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The worse thing about living in a town the size of Lake Castor - mill or no mill - was ever trying to become something. Town that size has its fair share of mayors and preachers and what-have-yous's, but if a fell ain't content with working at a tire shop or bagging groceries or sweeping the street, then forever he'll nurse an itch that cannot be scratched. He'll burrow a hole six feet deep from chasing his tail, running in circles all his life, and nothing, absolutely nothing will ever ever do for him and never, ever will he matter a whip.
The biggest secret about becoming an adult is that your soul might die in the process. Whoever you've grown up to become is then replaced by an asshole who looks and sounds suspiciously like your parents, if their souls croaked before conceiving you (DNA doesn't lie, after all). Mediocrity and the multiple worst case scenario it can develop into is a subject seldom discussed in fiction, because people tend to read viscerally and take satire the wrong way. There are although, noble soldiers of the cold, hard truth like Eryk Pruitt, who love to torment the well-thinking and look at the sprawling abyss behind their gaze through the deforming prism of storytelling. DIRTBAGS is a novel about a ragtag group of assholes that feels oddly universal and that hurts as much as it entertains.
Tom London's a seemingly respectable restaurant owner in the small town of Lake Castor. He wants his wife killed in order to assure full custody of their son Jason. Tom decides to hire his manager's husband Calvin Cantrell in order to get the job done. He is a sinister man who knows an alarming about of stuff about serial killers. So the wild and oddly emotional Calvin leaves on a journey to Dallas with a neighbor named Philip Krandall and set in motion a series of events that'll change everyone's live across America, all the way back to Lake Castor. Calvin Cantrell had ONE JOB, but he had a complex and devouring desire to be remembered. What would be more normal, right? It's all fun and games until you hire a psychopath to do your dirty laundry.
The main strength of DIRTBAGS is its violent brand of satire. I believe that it's not meant for everybody, that'll it profoundly anger some and that for this very reason, DIRTBAGS will always remain a cult novel. The characters are dirtbags, but their behaviour is what I would refer to as mediocre. A lot of people will recognize themselves in them. For example, Tom London always justifies everything through parenthood. Whenever his plans encounter a ltitle resistance, he takes the high and mighty road and claims: ''I'm doing is for Jason. I just want a future for my son.'' The first time, I just shoot my head is disbelief. The tenth time, I laughed it out loud. It oddly reminded me of this. Not everybody will, though. Not only murderous psychopaths are using their kids to justify their action.
''I'm always amazed at the number of people who still like a good steak. Nobody would turn down a good steak, I don't guess.''
''Ted Bundy did,'' Calvin said.
''What?''
''Ted Bundy did.''
London brough the glass to his lips but did not drink. He looked at Calvin to see if he may have missed something. ''That's what I thought you said.''
I like to think of DIRTBAGS as if legendary hardboiled author Jim Thompson had decided to write a comedy that aimed to make fun at the strong pull of mediocrity on adult human beings. His style is telegraphic, unadorned and yet efficient. His humour has the same kind of corrosive quality to it than the VISITOR Q-era Takashi Miike or to Todd Solondz's HAPPINESS. Eryk Pruitt has the same straightforward presentation as these two, yet uses the novel to its fullest extent and textures his discourse a lot more than these two iconic movies to and lulls his reader into a false sense of comfort with easier jokes before nailing him with his powerful satire. I'd say DIRTBAGS has become by default example of a novel using humor in an efficient, non-static purpose. I thought the passages featuring Calvin and London'ex wife were the most delightfully brutal in that regards.
DIRTBAGS is a sneaky-good novel. It's highly corrosive and daredevil satire is going to anger more than a few people, but isn't what art exist for, provoking powerful emotions? Eryk Pruitt has a no-nonesense approach about it that would make Elmore Leonard and Donald Westlake proud, although he's not copying their style. The novel sags a little bit in its last third because it's wrapping the loose ends instead of going for maximum effect, but it doesn't affect the overall quality that much. However upstanding and respectable you might think you've become, you're never safe from people like Eryk Pruitt and I take comfort in that. The satirists who laugh at others are important, but the satirists who laugh at the way we've been leading our lives are the most precious. DIRTBAGS is more than a straightforward tale from the gutter. It's a piercing look into the shortcomings of moral America.
