed to pass a point where the violence became too much, where a level of ridiculousness was reached. After that there were still some great moments in the book, but they were quickly overshadowed by some fucked up shit.
I am looking forward to reading some more from Frank Bill. I think he's got it in him to be more than an uber-Chuck Palahniuk (the least bad-ass character in this book would eat Tyler Durden for breakfast) of tweakers and rednecks. There are some great moments in the book, but they are drowned in all the blood.
September 29, 2016
oh, jesus christ, this book....
this book is brutal.
this book is fight after fight after fight after fight.
this book is full of shitty people doing shitty things to other shitty people.
this book has crank stuffed into every paragraph, and blood clotting on each page's margins.
this book is damn near perfect.
this book is brutal.
this book is fight after fight after fight after fight.
this book is full of shitty people doing shitty things to other shitty people.
this book has crank stuffed into every paragraph, and blood clotting on each page's margins.
this book is damn near perfect.
February 23, 2018
Hyper-violent, apocalyptic and at times as cartoonish as one of Robert E. Howard's Sailor Steve Costigan stories, this novel is a fast read that will give the reader a contact stove-top meth rush without the searing burn.
The approximate plot of this novel is an account of how a backwoods bare-knuckle brawler from Hazard, Kentucky- one Jarhead Johnny Earl -in order to feed his two young sons and obtain medical treatment for his OxyContin-dependent wife, must make an almost biblical trek to enter into a legendary three-day fist-fight festival called "The Donnybrook". By fighting fellow brawlers of all imaginable shapes and sizes, Jarhead intends to win the "big cash prize".
Other plot strands involve an assortment of the odious and the meth deranged.
Some are brain-damaged villains, some are the soon-to-be victimized and all are engaged in over-the-top drug-abuse, mayhem and overkill.
The reader will encounter some memorable and major players: Chainsaw Angus and his meth-addicted nymphomaniacal sister, Liz; Flat and Beatle; Elrod; Annus Steeprow; Mr. Zhong and his debt-collecting two-legged monster Fu; Ned the Backstabber; Elbow & Dodge; Poe; The Prophet Purcell; Gravel; Deputy Sheriff Whalen, and a whole truck load of various other scoundrels and miscreants.
Ultra-cool musical references abound: Bascom Lamar Lunsford, Seasick Steve, The Drive-By Truckers, and a heaping spoonful of quotes from Johnny Cash's end-times anthem "The Man Comes Around".
Fun read and you can dance to it.
I'd give it a 95.
The approximate plot of this novel is an account of how a backwoods bare-knuckle brawler from Hazard, Kentucky- one Jarhead Johnny Earl -in order to feed his two young sons and obtain medical treatment for his OxyContin-dependent wife, must make an almost biblical trek to enter into a legendary three-day fist-fight festival called "The Donnybrook". By fighting fellow brawlers of all imaginable shapes and sizes, Jarhead intends to win the "big cash prize".
Other plot strands involve an assortment of the odious and the meth deranged.
Some are brain-damaged villains, some are the soon-to-be victimized and all are engaged in over-the-top drug-abuse, mayhem and overkill.
The reader will encounter some memorable and major players: Chainsaw Angus and his meth-addicted nymphomaniacal sister, Liz; Flat and Beatle; Elrod; Annus Steeprow; Mr. Zhong and his debt-collecting two-legged monster Fu; Ned the Backstabber; Elbow & Dodge; Poe; The Prophet Purcell; Gravel; Deputy Sheriff Whalen, and a whole truck load of various other scoundrels and miscreants.
Ultra-cool musical references abound: Bascom Lamar Lunsford, Seasick Steve, The Drive-By Truckers, and a heaping spoonful of quotes from Johnny Cash's end-times anthem "The Man Comes Around".
Fun read and you can dance to it.
I'd give it a 95.
August 6, 2021
I'd heard quite a lot about Donnybrook over the last several years. It's a short novel that has been recommended by plenty of people and has been a blip on my radar for awhile. I finally got around to reading it recently, and it proved to be both an enjoyable and disagreeable experience. It's tough to review a book like Donnybrook for two main reasons.
1) It's the type of story I like to read.
2) It's not the kind of writing I enjoy reading.
The plot is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. Set in the broken backwoods of southern Indiana, Donnybrook focuses on a dozen or so dangerous characters, most of who exist on the fringes of society and fight to stay alive, carving out an existence that amounts to little more than survival one day at a time. Unemployment and drug-addiction run rampant as rural societies hang on by their fingernails. Several desperate/deplorable/vengeful story lines are put in motion, all of them advancing toward the fabled 'Donnybrook', a three-day bare-knuckle fight fest where much money can be won and lives can be lost. It's a great read if you're into stories about the state of man's brutality when guys start scraping the bottom of the barrel. The plot gets a little redundant by falling into a loose pattern where robbery, fights, torture, double-crosses, gun play and getting shot seem to cycle over and over again. But otherwise, you get what you paid for; so much savagery that the whole thing starts to lose its bite after awhile.
When it comes to the writing, however, I'd been led to believe that the prose would be lean, clean, and razor sharp. The truth is the narrative is quite bloated in a lot of places; far too much description going on, an awful lot of similes (a good number of them eye-roll worthy), and a lot of instances where the author's stabs at creativity fall flat or fail to connect. Much more could have been achieved with less, which is surprising since Donnybrook is so short a read. Dialogue is great, but the action scenes are frustratingly repetitive and come off like movie script fight sequences that often drag on too long. For such a hard-hitting sinewy story, the writing doesn't match, which is a goddamn shame.
If you like your books brutal and bloody, this novel is a worthwhile read. But I hunger for the kind of writing that emulates the key fighters in this novel; lean, disciplined, and highly effective. You won't find enough of that in Donnybrook unfortunately.
1) It's the type of story I like to read.
2) It's not the kind of writing I enjoy reading.
The plot is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. Set in the broken backwoods of southern Indiana, Donnybrook focuses on a dozen or so dangerous characters, most of who exist on the fringes of society and fight to stay alive, carving out an existence that amounts to little more than survival one day at a time. Unemployment and drug-addiction run rampant as rural societies hang on by their fingernails. Several desperate/deplorable/vengeful story lines are put in motion, all of them advancing toward the fabled 'Donnybrook', a three-day bare-knuckle fight fest where much money can be won and lives can be lost. It's a great read if you're into stories about the state of man's brutality when guys start scraping the bottom of the barrel. The plot gets a little redundant by falling into a loose pattern where robbery, fights, torture, double-crosses, gun play and getting shot seem to cycle over and over again. But otherwise, you get what you paid for; so much savagery that the whole thing starts to lose its bite after awhile.
When it comes to the writing, however, I'd been led to believe that the prose would be lean, clean, and razor sharp. The truth is the narrative is quite bloated in a lot of places; far too much description going on, an awful lot of similes (a good number of them eye-roll worthy), and a lot of instances where the author's stabs at creativity fall flat or fail to connect. Much more could have been achieved with less, which is surprising since Donnybrook is so short a read. Dialogue is great, but the action scenes are frustratingly repetitive and come off like movie script fight sequences that often drag on too long. For such a hard-hitting sinewy story, the writing doesn't match, which is a goddamn shame.
If you like your books brutal and bloody, this novel is a worthwhile read. But I hunger for the kind of writing that emulates the key fighters in this novel; lean, disciplined, and highly effective. You won't find enough of that in Donnybrook unfortunately.
January 13, 2018
(I did consider writing Mr. Bill. I initially typed that. I don't reflect enough on the virtues of Play-Doh.)
Dear Frank Bill,
I suppose it preferable to trace my position broadly, at least in the beginning. You see, I am reluctant to admit most positions. Life is too exceptional for specifics. My admission tends to dovetail with my respect for literature. Maybe that respect should be a love. Accuse me of indecent infatuations with books. Go ahead. One of the redeeming aspects of literature for me personally is the exercise of empathy. Anyone else's actions and world views can be sensible, if only momentarily through this wealth of language. I sort of need that.
Your novel Donnybrook is populated with feral humans who offer incessant violence to one another. The only context and revealed motivation is a vague idea of the "economy" and the failure of American Promise. I would find these portraits of Southern Indiana depravity fascinating if I did not live in Southern Indiana. I felt your scratching through torture lore, sorting examples of excess to sate what you imagine as a morbid core for your inbred realm of horrors. I am not discounting the existence of such here. Shit, since your collection of stories was published, a serial killer has been arrested here in New Albany and a couple were later arrested for prostituting their teenage daughter in exchange for drugs. That said, I don't understand your aesthetic.
Oh and citing musical artists might work for Ian Rankin, but it sucks here. By "here" I mean your novel not Southern Indiana. Well it does suck in Southern Indiana but Donnybrook even more so. So, there.
Dear Frank Bill,
I suppose it preferable to trace my position broadly, at least in the beginning. You see, I am reluctant to admit most positions. Life is too exceptional for specifics. My admission tends to dovetail with my respect for literature. Maybe that respect should be a love. Accuse me of indecent infatuations with books. Go ahead. One of the redeeming aspects of literature for me personally is the exercise of empathy. Anyone else's actions and world views can be sensible, if only momentarily through this wealth of language. I sort of need that.
Your novel Donnybrook is populated with feral humans who offer incessant violence to one another. The only context and revealed motivation is a vague idea of the "economy" and the failure of American Promise. I would find these portraits of Southern Indiana depravity fascinating if I did not live in Southern Indiana. I felt your scratching through torture lore, sorting examples of excess to sate what you imagine as a morbid core for your inbred realm of horrors. I am not discounting the existence of such here. Shit, since your collection of stories was published, a serial killer has been arrested here in New Albany and a couple were later arrested for prostituting their teenage daughter in exchange for drugs. That said, I don't understand your aesthetic.
Oh and citing musical artists might work for Ian Rankin, but it sucks here. By "here" I mean your novel not Southern Indiana. Well it does suck in Southern Indiana but Donnybrook even more so. So, there.
May 9, 2018
Thought this started well with lots of action, a dramatic robbery and tough, terse prose. There were some fights, some cooking up meth, a few people got shot, a bunch of people died.
And then I started chapter 2.
There were fights, taking meths, people getting shot, a bunch of people died.
In chapter 3 people got shot, some chat about meths, there were some fights and a bunch of people died.
And so on, and so on, and so on, and so on...
Fight after fight on page after page... layer upon layer of violence upon violence until violence becomes ... boring.
And the upshot of the story is, a bunch of people (and a dog) died.
And then I started chapter 2.
There were fights, taking meths, people getting shot, a bunch of people died.
In chapter 3 people got shot, some chat about meths, there were some fights and a bunch of people died.
And so on, and so on, and so on, and so on...
Fight after fight on page after page... layer upon layer of violence upon violence until violence becomes ... boring.
And the upshot of the story is, a bunch of people (and a dog) died.
May 7, 2023
I’ve had this on my shelf for years, like so many others, due to my one hoarding habit (but I’m selective and my goal is to have everything on my shelf read when I kick the bucket). The cover is cartoonish, which did put me off, but on the back a great writer (Woodrell) gave it a brief accolade. I’ve also spent some time in the wilds of rural Kentucky and southern Indiana, so the geography drew me in. But this wasn’t a very good book. I also thought I had read his book of short stories, Crimes in Southern Indiana, but I have it listed as “Want to Read” and cannot find it on my physical shelves. Some have compared his “country” to McCarthy’s & Woodrell’s worlds – but his writing talent is not even close. It’s a first novel, so I considered giving some credit for that.
But this was not a well written book. The characters were thin and so similar to each other as to be hard to distinguish. At some point this reader stopped trying. From the first to the last sentence this book is pure action and violence, so excessive as to be repetitive and a bit boring. The action and unrelenting brutality were well done, but the story could have used bout 95% less. The story is the violence, and there are only so many ways to describe it, which this writer is a master at, but the story is cheapened by its sheer volume. The trick pony is astonishing, but the act gets old after the initial awe. I wonder if this author has more in the tank?
I felt a bit dirty and repulsed after reading this, as I did with Crew’s Feast of Snakes, but Crew’s was much more developed and nuanced compared to Bill’s unrelenting onslaught. There are good people in the world, but Bill doesn’t show us any and this lack of balance was unsettling. I don’t need a good ending, but I need some sort of morality play, and there is none here (I’ve felt this way about film, aka Sin City). I need more in literature and art.
I’ll keep this on my shelves, though usually 2 starts means it will move from me to Goodwill, out of respect for the unique place of this novel, Woodrell’s support and a vague sense that I’m being too hard on the author.
But this was not a well written book. The characters were thin and so similar to each other as to be hard to distinguish. At some point this reader stopped trying. From the first to the last sentence this book is pure action and violence, so excessive as to be repetitive and a bit boring. The action and unrelenting brutality were well done, but the story could have used bout 95% less. The story is the violence, and there are only so many ways to describe it, which this writer is a master at, but the story is cheapened by its sheer volume. The trick pony is astonishing, but the act gets old after the initial awe. I wonder if this author has more in the tank?
I felt a bit dirty and repulsed after reading this, as I did with Crew’s Feast of Snakes, but Crew’s was much more developed and nuanced compared to Bill’s unrelenting onslaught. There are good people in the world, but Bill doesn’t show us any and this lack of balance was unsettling. I don’t need a good ending, but I need some sort of morality play, and there is none here (I’ve felt this way about film, aka Sin City). I need more in literature and art.
I’ll keep this on my shelves, though usually 2 starts means it will move from me to Goodwill, out of respect for the unique place of this novel, Woodrell’s support and a vague sense that I’m being too hard on the author.
April 18, 2017
Wow.. this book makes "Justified" seem like an ice cream social, and author Frank Bill has created a foundation for a nasty road ahead for the survivors of this book in what appears to be the upcoming sequel The Savage: A Novel.
Frank Bill is the author of Crimes in Southern Indiana: Stories as well as other books in "The Crow" series, and is someone I'll be reading more from in the future.
DONNYBROOK is the story of several rural individuals that are all drawn to an annual event which is a wild form of a bare-knuckles boxing known as "The Donnybrook", and their lives become intertwined as they move closer and closer to the actual event.
Jarhead is a young man desperate to win the event to take care of his wife Tammy and their children.
Angus, better known as "Chainsaw Angus" (whose nickname originated from a logging accident), is a legendary fighter who has no intention of entering the event but is drawn to it for other reasons financially and otherwise. Several other characters make up this rural onslaught of violence and destruction painted by author Frank Bill.
Definitely not for the faint of heart as this book is violent from start to finish, and you might feel the need to wash off after reading it, but it is full of backwoods action designed to keep your interest throughout the entire book.
5 stars.
Frank Bill is the author of Crimes in Southern Indiana: Stories as well as other books in "The Crow" series, and is someone I'll be reading more from in the future.
DONNYBROOK is the story of several rural individuals that are all drawn to an annual event which is a wild form of a bare-knuckles boxing known as "The Donnybrook", and their lives become intertwined as they move closer and closer to the actual event.
Jarhead is a young man desperate to win the event to take care of his wife Tammy and their children.
Angus, better known as "Chainsaw Angus" (whose nickname originated from a logging accident), is a legendary fighter who has no intention of entering the event but is drawn to it for other reasons financially and otherwise. Several other characters make up this rural onslaught of violence and destruction painted by author Frank Bill.
Definitely not for the faint of heart as this book is violent from start to finish, and you might feel the need to wash off after reading it, but it is full of backwoods action designed to keep your interest throughout the entire book.
5 stars.
June 23, 2023
When was the last time you described something as balls to the wall? I can't remember either, but that's what this book was. Author Frank Bill is a wildman, and Donnybrook is his love letter to lowlife scum doing scummy stuff in the backwoods of America. It was exactly what I expected it to be.
Angus and Liz are siblings looking to sell bucketfuls of meth for a whole lot of money at Donnybrook, a middle-of-BFE bareknuckle free-for-all where the last man conscious takes home a hundred grand. After all, the spectators are gonna need on-site vendors! It might've been a good idea; it's just too bad they hate each other. Liz gets a loser named Ned to shoot Angus, and the two of them take off with the goods. The thing is, Ned botched the job. Now Angus is after both of them - and he knows right where they're heading... Jarhead's purpose is a little more noble, if not his methods. He steals the $1,000 entry fee by robbing a gun store. He wants to win the prize money to get his wife's back fixed so she can get off the oxy.
I challenge you to find a single page - a single paragraph even - where drinking, fighting or f*cking is not mentioned. Ha, I win - you can't find one!
There were a lot of instances where I contemplated DNF'g because it's just the same insanity page after page. Still, every now and then, a batshit bit of gonzo fiction serves as a good palate cleanser. I'll never read it again, but there were times it made me chuckle. And also shudder.
Angus and Liz are siblings looking to sell bucketfuls of meth for a whole lot of money at Donnybrook, a middle-of-BFE bareknuckle free-for-all where the last man conscious takes home a hundred grand. After all, the spectators are gonna need on-site vendors! It might've been a good idea; it's just too bad they hate each other. Liz gets a loser named Ned to shoot Angus, and the two of them take off with the goods. The thing is, Ned botched the job. Now Angus is after both of them - and he knows right where they're heading... Jarhead's purpose is a little more noble, if not his methods. He steals the $1,000 entry fee by robbing a gun store. He wants to win the prize money to get his wife's back fixed so she can get off the oxy.
I challenge you to find a single page - a single paragraph even - where drinking, fighting or f*cking is not mentioned. Ha, I win - you can't find one!
There were a lot of instances where I contemplated DNF'g because it's just the same insanity page after page. Still, every now and then, a batshit bit of gonzo fiction serves as a good palate cleanser. I'll never read it again, but there were times it made me chuckle. And also shudder.
March 12, 2013
Check out my Interview with this author on this new book of his >>> http://more2read.com/Interview-with-Frank-Bill
Grabs you by the jugular into one helluva wild ride and wont let go till its final page.
Delivering words in sentences with precision and control that set the scene, sometimes in rapid fire motion.
Darker than dark, a world unto its own with characters and happenings that rise up from the pages and will fester in your mind with vivid and powerful images of a feast of grit, blood and sweat.
Frank Bill has won with the great characters and visceral storytelling that he has forged in this story Donnybrook.
There is one tough man, Jarhead, who wants to do good for his family he's fighting a dark fate that has passed and trying to change the tide of his future in earning a sum of dollars in a fight show unlike any other. This show down out in the middle of a heavily guarded fortress makes the fight in Fight Club seem like a kindergarten brawl due to the ungodly rules and players.
There are badder guys than the Jarhead who have no rules and partake in all bad things under the sun just waiting to be taken out by many a enemy.
Angus is one, a force to be reckoned with and then there an Asian guy Fu who is lethally trained in all the arts of taking an opponent out for the count.
The author has laced all the characters and occurrences with spot on sparse, showing sentences, dialogue and a great usage of similes.
A new fresh talent that leaves a trademark style in a literary form equivalent to way Tarantino leaves a trademark style in the film form with characters and scenes.
The kind of story, I feel, that could be compared to the characters, story, dialogue and prose to the novels Savages by Don Winslow, A Feast of Snakes by Harry Crews, and Devil all The Time by Donald Ray Pollock.
EXCERPTS:
Check out Frank Bill Recommends Books
Visit the Authors website : House of Grit
Grabs you by the jugular into one helluva wild ride and wont let go till its final page.
Delivering words in sentences with precision and control that set the scene, sometimes in rapid fire motion.
Darker than dark, a world unto its own with characters and happenings that rise up from the pages and will fester in your mind with vivid and powerful images of a feast of grit, blood and sweat.
Frank Bill has won with the great characters and visceral storytelling that he has forged in this story Donnybrook.
There is one tough man, Jarhead, who wants to do good for his family he's fighting a dark fate that has passed and trying to change the tide of his future in earning a sum of dollars in a fight show unlike any other. This show down out in the middle of a heavily guarded fortress makes the fight in Fight Club seem like a kindergarten brawl due to the ungodly rules and players.
There are badder guys than the Jarhead who have no rules and partake in all bad things under the sun just waiting to be taken out by many a enemy.
Angus is one, a force to be reckoned with and then there an Asian guy Fu who is lethally trained in all the arts of taking an opponent out for the count.
The author has laced all the characters and occurrences with spot on sparse, showing sentences, dialogue and a great usage of similes.
A new fresh talent that leaves a trademark style in a literary form equivalent to way Tarantino leaves a trademark style in the film form with characters and scenes.
The kind of story, I feel, that could be compared to the characters, story, dialogue and prose to the novels Savages by Don Winslow, A Feast of Snakes by Harry Crews, and Devil all The Time by Donald Ray Pollock.
EXCERPTS:
“The man held scars. One side of his complexion had been hazed by flame. His hair raked back into a ponytail that twisted down his spine. Dye-engraved names were about his flesh like a newspaper headings. He was a fighter, or had been a fighter. He was a man who’d tried to salvage what he could from life. He was hard and merciless. Then his image faded. Purcell lay in his hammock of wove rope. He’d a cigarette dangling in his right hand. Trees above offering shade. “Ballard of the Crimson Kings,” a tune by Ray Wylie Hubbard, rustled in the warm breeze from a CD player on Purcell’s screened-in porch. Guitar strings and banjo were being picked. Images of Jarhead ran like adrenaline in his veins. Then came the face of another man who went by Knox, Miles Knox. He and the boy Jarhead could’ve been twins except for age. Purcell hadn’t realized until now how much they favoured each other. He didn’t know the man on a personal note. Bur he’d crossed paths with him at social gatherings where ooze and talk were being passed.”
“Twenty fighter entered a fence-wire ring. Fought till one man was left standing. Hordes of onlookers-men and women who used drugs and booze, wagered and grilled food-watched the fighting. Two fights Friday. Four Saturday. The six winners fought Sunday for one hundred grand.
The two jobs Jarhead worked, towing for a junkyard during the day, then flipping burgers and waffles two or three nights a week, hardly provided enough cash to feed and clothe his two smiling-eyed progeny. Boys created with the comeliest female in the Kentucky hills, Tammy Charles.
In between his jobs he jogged through the Kentucky mining hills that gave his stepfather black lung and his mother gun-powder suicide. He pounded the homemade heavy bag that hung from a tree in front of his trailer till his hands burned red. Training for his next bare-knuckle payday out in an abandoned barn or tavern parking lot. Farmers. Miners. Loggers. Drunks. Wagering on another man’s will.
Donnybrook would be Jarhead’s escape from the poverty that had whittled his family down to names in the town obituaries. He just needed the thousand-dollar fighter’s fee to enter.”
“He had on each inner forearm a tattoo that signified his tutelage in a faraway school. A monkey branded his right. A snake branded his left. Mr Zhong, he knew, had the same tattoos under his sleeves.”
“Raw light from the ceiling caught his face, highlighted the putty-like scars from years of offensive training as a boy. The knuckles of each hand were flat as the wood and bamboo he’d conditioned them against years ago. His forearms and shins were the same. Years of bones being pounded. Nerve endings numbed. Conditioned into steel.”
Check out Frank Bill Recommends Books
Visit the Authors website : House of Grit
May 1, 2013
Wow.
Nothing could have prepared me for this. Really. It's rather different than its predecessor, CRIMES IN SOUTHERN INDIANA, despite that it's about the same people (the backwoods crowd of the said Indiana). While Bill's short stories are violent, yet deep and introspective, this is more like a ballet of violence and despair. I remember Anthony Neil Smith saying that reading Bill was like reading "a redneck space opera in another language" and this is exactly what it felt like.
Don't get me wrong, this is not shallow. At all. It's just that things are expressed with an additional degree of separation to its characters, since they're all neck-deep in sin. The Donnybrook is both real, conceptual and metaphorical. Sure thing, it's all over the 240 pages of this novel. Took me some getting-used-to to let go of the quieter side of Frank Bill that's so endearing, but once I did and surrendered to the rhythmic waves of violence, this became quite the exhilarating experience.
Nothing could have prepared me for this. Really. It's rather different than its predecessor, CRIMES IN SOUTHERN INDIANA, despite that it's about the same people (the backwoods crowd of the said Indiana). While Bill's short stories are violent, yet deep and introspective, this is more like a ballet of violence and despair. I remember Anthony Neil Smith saying that reading Bill was like reading "a redneck space opera in another language" and this is exactly what it felt like.
Don't get me wrong, this is not shallow. At all. It's just that things are expressed with an additional degree of separation to its characters, since they're all neck-deep in sin. The Donnybrook is both real, conceptual and metaphorical. Sure thing, it's all over the 240 pages of this novel. Took me some getting-used-to to let go of the quieter side of Frank Bill that's so endearing, but once I did and surrendered to the rhythmic waves of violence, this became quite the exhilarating experience.
April 18, 2013
THIS REVIEW ORIGINALLY RAN AT THE NERVOUS BREAKDOWN.
If your best chance of securing a future is to fight in a “Donnybrook,” a three day fighting match where ponying up $1,000 gets you in, and your chances of getting out in one piece are slim, then maybe you need to reconsider the path you have chosen. Frank Bill’s gritty, violent, and grim debut novel, Donnybrook (FSG Originals) is not for the faint of heart, as the body count is high, and the actions desperate and brutal. But buried in the bruised flesh are the stories of Jarhead, a desperate fighter, Angus, a drug dealer, and Fu, a martial arts enforcer—men with a strange sense of honor that lurks beneath their questionable actions, doing what they have to do in order to survive, to protect their own, and to please their employers. Meth cookers and dealers, drunks and addicts, whores and hustlers, they all scrounge for a meager existence, one that inevitably leads them to the Donnybrook.
In order to fully appreciate the actions of our cast of characters, you have to be able to picture the settings of Southern Indiana, the way some people live down there. With an authority that reveals his many years in these rural towns, Frank Bill shows us in vivid details the places and sensations of life on the fringe:
“Logs had started to moss over. Matched the tin roof’s shade, hunter green. The Blue River ran just as green on the other side of the road. That hint of fish smell wafted into Whalen’s inhale. The yard was littered with beer cans and pine needles. A small brown fridge sat on the wooden deck up next to the cabin’s front door.”
You can almost hear the purdy, purdy, purdy of a Cardinal in the distance, a flash of its red feathers, the rapid-fire pecking of a Pileated Woodpecker like gunfire. Wood smoke, and the sound of gravel under tires as they slow to a stop, the world that Frank Bill has created is a backdrop for the violence that unfolds at every turn.
But Frank Bill’s gift for realistic, layered settings isn’t the only way that he pulls you into his story. He creates tension by showing us the paranoia of his shady characters as they go about their dark deeds, and by revealing that, in many instances, that sensation of being watched, of being tracked, is not unfounded. Scattered across the countryside, these lost souls are hidden in the woods, lurking in haylofts, squatting in abandoned cabins, and up to no good:
“He’d watched the towering man enter the barn. Same man he’d watched smoking nights back. Sized him up as he gazed at the tools and animal traps on the wall. Watched one of his long arms decorated with inked lettering, vines, and skulls remove the sickle from the wall while his other arm touched a gun handle pressed down the front of his waistband. The sight drove a shiver through his figure.
He pulled the spit from the flame with an animal-hide glove, blowing the meat to cool it, wonder what the man and women were doing in the old house, what they were cooking the other night that smelt so god-awful. Biting into the meat, he hoped they’d leave soon. Or he’d have to bring chaos to the farm like his father had years ago.”
Frank Bill lays out these steppingstones, and we follow him down that path. But we are never quite sure who is the spider and who is the fly. What’s that line from the award-winning comic by Alan Moore, The Watchmen: “Who watches the watchmen?” In this case, too, the guardians and heroes of our story are criminals and deviants, antiheroes, and here too we are counting on them to get us through this story intact, even rooting for one man over another, to win the Donnybrook, to get back home safe to his wife and kids, no matter how many scurrilous men he kills.
And what of that Donnybrook? The novel builds to that moment for 145 pages, as we wait to see what happens when all of our main characters descend on the farmland of Bellmont McGill. We are not denied the spectacle and sport. It is everything we hoped it would be, and more:
“In the frays of field grass there were enough dented, dirty, and rusted vehicles to fill ten football fields, maybe more. From them, onlookers got out with lawn chairs and provisions. Set up camp. Their forest fires scented the air with smoke and the whole chickens or slabs of venison, goat, squirrel, rabbit, or coon they grilled. It’s what they’d do for the next three days. Sell their food to others. Sit chasing pills and crank with swigs of bourbon or home brew. Watch twenty men enter a thirty-by-thirty barbed-wire ring, fight till one man was left standing. Then another twenty numbers were called for the next free-for-all. Till Sunday, when the winning men were left to fight till one man stood bloody and toothless waiting for his cash prize.”
And what of these men? What are they made of? They are raw hunger and brute strength:
“They circled and bumped on another like predators. Men with talcum teeth, skin cleaved by scars. Hair braided, slicked, or stringy. Short or shaved. Bearded or stubbled. Tall. Short. Lean, hard, or fat-bellied. They came in all demeanors. Donning bibs or jeans ragged as the boots laced around their feet. These were the backwoods bare-knuckle fighters.”
Above and beyond the fighting and betrayal—the broken arms, shattered teeth, and bloodstained canvas—Frank Bill is able to make us care about these men. We root for Jarhead to make it out alive, knowing his options in life are limited, his family counting on him to get back home alive. We marvel at the calm violence that is Fu, his ability to torture and disarm, to make the human body do exactly what he wants, with his martial arts voodoo, and his needles. We watch the bloodshed unfold with gape-jawed wonder at the vengeance Angus inflicts on those that have betrayed him, hesitant to align ourselves with him, but understanding his need for justice, anyway. With an unflinching eye, Frank Bill has created a dark world, one of desperation and loss, showing us a part of the country, and humanity, that we would be smart to avoid. There is danger and death on this roller coaster ride, but we pay our admission, and climb aboard, nonetheless—grinning as we hold our ticket, strapped in and ready to go—sweaty and sick, swallowing back bile, our eyes wide open to the horrors that lie ahead.
If your best chance of securing a future is to fight in a “Donnybrook,” a three day fighting match where ponying up $1,000 gets you in, and your chances of getting out in one piece are slim, then maybe you need to reconsider the path you have chosen. Frank Bill’s gritty, violent, and grim debut novel, Donnybrook (FSG Originals) is not for the faint of heart, as the body count is high, and the actions desperate and brutal. But buried in the bruised flesh are the stories of Jarhead, a desperate fighter, Angus, a drug dealer, and Fu, a martial arts enforcer—men with a strange sense of honor that lurks beneath their questionable actions, doing what they have to do in order to survive, to protect their own, and to please their employers. Meth cookers and dealers, drunks and addicts, whores and hustlers, they all scrounge for a meager existence, one that inevitably leads them to the Donnybrook.
In order to fully appreciate the actions of our cast of characters, you have to be able to picture the settings of Southern Indiana, the way some people live down there. With an authority that reveals his many years in these rural towns, Frank Bill shows us in vivid details the places and sensations of life on the fringe:
“Logs had started to moss over. Matched the tin roof’s shade, hunter green. The Blue River ran just as green on the other side of the road. That hint of fish smell wafted into Whalen’s inhale. The yard was littered with beer cans and pine needles. A small brown fridge sat on the wooden deck up next to the cabin’s front door.”
You can almost hear the purdy, purdy, purdy of a Cardinal in the distance, a flash of its red feathers, the rapid-fire pecking of a Pileated Woodpecker like gunfire. Wood smoke, and the sound of gravel under tires as they slow to a stop, the world that Frank Bill has created is a backdrop for the violence that unfolds at every turn.
But Frank Bill’s gift for realistic, layered settings isn’t the only way that he pulls you into his story. He creates tension by showing us the paranoia of his shady characters as they go about their dark deeds, and by revealing that, in many instances, that sensation of being watched, of being tracked, is not unfounded. Scattered across the countryside, these lost souls are hidden in the woods, lurking in haylofts, squatting in abandoned cabins, and up to no good:
“He’d watched the towering man enter the barn. Same man he’d watched smoking nights back. Sized him up as he gazed at the tools and animal traps on the wall. Watched one of his long arms decorated with inked lettering, vines, and skulls remove the sickle from the wall while his other arm touched a gun handle pressed down the front of his waistband. The sight drove a shiver through his figure.
He pulled the spit from the flame with an animal-hide glove, blowing the meat to cool it, wonder what the man and women were doing in the old house, what they were cooking the other night that smelt so god-awful. Biting into the meat, he hoped they’d leave soon. Or he’d have to bring chaos to the farm like his father had years ago.”
Frank Bill lays out these steppingstones, and we follow him down that path. But we are never quite sure who is the spider and who is the fly. What’s that line from the award-winning comic by Alan Moore, The Watchmen: “Who watches the watchmen?” In this case, too, the guardians and heroes of our story are criminals and deviants, antiheroes, and here too we are counting on them to get us through this story intact, even rooting for one man over another, to win the Donnybrook, to get back home safe to his wife and kids, no matter how many scurrilous men he kills.
And what of that Donnybrook? The novel builds to that moment for 145 pages, as we wait to see what happens when all of our main characters descend on the farmland of Bellmont McGill. We are not denied the spectacle and sport. It is everything we hoped it would be, and more:
“In the frays of field grass there were enough dented, dirty, and rusted vehicles to fill ten football fields, maybe more. From them, onlookers got out with lawn chairs and provisions. Set up camp. Their forest fires scented the air with smoke and the whole chickens or slabs of venison, goat, squirrel, rabbit, or coon they grilled. It’s what they’d do for the next three days. Sell their food to others. Sit chasing pills and crank with swigs of bourbon or home brew. Watch twenty men enter a thirty-by-thirty barbed-wire ring, fight till one man was left standing. Then another twenty numbers were called for the next free-for-all. Till Sunday, when the winning men were left to fight till one man stood bloody and toothless waiting for his cash prize.”
And what of these men? What are they made of? They are raw hunger and brute strength:
“They circled and bumped on another like predators. Men with talcum teeth, skin cleaved by scars. Hair braided, slicked, or stringy. Short or shaved. Bearded or stubbled. Tall. Short. Lean, hard, or fat-bellied. They came in all demeanors. Donning bibs or jeans ragged as the boots laced around their feet. These were the backwoods bare-knuckle fighters.”
Above and beyond the fighting and betrayal—the broken arms, shattered teeth, and bloodstained canvas—Frank Bill is able to make us care about these men. We root for Jarhead to make it out alive, knowing his options in life are limited, his family counting on him to get back home alive. We marvel at the calm violence that is Fu, his ability to torture and disarm, to make the human body do exactly what he wants, with his martial arts voodoo, and his needles. We watch the bloodshed unfold with gape-jawed wonder at the vengeance Angus inflicts on those that have betrayed him, hesitant to align ourselves with him, but understanding his need for justice, anyway. With an unflinching eye, Frank Bill has created a dark world, one of desperation and loss, showing us a part of the country, and humanity, that we would be smart to avoid. There is danger and death on this roller coaster ride, but we pay our admission, and climb aboard, nonetheless—grinning as we hold our ticket, strapped in and ready to go—sweaty and sick, swallowing back bile, our eyes wide open to the horrors that lie ahead.
April 16, 2015
I seriously doubt I will ever read this again but man what a brutal, punishing thrill ride.
April 10, 2022
Brutal and pretty disgusting and I couldn't stop turning the pages, read it in one day.
March 8, 2013
You may also read my review here: http://www.mybookishways.com/2013/03/...
Jarhead Earl is desperate. His children, Zeek and Caleb, and their mother, Tammy, don’t have enough to eat, and Jarhead is determined to remedy that. As Donnybrook opens, we join Jarhead as he’s robbing a gun store of the $1000 he needs for his entry fee into Donnybrook (he plans to pay it back, too), a 3-day bare-knuckle fighting tournament in the backwoods of southern Indiana with a huge cash prize for the man that comes out on top. Jarhead takes no more than he needs, and flees. He’s good with his fists, and figures he has a better than average shot at the big prize. His problem is getting there, and avoiding the riff raff that seems to constantly get in his way. He eventually hitches a ride with a man named Tig who makes money siphoning gas and selling it, and they eventually hook up with his cousin, Alonzo Conway, who runs underage girls and guns. Jarhead is desperate, yes, but this is most definitely not his scene, and little does he know, all hell is about to break loose.
Meanwhile, Chainsaw Angus, so nicknamed because of a chainsaw accident that ruined his face and one eye, and his sister Liz are on the warpath. They’ve been cooking meth, and the constant moving around has taken a toll. The fact that they’re both raging psychopaths is their biggest problem though. Murder doesn’t faze them in the least, and Liz’s growing hatred for her brother, and her desire to keep all the spoils to herself, is causing quite a rift in their operation. Eventually they murder a man that owes a big dept, and the moneylender, Mr. Zhong, has no problem releasing his rather unusual collection man, Fu, on the couple in order to collect what’s owed.
It also happens that the law is on Jarhead’s trail, and the carnage that Angus and Liz are leaving in their considerable wake makes it quite obvious that the law has a huge problem on their hands. All Jarhead knows is he must get to the Donnybrook at all costs, Angus must get Liz, who’s on her way to the Donnybrook with the man she now runs with, Fu is on the trail of Angus and Liz, and a lawman is now out for personal vengeance. You can see where this is going, right? This is sort of like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World on meth. Lots and lots of meth. I’ll be honest, I got great pleasure when the bad guys got knocked around, even if it was by other bad guys, because they’re so awful. However, you may be surprised to find out that even in the midst of a story that takes place in the middle of crushing poverty, job loss (and subsequent loss of dignity in the inability to feed your own family), loose morals (to put it mildly), all manner of depravity and abuse, and sticky, cloying heat that just won’t quit, Frank Bill managed to mix in humor (of the very darkest kind), and even hope. Jarhead and his little family is the beacon of light in all of this unrelenting darkness. Through all of this mess, you know that Tammy and the kids are waiting for him to come home, to make everything ok, at least for a little while, and the author makes it very clear that Jarhead is destined for greater things. The Donnybrook became much more than a backwoods brawl, at least for me. It became a castle siege, with the fate of an evil king at stake, and unimaginable repercussions. I couldn’t help but think of Jarhead as the white knight in this one, even if his armor is a bit tarnished around the edges. This compact little book, much like some of its characters, is more than it seems on the surface, and I found myself thinking about it long after I read the last page.
Take a handful of firecrackers, drop them into a blender along with gunpowder, double crosses, flying fists, mountains of meth, a big pile of money, a boatload of whiskey, and dogs with a taste for human flesh, and you have the culmination of this spectacular book. My only complaint is the ending came way too quickly for me.
Jarhead Earl is desperate. His children, Zeek and Caleb, and their mother, Tammy, don’t have enough to eat, and Jarhead is determined to remedy that. As Donnybrook opens, we join Jarhead as he’s robbing a gun store of the $1000 he needs for his entry fee into Donnybrook (he plans to pay it back, too), a 3-day bare-knuckle fighting tournament in the backwoods of southern Indiana with a huge cash prize for the man that comes out on top. Jarhead takes no more than he needs, and flees. He’s good with his fists, and figures he has a better than average shot at the big prize. His problem is getting there, and avoiding the riff raff that seems to constantly get in his way. He eventually hitches a ride with a man named Tig who makes money siphoning gas and selling it, and they eventually hook up with his cousin, Alonzo Conway, who runs underage girls and guns. Jarhead is desperate, yes, but this is most definitely not his scene, and little does he know, all hell is about to break loose.
Meanwhile, Chainsaw Angus, so nicknamed because of a chainsaw accident that ruined his face and one eye, and his sister Liz are on the warpath. They’ve been cooking meth, and the constant moving around has taken a toll. The fact that they’re both raging psychopaths is their biggest problem though. Murder doesn’t faze them in the least, and Liz’s growing hatred for her brother, and her desire to keep all the spoils to herself, is causing quite a rift in their operation. Eventually they murder a man that owes a big dept, and the moneylender, Mr. Zhong, has no problem releasing his rather unusual collection man, Fu, on the couple in order to collect what’s owed.
It also happens that the law is on Jarhead’s trail, and the carnage that Angus and Liz are leaving in their considerable wake makes it quite obvious that the law has a huge problem on their hands. All Jarhead knows is he must get to the Donnybrook at all costs, Angus must get Liz, who’s on her way to the Donnybrook with the man she now runs with, Fu is on the trail of Angus and Liz, and a lawman is now out for personal vengeance. You can see where this is going, right? This is sort of like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World on meth. Lots and lots of meth. I’ll be honest, I got great pleasure when the bad guys got knocked around, even if it was by other bad guys, because they’re so awful. However, you may be surprised to find out that even in the midst of a story that takes place in the middle of crushing poverty, job loss (and subsequent loss of dignity in the inability to feed your own family), loose morals (to put it mildly), all manner of depravity and abuse, and sticky, cloying heat that just won’t quit, Frank Bill managed to mix in humor (of the very darkest kind), and even hope. Jarhead and his little family is the beacon of light in all of this unrelenting darkness. Through all of this mess, you know that Tammy and the kids are waiting for him to come home, to make everything ok, at least for a little while, and the author makes it very clear that Jarhead is destined for greater things. The Donnybrook became much more than a backwoods brawl, at least for me. It became a castle siege, with the fate of an evil king at stake, and unimaginable repercussions. I couldn’t help but think of Jarhead as the white knight in this one, even if his armor is a bit tarnished around the edges. This compact little book, much like some of its characters, is more than it seems on the surface, and I found myself thinking about it long after I read the last page.
Take a handful of firecrackers, drop them into a blender along with gunpowder, double crosses, flying fists, mountains of meth, a big pile of money, a boatload of whiskey, and dogs with a taste for human flesh, and you have the culmination of this spectacular book. My only complaint is the ending came way too quickly for me.
April 19, 2016
Find all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
This has a 4.40 rating among my friends. My honorary man card????
I just don’t think my penis was big enough to truly enjoy this one.
Donnybrook is quite possibly the most brutal thing I’ve ever read. It’s the tale of a mash-up of about a billion characters, all thinly connected who converge at . . . you guessed it – THE DONNYBROOK. What is the Donnybrook, you ask? Well, it’s kind of like this . . .
(Get you some, Jared Leto)
But unlike the picture above, you can most definitely talk about this fight club. The fight is just a blip on the radar when it comes to this story, though. First you have to meet the ensemble. Folks like Jarhead Johnny Earl who is just trying to do whatever it takes to support his family . . .
(I’m about 147% certain ol’ Jarhead didn’t look like that, but I am a disgusting pervert so it was really easy to convince myself he did.)
Then you have Angus – a real entrepreneur . . .
And his high-class sister, Liz . . .
I can’t forget Fu . . .
Even a man of the law gets in the mix on this one . . .
As I said, after an infinite number of introductions have been made all of whom then have various run-ins, shoot ‘em ups, beat ‘em ups and about everything else you can imagine that might possibly draw blood, the story ties together in a bloodbath of epic proportions.
So obviously I read this wrong (goes without saying at this point, right?). I’m going to blame it on the timing. Having just come off Miriam Black with only a couple ofpornos highly intellectual novels in between my brain wanted to compare this apple with that somewhat similar apple. For me Donnybrook lacked a bit in the plot/character development department. However, if you are looking for a high body count, a soundtrack featuring Johnny Cash and some pretty freaking quotable quotes . . .
“Is that spite or disrespect? You making a threat?”
Angus told him, “I don’t make threats. I offer moments to reconcile one’s shitty choices.”
Then look no further. I’ll definitely be keeping Frank Bill on my radar in order to see what his twisted brain can come up with next.
Many thanks to Ron 2.0forforcing this down my throat politely telling me I should read this book. I almost even agreed with you! Mitchell says thanks too. He found this highly educational. He also requests if you're ever in our neck of the woods you stop by (preferably while I'm at work) and drop off some Sudafed and empty Mountain Dew two liters. He wouldn't tell me why he needed them, though *shrug*.
This has a 4.40 rating among my friends. My honorary man card????
I just don’t think my penis was big enough to truly enjoy this one.
Donnybrook is quite possibly the most brutal thing I’ve ever read. It’s the tale of a mash-up of about a billion characters, all thinly connected who converge at . . . you guessed it – THE DONNYBROOK. What is the Donnybrook, you ask? Well, it’s kind of like this . . .
(Get you some, Jared Leto)
But unlike the picture above, you can most definitely talk about this fight club. The fight is just a blip on the radar when it comes to this story, though. First you have to meet the ensemble. Folks like Jarhead Johnny Earl who is just trying to do whatever it takes to support his family . . .
(I’m about 147% certain ol’ Jarhead didn’t look like that, but I am a disgusting pervert so it was really easy to convince myself he did.)
Then you have Angus – a real entrepreneur . . .
And his high-class sister, Liz . . .
I can’t forget Fu . . .
Even a man of the law gets in the mix on this one . . .
As I said, after an infinite number of introductions have been made all of whom then have various run-ins, shoot ‘em ups, beat ‘em ups and about everything else you can imagine that might possibly draw blood, the story ties together in a bloodbath of epic proportions.
So obviously I read this wrong (goes without saying at this point, right?). I’m going to blame it on the timing. Having just come off Miriam Black with only a couple of
“Is that spite or disrespect? You making a threat?”
Angus told him, “I don’t make threats. I offer moments to reconcile one’s shitty choices.”
Then look no further. I’ll definitely be keeping Frank Bill on my radar in order to see what his twisted brain can come up with next.
Many thanks to Ron 2.0for
March 5, 2013
I received my copy of Donnybrook as an advanced review copy from William Heinemann and was very excited to find it in the post on the day it arrived.
My excitement was based upon my love of Frank Bill’s collection ‘Crimes In Southern Indiana’ and other stories of his that are peppered around the internet and a range of highly-regarded anthologies.
I had a strong sense about the world I’d be entering – something strong and dark and gritty – but was unsure of the author’s ability to complete a novel with the immense talent he shows in his short work.
I needn’t have worried. Mr Bill has ticked all of my boxes and, in this story, created a few more that weren’t there before.
It opens with a storm of violence. There’s a robbery and a couple of murders and a sense of mayhem.
From there the various characters drift apart, but they’re all destined to come together at the Donnybrook, a ‘last man standing’ bare-knuckle fight that takes place over a couple of days in Orange County.
The various strands are all wonderfully handled.
There’s the cop hunting both robbers and killers alike; there are the makers and dealers of crystal meth; there’s a martial arts master; an entrant to the fighting contest whose focus is the huge cash prize; a man blessed with visions of the future; and a host of everyday characters who are all strongly written and play their parts with honesty.
The prose is extremely tight (he doesn’t waste words, he writes them) from start to finish and this adds to the powerful, earthy sense that the book portrays. This is particularly true of the dialogue, which is wonderfully sparse at times.
A large amount of the book describes episodes of violence. It’s the kind of violence I like to read and feels like it’s written by someone who knows about it from first-hand experience. The sense of pain and brutality is very real, yet it is also plain in its construction. Among the things that makes the action such a pleasure to read is the sense of siding with one brawler or another when it takes place; the author has created the characters that are rotten to different degrees of putrefaction, but they all share human traits and some feel more human than others. Throw in a broad range of motivations and the mix is nigh on perfect.
As well as the hard core elements of the narrative, there are also moments of great subtlety. Lines and situations can be packed with a sense of beauty, humour and poetry that act as a great contrast to the other textures, even when they relate to tragedy. There’s a real pathos here and these moments add a full range of shades to the blacks and whites of the book.
Donnybrook is a male dominated novel. It’s hard-hitting and punchy and is a really fast-action read. My adrenaline was up throughout and my admiration remains undiminished.
Frank Bill is one of those writers who should be read and I intend to follow him wherever his work takes him.
My excitement was based upon my love of Frank Bill’s collection ‘Crimes In Southern Indiana’ and other stories of his that are peppered around the internet and a range of highly-regarded anthologies.
I had a strong sense about the world I’d be entering – something strong and dark and gritty – but was unsure of the author’s ability to complete a novel with the immense talent he shows in his short work.
I needn’t have worried. Mr Bill has ticked all of my boxes and, in this story, created a few more that weren’t there before.
It opens with a storm of violence. There’s a robbery and a couple of murders and a sense of mayhem.
From there the various characters drift apart, but they’re all destined to come together at the Donnybrook, a ‘last man standing’ bare-knuckle fight that takes place over a couple of days in Orange County.
The various strands are all wonderfully handled.
There’s the cop hunting both robbers and killers alike; there are the makers and dealers of crystal meth; there’s a martial arts master; an entrant to the fighting contest whose focus is the huge cash prize; a man blessed with visions of the future; and a host of everyday characters who are all strongly written and play their parts with honesty.
The prose is extremely tight (he doesn’t waste words, he writes them) from start to finish and this adds to the powerful, earthy sense that the book portrays. This is particularly true of the dialogue, which is wonderfully sparse at times.
A large amount of the book describes episodes of violence. It’s the kind of violence I like to read and feels like it’s written by someone who knows about it from first-hand experience. The sense of pain and brutality is very real, yet it is also plain in its construction. Among the things that makes the action such a pleasure to read is the sense of siding with one brawler or another when it takes place; the author has created the characters that are rotten to different degrees of putrefaction, but they all share human traits and some feel more human than others. Throw in a broad range of motivations and the mix is nigh on perfect.
As well as the hard core elements of the narrative, there are also moments of great subtlety. Lines and situations can be packed with a sense of beauty, humour and poetry that act as a great contrast to the other textures, even when they relate to tragedy. There’s a real pathos here and these moments add a full range of shades to the blacks and whites of the book.
Donnybrook is a male dominated novel. It’s hard-hitting and punchy and is a really fast-action read. My adrenaline was up throughout and my admiration remains undiminished.
Frank Bill is one of those writers who should be read and I intend to follow him wherever his work takes him.
March 24, 2013
This one'll leave you gasping for air, shredded, and possibly bowels-evacuated. Visceral is an understatement. I read it in two days, so it's a page-turner, crosscutting scenes between all the principals to keep the pace thrumming and tense. It's got a high body count, and no one emerges unscathed. Maimed, most likely. My only criticism is that some of the descriptions (tight and effective as they are) get a bit repetitive sometimes. Many of the characters—and there are a lot—at first seem so similar (shifty meth cooks living in squalor) I had trouble tracking them, but their traits become distinct as we spend more time in their depraved company. Disturbing, exhilarating stuff here.
As I mentioned in a previous review, my own early years were spent in southern Indiana on the Ohio River, so I recognize these people. Well, we didn't have meth in the '70s, but still: working class, hard-drinking, ill-tempered. If you've never read southern gothic or hick-lit, the closest popular comparison would be TV's Justified, but with the violence ratcheted up and the sexuality filthier.
As I mentioned in a previous review, my own early years were spent in southern Indiana on the Ohio River, so I recognize these people. Well, we didn't have meth in the '70s, but still: working class, hard-drinking, ill-tempered. If you've never read southern gothic or hick-lit, the closest popular comparison would be TV's Justified, but with the violence ratcheted up and the sexuality filthier.
May 17, 2013
I noticed the blurbs on the back of this book by Daniel Woodrell and Bonnie Jo Campbell and thought "perfect". I am drawn to novels that explore rural poverty and violence. But unlike Woodrell or Campbell, this one felt exploitative and lacked depth. There was nowhere near enough development of the three characters that had any potential redeeming qualities (Jarhead, Whalen, and Purcell). There were many opportunities to delve deeper into the story that just didn't happen, and that is a shame because it was right under the surface. Plus, the whole primary focus of the book seemed to be on just the play-by-play of its extremely brutal fight scenes (that went beyond believable really) to the point that it was hard to find a reason to keep reading. It felt like a violent fantasy, like some kind of catharsis for the author with no dividends for the reader unless they want to spend several hours reading what is essentially a story of utter depravity. Which I did. I didn't want to at times, but I still did read it through because I wanted to find out what happened at Donnybrook.
July 20, 2014
My mind will be filled with images of human flesh pounded to hamburger until I am well into my next book. The equivalent of cockfighting or pit bull fighting except with men. Lots more exposure to the Meth world. Can't say I gained anything. NEXT!
April 21, 2013
Easily one of the worst pieces of crap ever published.
April 20, 2017
Ultra violent story of events leading up to a backwoods gladiator style bare knuckles fight tournament in Southern Indiana with a $100,000 prize for the last man standing. Without guns, meth and pickup trucks, this story could have taken place a thousand years ago. Tough men beating other tough men silly for money, sport or whatever. Good guys and unforgettably drawn bad guys and girls vie for survival in an insane world of violence, drugs and death. These characters are so outrageously original they literally jump off the pages fists first. Reading this book is like watching a slow moving train wreck which sounds unappealing but in the context of country noir crime fiction, it's absolutely mesmerizing and I admit to never reading anything quite like it. I'm thinking Quentin Tarantino getting busy writing the screenplay but caution: once started, you'll have a difficult time putting down this strikingly fast moving debut novel. Highly recommended.
May 10, 2018
I liked this book. It is super gritty. The first 75 pages were great. The last third was a bit forced, but still enjoyable.
March 31, 2013
Despite the fact that I have now read two books about Southern Indiana (both by Frank Bill), I am still 99% sure I could not find Indiana on a map.
Once again we are given a violent and bloody book about the fine folks of Indiana from Frank Bill, this time a novel.
The rednecks are still at it (incest and meth) and now they are preparing for an event called a Donnybrook, which I can only describe as a one-event redneck Olympics. It is like a bare knuckle fighting tournament, but the audience is just as important as a social event. Drug peddlers sell their goods and it becomes a who’s who of the southern Indiana area in terms of skilled fighters (or at least the ones that fight the dirtiest) because the prize is a lot of money. Of course, crank and violence and money bring out the worst in people, and considering rednecks are already the dregs of society, thing do not go well.
There are many characters in this book. They are all pretty much the same, and at first I had trouble distinguishing who was who. I was like “So this guy is ‘parting’ this one’s skull with a .45 but who are they?” Later on I figured it out. Kinda.
One fighter is named Jarhead and he has kids so obviously he is vicious like a Papa Bear. Described as “the toughest fighter in Kentucky” he comes to Indiana to secure money for his kids.
Chainsaw Angus: another violent bare-knuckle fighter who sells meth with his sister Liz. I didn’t really like her either; she was whiny and kind of a bitch.
Fu: I feel it is kind of fair to say his character was a bit stereotypical and his portrayal is slightly racist. He is really good at fighting; works for a guy named Mr. Zhong (which basically means Mr. China in Chinese) and runs drugs and is part of a triad (?)
Some snippets from the book I feel are worth mentioning:
Brain matter and skull flung about the rear of his head like pasta garnished with chunks of tomato. (pg 40) I won’t lie, when I read this, I thought of manicotti. Why? Because of all the ricotta mixed with the sauce, creating a chunky pink mess. My brain goes weird places. I blame the fact that I am almost completely desensitized to violence.
In the passing hours of daylight and dark, Liz and Ned lay unbathed. Three days of chemical sweat. Cotton-mouth kisses and sandpaper tongues taking turns within each other’s nether regions. Breaking for bumps of the manmade powder, chased with swigs of bourbon, bottles of Bud, and cans of Natural Light. (pg 75) How dirty does this make you feel? I felt like I needed a shower after reading it.
One thing I have to say is that I felt this book had substance, but lacked plot. It felt like fight scene after fight scene, which can sometimes be hard to translate onto paper. But Bill’s fight scenes are graphic and gruesome enough that you get the point. Take this how you will, but it is especially evident in this novel that the author uses a violent writing style instead of great writing to make a name for himself. Nothing wrong with that, because he does have great writing. I just thought Crimes in Southern Indiana was better. His collection of short stories was excellent, but he struggled to stay on point with this novel. Probably because it was longer and I think he could have used some more outlining.
The shootout scenes with the police reminded me of those from the movie Red State. I don’t know if this is how real Indianans react to the cops, but they really don’t like or respect the police.
Whalen demanded, “Show your hands!”
…The woman hollered, “He don’t have to do shit! Can’t you see we’s cooking [meth]?” (pgs 99-100)
The same type of attitude toward the police occurred in Crimes in Southern Indiana. I don’t know; I’m not really sure how I feel about this. It isn’t blunt anarchy/police equivalent, but I think they just don’t acknowledge authority.
Honestly, I was let down by this book. I think I said something in my review of Crimes in Southern Indiana about how I would love to see any of the short stories turned into a novel, but now that I saw the end result (at least, I think there was a story upon which this was based) I’m not so sure. Maybe it would have been better if he had chosen a different story. My favorite was “Old Testament Wisdom” but I can’t remember my other favorites. I will continue reading his books but this wasn’t a great follow up to his debut, which was one of my favorite short story collections and one of my favorite books of this year. I didn’t even set really high standards for this one; I just wanted to read his next book.
Once again we are given a violent and bloody book about the fine folks of Indiana from Frank Bill, this time a novel.
The rednecks are still at it (incest and meth) and now they are preparing for an event called a Donnybrook, which I can only describe as a one-event redneck Olympics. It is like a bare knuckle fighting tournament, but the audience is just as important as a social event. Drug peddlers sell their goods and it becomes a who’s who of the southern Indiana area in terms of skilled fighters (or at least the ones that fight the dirtiest) because the prize is a lot of money. Of course, crank and violence and money bring out the worst in people, and considering rednecks are already the dregs of society, thing do not go well.
There are many characters in this book. They are all pretty much the same, and at first I had trouble distinguishing who was who. I was like “So this guy is ‘parting’ this one’s skull with a .45 but who are they?” Later on I figured it out. Kinda.
One fighter is named Jarhead and he has kids so obviously he is vicious like a Papa Bear. Described as “the toughest fighter in Kentucky” he comes to Indiana to secure money for his kids.
Chainsaw Angus: another violent bare-knuckle fighter who sells meth with his sister Liz. I didn’t really like her either; she was whiny and kind of a bitch.
Fu: I feel it is kind of fair to say his character was a bit stereotypical and his portrayal is slightly racist. He is really good at fighting; works for a guy named Mr. Zhong (which basically means Mr. China in Chinese) and runs drugs and is part of a triad (?)
Some snippets from the book I feel are worth mentioning:
Brain matter and skull flung about the rear of his head like pasta garnished with chunks of tomato. (pg 40) I won’t lie, when I read this, I thought of manicotti. Why? Because of all the ricotta mixed with the sauce, creating a chunky pink mess. My brain goes weird places. I blame the fact that I am almost completely desensitized to violence.
In the passing hours of daylight and dark, Liz and Ned lay unbathed. Three days of chemical sweat. Cotton-mouth kisses and sandpaper tongues taking turns within each other’s nether regions. Breaking for bumps of the manmade powder, chased with swigs of bourbon, bottles of Bud, and cans of Natural Light. (pg 75) How dirty does this make you feel? I felt like I needed a shower after reading it.
One thing I have to say is that I felt this book had substance, but lacked plot. It felt like fight scene after fight scene, which can sometimes be hard to translate onto paper. But Bill’s fight scenes are graphic and gruesome enough that you get the point. Take this how you will, but it is especially evident in this novel that the author uses a violent writing style instead of great writing to make a name for himself. Nothing wrong with that, because he does have great writing. I just thought Crimes in Southern Indiana was better. His collection of short stories was excellent, but he struggled to stay on point with this novel. Probably because it was longer and I think he could have used some more outlining.
The shootout scenes with the police reminded me of those from the movie Red State. I don’t know if this is how real Indianans react to the cops, but they really don’t like or respect the police.
Whalen demanded, “Show your hands!”
…The woman hollered, “He don’t have to do shit! Can’t you see we’s cooking [meth]?” (pgs 99-100)
The same type of attitude toward the police occurred in Crimes in Southern Indiana. I don’t know; I’m not really sure how I feel about this. It isn’t blunt anarchy/police equivalent, but I think they just don’t acknowledge authority.
Honestly, I was let down by this book. I think I said something in my review of Crimes in Southern Indiana about how I would love to see any of the short stories turned into a novel, but now that I saw the end result (at least, I think there was a story upon which this was based) I’m not so sure. Maybe it would have been better if he had chosen a different story. My favorite was “Old Testament Wisdom” but I can’t remember my other favorites. I will continue reading his books but this wasn’t a great follow up to his debut, which was one of my favorite short story collections and one of my favorite books of this year. I didn’t even set really high standards for this one; I just wanted to read his next book.
January 15, 2015
13/1 - This is some seriously sick writing! I don't know why the police even bother trying to catch the criminals, just let them kill each other (and themselves) and don't get in their way. Frank Bill has one of the most twisted imaginations (well, I hope it's his imagination) that I've ever read. He's possibly only bested by Edward Lorn, due to the horror factor that's an added bonus in Lorn's books. Bill's writing doesn't really have horror, as it feels too close to the truth of life in Southern Indiana (or anywhere else where corrugated iron shacks and rundown caravans are the best you can expect when it comes to accommodation). This is my second Bill book and now thanks to his horrifying imagery I now get the same feeling regarding visiting Southern Indiana as I do when contemplating the likelihood of my entering a dank and dark basement whose lights don't work - it is NOT happening. To be continued...
14/1 - There's just dead people (and their blood, brains, and guts) and meth everywhere. We're following a number of different characters on their individual journeys to Donnybrook (some kind of giant, famous, bare-knuckle fight with a $100,000 prize). Everywhere the characters turn there's dead people, or people that need to be made dead, getting in their way. Meth and death, makes for an interesting combination. There's only one possibly sympathetic character - Jarhead, a husband and father who committed armed robbery in order to acquire the money necessary for the buy-in at Donnybrook. He's the only one who hasn't killed anyone or cooked some meth, quite an achievement for this area of Southern Indiana. To be continued...
15/1 - God, what a mess! Not the writing, that was perfect for the type of book it was - broken, jumpy sentences with some of the best 'fight' writing I've ever read. The mess was the climactic Donnybrook scenes at the end - hundreds of drunk and drugged spectators turning into hundreds of drunk and drugged attackers. Everyone attacking everyone else, using anything that came to hand as a weapon, even (I can imagine, it wasn't actually said) other attacker's body parts when necessary. The end of the book talks about something bad coming, and it feels like there's going to be a sequel or some kind of follow up book. 3.5 stars, but I'm feeling generous.
PopSugar 2015 Reading Challenge: A Book with a One-Word Title
14/1 - There's just dead people (and their blood, brains, and guts) and meth everywhere. We're following a number of different characters on their individual journeys to Donnybrook (some kind of giant, famous, bare-knuckle fight with a $100,000 prize). Everywhere the characters turn there's dead people, or people that need to be made dead, getting in their way. Meth and death, makes for an interesting combination. There's only one possibly sympathetic character - Jarhead, a husband and father who committed armed robbery in order to acquire the money necessary for the buy-in at Donnybrook. He's the only one who hasn't killed anyone or cooked some meth, quite an achievement for this area of Southern Indiana. To be continued...
15/1 - God, what a mess! Not the writing, that was perfect for the type of book it was - broken, jumpy sentences with some of the best 'fight' writing I've ever read. The mess was the climactic Donnybrook scenes at the end - hundreds of drunk and drugged spectators turning into hundreds of drunk and drugged attackers. Everyone attacking everyone else, using anything that came to hand as a weapon, even (I can imagine, it wasn't actually said) other attacker's body parts when necessary. The end of the book talks about something bad coming, and it feels like there's going to be a sequel or some kind of follow up book. 3.5 stars, but I'm feeling generous.
PopSugar 2015 Reading Challenge: A Book with a One-Word Title
June 18, 2015
We were first introduced to the idea of a Donnybrook in Frank Bill’s debut short story collection Crimes in Southern Indiana: Stories. In “Cold, Hard Truth” unemployed and desperate Bellmont McGill kills his father-in-law so he can inherit his plot of land in Orange County, Indiana and hold a 3-day bare-knuckles tournament to rack in serious cash. Donnybrook picks up some time later and details how this redneck festival became legend and sometimes the only glimmer of hope as the winner takes home a cool hundred grand in prize money.
I’ve had this book on my To-Be-Read pile for some time but was reluctant to start it as I am not too enthusiastic on reading about fighting. It makes my eyes glaze over. But I was wrong. The majority of this book details the wrongdoings of a wide cast of characters as they eventually make their way to the Donnybrook. If you liked his first book I am sure this one will not disappoint.
Frank Bill, along with other authors such as Daniel Woodrell and Donald Ray Pollock, are part of an emerging literary crime sub-genre that deals specifically with those individuals left behind in the economically depressed heartland of America. With the departure of manufacturing jobs and other legal sources of income individuals will do just about anything to survive. To read more see - http://litreactor.com/columns/its-mor.... Some people call it Hick Lit or Rural Noir. An official title has not been established yet but one thing I do know is that it is brutal high octane reading.
I would not be surprised if there will eventually be a sequel to Donnybrook. Frank Bill seems to like to include common characters and locations throughout his works. He ended this one pretty wide open to future misadventures for his characters.
I’ve had this book on my To-Be-Read pile for some time but was reluctant to start it as I am not too enthusiastic on reading about fighting. It makes my eyes glaze over. But I was wrong. The majority of this book details the wrongdoings of a wide cast of characters as they eventually make their way to the Donnybrook. If you liked his first book I am sure this one will not disappoint.
Frank Bill, along with other authors such as Daniel Woodrell and Donald Ray Pollock, are part of an emerging literary crime sub-genre that deals specifically with those individuals left behind in the economically depressed heartland of America. With the departure of manufacturing jobs and other legal sources of income individuals will do just about anything to survive. To read more see - http://litreactor.com/columns/its-mor.... Some people call it Hick Lit or Rural Noir. An official title has not been established yet but one thing I do know is that it is brutal high octane reading.
I would not be surprised if there will eventually be a sequel to Donnybrook. Frank Bill seems to like to include common characters and locations throughout his works. He ended this one pretty wide open to future misadventures for his characters.
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