Sauvage Sitdown - A Diary in Dordic
Being a review of SHAGDUK by JB JACKSON
The camera shakes. A body floats by in zero-g, trailing globules of shimmering red.
“Guns, give them all you got. CAG, get your birds off my bitch before they go with us. Sparks, signal the fleet. Code Judas. Say-again, Judas-Judas-Judas. Jump route Charlie is compromised. And put on something funky while we die.”
”Aye-aye Captain, signals away. They’re trying to jam, but they ain’t got nothin’ the bitch’s hyper-pulse generators. Droppin’ the funk now sir.”
“Fuck it. I ain’t dyin’ listening to this! Roll ship, all stations, weapons are free, fire as she bears!”
Retro- semi-rural urban fantasy
The year is 1977. Professor Sherwood has gone missing. Between working at the library and playing gigs in Fort Worth holes-in-the-wall after hours, Steven and his pal Randy set out to discover why, unwittingly summoning a demon and setting into motion a chain of astonishing events that could put the entire world at risk of total destruction.
This is the debut of a deftly comedic voice capable of circling back to dread in a moment, one strong enough to carry the crackle of North Texas before the oil bust, the solitude of youth spent under the wide prairie skies, resolving in a crescendo of album-oriented rock radio and dire conflict between the hard-bitten optimism of the natives of this strange land and something far more alien and sinister.
Thus reads the add copy for this unconventional story, told in the form of diary entries. JD, I hear you saying, that sounds strange and bewildering. It is. But worth it. The author of Shagduk, JB Jackson, not only sells the conceits of his work, but does so with aplomb. He makes it look easy.
Obligatory Bias Notice: I am friends with the Pilum Crew, and working on stories for publication with them.
But are we entertained? TLDR, yes. Yes dear readers, yes we are.
Entertained and enthralled. There’s just something about this story. For starters is written at an extremely high level. Seriously. I’m jealous over here. Green with envy. In a just world, this would be a hit break-out sensation and JB would doing to the talk-show circuit. But we don’t live there. No, our world is more like unto the Lovecraftian (and I use that word in the proper literary sense, not in the pop cultural one) horror-show seen on these pages. Nothing is as it should be. The fish people are among us.
Steven has been gifted a journal by his friend, Professor Sherwood. Steven, a librarian at a “mickey mouse” liberal arts college in Fort Worth (based on Texas Baptist?) wonders what he could possibly have to write about. Little does he know. Thus begins a series of unfortunate events that culminates in Steven joining a prog rock band. Gaining a girlfriend. Investigating a disappearance. Learning barbarous antediluvian words of power. Accidentally summoning a malevolent entity. Attending a library arts trade show. Making frenemies with an actual witch. Getting roofied by Ursula from Ulm. You know, as you do.
This is a book for savoring. With Four Roses on the rocks, an over-stuffed reading chair, a cat in your lap, and Keygen Church. You will be treated to picaresque (and I use that word in the technical, literary sense of slice of low-life) adventures in a highly and lovingly realized late 70s Fort Worth. Speaking as a local, this was obviously written by one. I can’t speak to the 70s flavors, as my earliest memories are all 80s, but nothing feels off temporally. Steven, our narrator and viewpoint upon the world, is not particularly sympathetic. He’s an avatar of half-educated, pre-interwebs, parochial midwittery. He deserves most of what occurs to him. But you will be under his spell nonetheless. And even root for him.
Of course he uses charm person for that.
You will read this book and be enthralled. It is difficult to describe as the plot, such as it is, comes together in an indirect manner. Through quotidian diary entries, seemingly unrelated events flow together and make a shape both strange and ominous. Weird fates are intertwined. The stars come right. The hair on your neck stands up. Cats howl. Doom unfolds. Dawn is best girl. I need to read it again. Don’t play with Ouija kids. Shagduk will be mine.
The Sweat Lodge was near campus. Guarding the front door, a cigar store Indian covered with graffiti and decals.
“If the crying Indian could only see this,” I remarked.
“Chief Iron Eyes from the TV commercial?” said Dave II. “He’s played by an Italian.”
“That can’t be true!” said Bonnie.
“The world and it’s guises,” I said, throwing up my hands.
~ Shagduk, pg. 104, JB Jackson
READ.
SHAGDUK.
NOW.
That’s all I got fam, see you next time.
“We’re still alive. Crazy.”
“Yes, we are sparks. Signal the fleet, we need recovery. And pipe in something for damage control teams listen to while they cut us out.”
A convincing review. I might even read it myself. Thanks, man!