Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

You're already reading Gischler, right? From his short stories and poetry, on to Gun Monkeys, The Pistol Poets, Suicide Squeeze, and Shotgun Opera, Mr. Gischler has proven himself to be one hell of a hardboiled crime novelist. And then he veered off that stretch of highway and wrote Go-Go Girls Of The Apocalypse. Call it science fiction, call it satire... Whatever. This novel is so much fun, folks. When I was in junior high, I loved the movie The Road Warrior. I wanted to live the movie The Road Warrior. Bring on the Apocalypse, I thought. As I got older, that kind of thing lost some of its appeal. But not completely. I continued to enjoy various end of the world books and movies. Nothing got me really amped up or anything, but I enjoyed myself. So, along comes Gischler's latest. He had more than proven himself as a writer worth reading, so I was up for a change of pace. And this book turned out to be a sweet ride. You've get a survivalist kinda guy, a post-apocalypse America in disarray, and some good old fashioned blood and guts, too. Plus, the thing that really makes it work, Victor Gischler's sense of humor. The man is funny, ladies and gentlemen. Laugh out loud funny. And "No way!!!" funny. This is prime stuff. All of a sudden, I find myself longing for the end of the world again, but now I want to be Mortimer Tate, not Mad Max. And this time I'm old enough to put away a stash of booze and firearms.

Where to begin on a novel whose title is the barest hint of the wonderful weirdness packed inside? Gischler, best known for his excellent crime capers, here breaks new ground. And I do mean new. Mortimer Tate has spent the end of the world hiding in a mountain cabin. He hasn't seen anyone for nine years. The first three people he does see, he kills. But really, it wasn't his fault. Thus begins an adrenaline-soaked, wryly satiric journey through the ashes of America, a world peopled by savages and cannibals and struggling barmen, by rebel armies and mad transvestites, and by the enigmatic Joey Armageddon, whose Sassy A-Go-Go Clubs are the beacon of something a little like civilization. The prose is lean and compelling, and behind all the violence and jokes there's a Vonnegut-esque blend of both love-for and desperation-at all the madness of the world -- Mortimer's and ours.

It probably looks something like this. So I'm adding Victor Gischler, a writer as whacked as he is genius, to my short list of candidates of guys you'd most like to have a beer with. Few minds - maybe Charlie Huston's casting of a "vampyre" as a hard boiled enforcer/PI, or the inimitable Duane Swierczynski in off-the-wall bizarros like "Secret Dead Men" or "Severance Package" - could conjure a string of Go Go clubs as the cradle of reborn civilization in post-apocalyptic America, and actually make it work. Well, Gischler's warped brilliance makes it so, and if you don't pick this one up, you'll be missing a slice of new American literature that buries morality and a keen insight of humanity's apex and dregs between the pages of violence, deprivity, and yes, absurdity. So how to explain "Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse"? Not easy, but as the title implies, the world has been trashed - the mechanism is not important - but suffice to say it's Murphy's Law applied to catastrophe of Brobdingnagian scale. Mortimer Tate, who fled to the Tennessee hills to avoid divorce and, conveniently missing the chaos, comes down from the mountain nine years later to find a world worse than northeastern New Jersey. This is David Brin's "The Postman" with a sardonic edge, or perhaps a more playful version - if "playful" even applies in a world devastated by war, famine, disease - of Cormac McCarthy's magnificently morose "The Road", or a less weighty take on Stephen King's classic, "The Stand." But to try and compare Gischler's black humor to the patriotism, utter despair, and moral redemption found, respectively, in these great works misses the author's tongue-in-cheek insight of our more base human instincts: "Yeah, I realize the world's gone way beyond Hell and we're fresh out of hand baskets - but where can a guy get a drink - and maybe a woman?" Sure, it's sexist, but it's more - a lot more - more red meat than alfalfa sprouts, and yes, it will likely offend the more gentle and politically correct crowds of Berkeley or Madison. But hey, we're not talking "The Audacity of Hope" here - this is a different brand of fiction - and it will likely not be confused with chick-lit, either. "Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse" may be paradise lost or it may be paradise found, but while Gischler may not be Milton, he sure knows how to spin a yarn that will keep the water cooler crowd in fresh content till his next installment of inspired mayhem hits the shelves. Well done, Mr. G, and nice rebound from "Shotgun Opera".

The story relates the exploits of Mortimer Tate, an insurance salesman who is coming down the mountain after nine years of isolation to see what is left of the world he left behind. In this take on what America would look like after a world wide collapse, the key civilizing force is a chain of strip clubs called Joey Armageddon's Sassy A Go-Go. It's a great read. This may be a departure from Gischler's usual hard boiled crime stories, but he's far from out of his element. With a plot as active as the lead character, I had to make an effort to stop reading so I could do less significant things like sleep and work. Gischler's treatment of Mortimer makes him very relateable even in the bizarre setting of the post-apocalyptic US. This take on post-apocalyptic society is laced through with multiple layers of wit, satire and Gischler's brand of black humor. If violence and a bit of sexuality don't make your spine go all squidgey, pick this one up for a thoroughly entertaining read.