Bolt Risk

Most of us agree that Mozart possessed genius. As to whether or not Ann Wood does or not, the jury is still out. But tucked inside her slender little novel Bolt Risk is a vision of hell, limned cleverly and rendered in garish, unashamed bold strokes. Like Van Gogh, Wood's narrator may be insane, or just culturally misunderstood. In any event, they both perform insane acts: Vincent lopping off an ear, Wood's heroine engages in auto-lobotomy by self-abasement. This is chemical self-abjurement at it's most entertaining. We follow her queasy path to enlightenment though many of us would rather she go it alone. Someone cited Janet Fitch as a writer similar to Wood in another review; this reader doesn't see it. Rather, think of the Denis Johnson stories collected in "Jesus Son," or the breezily uapologetic tone of Bruce Jay Friedman and Terry Southern. Not that her prose sounds like any of these, particularly. Wood is an America original.

The title of this honestly told tale refers to the designation given to the protagonist when confined to a psychiatric facility after a breakdown, hardly surprising after her experiences with the seamy side of the sex, drug and rock & roll scene in LA where she and countless otherwise bright and hopeful young women attempt to "make it" in Hollywood. Because the story is based on many of the author's own experiences there, her voice has an authentic ring which draws the reader in. The writing is wonderful and no words are wasted. If you liked Janet Fitch's "Paint it Black", you'll love "Bolt Risk". I couldn't put it down!