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High Life
Fiction. Jack had gone to Hollywood with one ambition: to become famous, a star, exactly how he didn't care. He just wanted to be like the people whose lives he followed in gossip magazines...Instead he found a world more seedy than anything he could have imagined, a world of whores and deceit, snuff shows, incest, drugs-and despair. After his wife, Karen, a hooker, is murdered and disemboweled, he meets Bella, a beautiful woman of immense wealth. In her he sees a chance to make his dreams come true. As it turn out, though, his nightmare is only beginning. ..".An elaborately drawn, surgically accurate Hollywood dystopia..."-Ellen Miller. "Stokoe proves himself a worthy heir to the great tradition of California noir"-Henry Flesh.
331 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 128 reviews
July 21, 2012
Utterly revolting. Almost unspeakably vile. I feel worse every time a pick it up. A great book...
October 10, 2023
WOWWWWW!!!!
This book was my first by Matthew Stokoe, and he may just be my new favourite author.
This book was everything I could have asked for in a crime thriller, and it was delivered…and then some!!
It was gritty, seedy, full of sex, drugs and alcohol…thrown together with selfish, detestable, characters, who either have money and fame, and all of life’s riches, and those who would do absolutely anything and everything to get it.
Jack was of the latter. A vile, conceited, self obsessed guy, living in L.A, who wants nothing else but to live the “high life”. He doesn’t care however or whichever way it comes, as he is prepared to do what it takes to be famous, and have his face splashed everywhere.
This book shows the seedier, nefarious side of L.A, away from the glitz and glamour, and what Jack will do to get himself to idol status, and a life of luxury.
His wife Karen, is a sex worker, and goes missing, but turns up later, dead with her stomach sliced open and the insides removed. Jack wants to get to the bottom of her death, and ends up meeting despicable characters such as sex worker Rex, detective Ryan, who has more than a few skeletons in his closet, and the beautiful and very rich and famous Bella, who Jack see’s as a meal ticket.
This book contains, graphic sex, violent sex, hard drugs, snuff movies, necrophilia, murder, etc, etc, etc…and I freaking well loved it…to the point where I didn’t want it to end…and what an ending it was!!
This book has every trigger so is not going to be for everyone, but it’s an excellent, twisty story, and I absolutely love Matthew’s writing style. This just has to be one, if not the best, book I’ve read this year.
Highly recommended!!
5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ but it deserves so many more!!
This was a group read within the ‘Extreme Gore Whores’…and was a pleasure to read with…
MadameD
Ian
Anna
Jeffrey
This book was my first by Matthew Stokoe, and he may just be my new favourite author.
This book was everything I could have asked for in a crime thriller, and it was delivered…and then some!!
It was gritty, seedy, full of sex, drugs and alcohol…thrown together with selfish, detestable, characters, who either have money and fame, and all of life’s riches, and those who would do absolutely anything and everything to get it.
Jack was of the latter. A vile, conceited, self obsessed guy, living in L.A, who wants nothing else but to live the “high life”. He doesn’t care however or whichever way it comes, as he is prepared to do what it takes to be famous, and have his face splashed everywhere.
This book shows the seedier, nefarious side of L.A, away from the glitz and glamour, and what Jack will do to get himself to idol status, and a life of luxury.
His wife Karen, is a sex worker, and goes missing, but turns up later, dead with her stomach sliced open and the insides removed. Jack wants to get to the bottom of her death, and ends up meeting despicable characters such as sex worker Rex, detective Ryan, who has more than a few skeletons in his closet, and the beautiful and very rich and famous Bella, who Jack see’s as a meal ticket.
This book contains, graphic sex, violent sex, hard drugs, snuff movies, necrophilia, murder, etc, etc, etc…and I freaking well loved it…to the point where I didn’t want it to end…and what an ending it was!!
This book has every trigger so is not going to be for everyone, but it’s an excellent, twisty story, and I absolutely love Matthew’s writing style. This just has to be one, if not the best, book I’ve read this year.
Highly recommended!!
5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ but it deserves so many more!!
This was a group read within the ‘Extreme Gore Whores’…and was a pleasure to read with…
MadameD
Ian
Anna
Jeffrey
October 26, 2023
There are underbellies and then there are UNDERBELLIES!
I know THAT now, thanks to Matthew Stokoe’s High Life. Or should I say, thank you very little?
Oof.
High Life offers a very gritty, dark, and unapologetically depraved look at two sides of a very seedy coin portrayed as life in Los Angeles. On one side, you have a bunch of people, prostitutes, drug addicts, wannabes, and dark, heartless souls doing whatever they like and whatever they can get away with. On the other other side, you have a bunch of people, prostitutes, drug addicts, wannabes, and dark, heartless souls doing whatever they like and whatever they can get away with.
Wait… aren’t these the same? Isn’t this “two-sided” coin with the same sides? Well, yes and no.
The difference? Money. Money and the power, access, privilege, and protection it grants you.
High Life takes you on a disgusting journey where Jack, the MC, navigates both sides fighting to get away from one and into the other and then fighting to stay in one and stay away from the other. It’s the same immoral, asshat personalities, just a different credit allowance.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you’re looking for or need clear-cut demarcations of right and wrong, good-guys vs. bad guys, good triumphing over evil… well, all I can say is that this book ain’t for you.
But that doesn’t mean the book wasn’t engaging. I’m here to tell you that it was. But what I’m ALSO telling you is that once you’re done with it if you don’t need a shower or a detox, or something, then you might need some sort of help.
Despite the absolute basest, most depraved, immoral crap going on in the story by all the characters, the story was immersive and captivating. High Life defies easy categorization as to what “type” of book or story it is. Part murder mystery, part thriller, part kinda-sorta horror, part splatterpunky hypersexed drug trip in written form, Jack Did he go to the cops? Hell, no. Did he care? Meh? Was he still obsessed with being famous and how all this might impact his dreams? Absolutely. Jack has a friend, Rex (another guy seeking fame and fortune in the TV/Movie/Entertainment industry) and a foil, Ryan (a cop). He starts obsessively trying to solve the mystery. But then he wants what he wants and allows himself to get side-tracked on his way to the supposedly greener pastures.
Things kick up a notch when Jack meets Bella. Things start to look up. But then kinda really don’t when all the same baser crap happens and he does… stuff.
The writing is excellent. Nauseatingly so on many, many occasions. There is a solid argument for some of the sexual stuff as being over-the top and pointless. But this is the world that Jack is in and it drives everything and everyone. The story-telling is also very excellent. It had a few twists in there that kept me entertained and guessing.
The story doesn’t explicitly tell you where Jack is originally from. All it says is that he traveled “west” and settled in LA to seek a glamourous, famous life on TV. That need, along with some very disturbing sexual stuff, drives almost everything. And it pervades his perception that is narrated to the reader. At first I thought all the name dropping and recitation of specific streets was over-done, pointless, and distracting. But as the reading group I read this one with wisely pointed out, if your whole world revolves around fame and wanting to be known and famous and attached to the right areas, of course that MC is going to view the world through variously famous names being dropped as current events and what street he was going to do whatever. It still got tiresome though, I must say. Oh, and where I was originally going with this is that although the book doesn’t say Jack is American, there were terms and vernacular that were distinctly British. (For example, never once have I called anything a “grassy verge.”) But that is a very soft criticism, especially considering I suppose Jack could have been an expat.
Every character’s degeneracy also struck me as a sort of one-note dimension common to every character. But also, again, I think that was the point. They all want and do the same things. Again, it’s just a matter of access, who one does things with, and where it is done. Is it on a disgusting Hollywood strip block or in a nice house in Malibu? However, it affected the pace for me. It sapped the energy out of me. Again, maybe that’s the point. Jack is a pathetic character, but SOOOO well drawn. I can imagine him as a real person and I can give no higher compliment to a writer creating fictional characters.
There were also times when I felt the primary characters, Jack and Ryan, in particular, were acting uncharacteristically stupid and made decisions they would not have made given their saavy and intelligence. The one with It kind of struck me as a deliberately bad choice to create a plot point. That, I found, candidly, a bit aggravating.
But despite some issues, I found High Life a very engaging read even though it had extraordinarily dark and icky content. It made me squirm and that is NOT an easy thing to do. So for that, I give High Life 4.5 stars rounded up.
I know THAT now, thanks to Matthew Stokoe’s High Life. Or should I say, thank you very little?
Oof.
High Life offers a very gritty, dark, and unapologetically depraved look at two sides of a very seedy coin portrayed as life in Los Angeles. On one side, you have a bunch of people, prostitutes, drug addicts, wannabes, and dark, heartless souls doing whatever they like and whatever they can get away with. On the other other side, you have a bunch of people, prostitutes, drug addicts, wannabes, and dark, heartless souls doing whatever they like and whatever they can get away with.
Wait… aren’t these the same? Isn’t this “two-sided” coin with the same sides? Well, yes and no.
The difference? Money. Money and the power, access, privilege, and protection it grants you.
High Life takes you on a disgusting journey where Jack, the MC, navigates both sides fighting to get away from one and into the other and then fighting to stay in one and stay away from the other. It’s the same immoral, asshat personalities, just a different credit allowance.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you’re looking for or need clear-cut demarcations of right and wrong, good-guys vs. bad guys, good triumphing over evil… well, all I can say is that this book ain’t for you.
But that doesn’t mean the book wasn’t engaging. I’m here to tell you that it was. But what I’m ALSO telling you is that once you’re done with it if you don’t need a shower or a detox, or something, then you might need some sort of help.
Despite the absolute basest, most depraved, immoral crap going on in the story by all the characters, the story was immersive and captivating. High Life defies easy categorization as to what “type” of book or story it is. Part murder mystery, part thriller, part kinda-sorta horror, part splatterpunky hypersexed drug trip in written form, Jack Did he go to the cops? Hell, no. Did he care? Meh? Was he still obsessed with being famous and how all this might impact his dreams? Absolutely. Jack has a friend, Rex (another guy seeking fame and fortune in the TV/Movie/Entertainment industry) and a foil, Ryan (a cop). He starts obsessively trying to solve the mystery. But then he wants what he wants and allows himself to get side-tracked on his way to the supposedly greener pastures.
Things kick up a notch when Jack meets Bella. Things start to look up. But then kinda really don’t when all the same baser crap happens and he does… stuff.
The writing is excellent. Nauseatingly so on many, many occasions. There is a solid argument for some of the sexual stuff as being over-the top and pointless. But this is the world that Jack is in and it drives everything and everyone. The story-telling is also very excellent. It had a few twists in there that kept me entertained and guessing.
The story doesn’t explicitly tell you where Jack is originally from. All it says is that he traveled “west” and settled in LA to seek a glamourous, famous life on TV. That need, along with some very disturbing sexual stuff, drives almost everything. And it pervades his perception that is narrated to the reader. At first I thought all the name dropping and recitation of specific streets was over-done, pointless, and distracting. But as the reading group I read this one with wisely pointed out, if your whole world revolves around fame and wanting to be known and famous and attached to the right areas, of course that MC is going to view the world through variously famous names being dropped as current events and what street he was going to do whatever. It still got tiresome though, I must say. Oh, and where I was originally going with this is that although the book doesn’t say Jack is American, there were terms and vernacular that were distinctly British. (For example, never once have I called anything a “grassy verge.”) But that is a very soft criticism, especially considering I suppose Jack could have been an expat.
Every character’s degeneracy also struck me as a sort of one-note dimension common to every character. But also, again, I think that was the point. They all want and do the same things. Again, it’s just a matter of access, who one does things with, and where it is done. Is it on a disgusting Hollywood strip block or in a nice house in Malibu? However, it affected the pace for me. It sapped the energy out of me. Again, maybe that’s the point. Jack is a pathetic character, but SOOOO well drawn. I can imagine him as a real person and I can give no higher compliment to a writer creating fictional characters.
There were also times when I felt the primary characters, Jack and Ryan, in particular, were acting uncharacteristically stupid and made decisions they would not have made given their saavy and intelligence. The one with It kind of struck me as a deliberately bad choice to create a plot point. That, I found, candidly, a bit aggravating.
But despite some issues, I found High Life a very engaging read even though it had extraordinarily dark and icky content. It made me squirm and that is NOT an easy thing to do. So for that, I give High Life 4.5 stars rounded up.
February 6, 2024
Low Life...
HIGH LIFE by Matthew Stokoe
No spoilers. 2 1/2 stars. MC Jack realized early in life that you have to start with the low life to appreciate living the high life...
Late one night...
Jack searched the Santa Monica streets and Hollywood Boulevard looking for his hooker wife Karen...
Returning home to Venice...
He passed EMT and police vehicles on a beach bluff, and he knew their victim had to be Karen...
And that she was probably dead...
Spying through bushes, he saw that it indeed was Karen, and she was cut open from sternum to pubic bone. Jack was unaffected...
They had been married a year...
Jack felt relief that trying to prove himself sexually was finally over, and he was free from the hideous compromise of hanging onto a soulless relationship...
Enter sleazy Policeman Ryan...
While Jack sat on the toilet, Ryan barged into his house and ordered Jack to wipe his a**!...
From that point on, Ryan, who was one of Karen's clients, assumed Jack murdered her and was out to prove it...
Which eventually led Jack to male prostitute sexy Rexy...
Who introduced the unemployed Jack to the male prostitution racket for money...
Which led Jack to the untouchable Bella...
... a Hollywood mogul who lavished Jack with money, expensive new clothes, a home, a car, and a high-paying job as a Hollywood gossip celebrity... Jack's dream life...
But...
Who killed Karen?... and why were her body parts harvested?...
Everyone lives their life at a certain level, but you have to be a low life to appreciate the so-called high life...
This L.A. noir whodunit murder mystery was slow-moving as it set the scene for the rest of the story. It really starts to be interesting at about 50%.
This story is dark and over the top with little relief from the constant murder, mayhem, and diviant sex.
I'm familiar with the references to the beach cities and the Coroner's Office (thanks to my ex-husband, a Los Angeles County Sheriffs Homicide and Vice Detective), and I've been to the morgue several times, and seen the refrigerated body storage areas as well as autopsys being performed, and I felt that the parts in the morgue were unrealistic and put into the story just for shock vaue, although they were among the tamest passages of the story.
This novel has a little of everything: necrophilia, incest, substance abuse, male and female prostitution, murder for entertainment (especially of the jackhammer variety), dirty cops and morgue attendants, and harvesting body parts, to name a few.
The reveal about why the body parts were harvested was extremely lame and unbelievable.
If you are looking at this book, consider yourself warned about its content. It also contains some animal cruelty.
HIGH LIFE by Matthew Stokoe
No spoilers. 2 1/2 stars. MC Jack realized early in life that you have to start with the low life to appreciate living the high life...
Late one night...
Jack searched the Santa Monica streets and Hollywood Boulevard looking for his hooker wife Karen...
Returning home to Venice...
He passed EMT and police vehicles on a beach bluff, and he knew their victim had to be Karen...
And that she was probably dead...
Spying through bushes, he saw that it indeed was Karen, and she was cut open from sternum to pubic bone. Jack was unaffected...
They had been married a year...
Jack felt relief that trying to prove himself sexually was finally over, and he was free from the hideous compromise of hanging onto a soulless relationship...
Enter sleazy Policeman Ryan...
While Jack sat on the toilet, Ryan barged into his house and ordered Jack to wipe his a**!...
From that point on, Ryan, who was one of Karen's clients, assumed Jack murdered her and was out to prove it...
Which eventually led Jack to male prostitute sexy Rexy...
Who introduced the unemployed Jack to the male prostitution racket for money...
Which led Jack to the untouchable Bella...
... a Hollywood mogul who lavished Jack with money, expensive new clothes, a home, a car, and a high-paying job as a Hollywood gossip celebrity... Jack's dream life...
But...
Who killed Karen?... and why were her body parts harvested?...
Everyone lives their life at a certain level, but you have to be a low life to appreciate the so-called high life...
This L.A. noir whodunit murder mystery was slow-moving as it set the scene for the rest of the story. It really starts to be interesting at about 50%.
This story is dark and over the top with little relief from the constant murder, mayhem, and diviant sex.
I'm familiar with the references to the beach cities and the Coroner's Office (thanks to my ex-husband, a Los Angeles County Sheriffs Homicide and Vice Detective), and I've been to the morgue several times, and seen the refrigerated body storage areas as well as autopsys being performed, and I felt that the parts in the morgue were unrealistic and put into the story just for shock vaue, although they were among the tamest passages of the story.
This novel has a little of everything: necrophilia, incest, substance abuse, male and female prostitution, murder for entertainment (especially of the jackhammer variety), dirty cops and morgue attendants, and harvesting body parts, to name a few.
The reveal about why the body parts were harvested was extremely lame and unbelievable.
If you are looking at this book, consider yourself warned about its content. It also contains some animal cruelty.
June 7, 2024
Melodrama where vicissitudes visit both sides of the sordid parties involved. The steam, sleaze and transgression fogging the LA skies are impenetrable. Not a character is likable, all bringing desire, greed and fantasy to the table in turns. Who is the most nefarious? I chose my major villain and my most embarrassingly pathetic character. There is no heart in this city, but there is plenty of sex in the violence. It is hard to turn away from the luridity.
October 9, 2023
Excellent!
High Life by Matthew Stokoe, is perfect, I loved it!
It is the kind of book you’d recommend in a discussion about original works in literature, or the kind of book that other authors would be inspired by.
In my opinion Matthew Stokoe is a very good writer. High Life is the second book by him, that I have read, and I enjoyed it very much too. Matthew Stokoe has a unique writing style, that I’m fond off.
In this book the main character is Jack, a self centered man, who is very determined to be like his idols in the entertainment industry. He wants to be famous. At first I thought he wasn’t ambitious enough for his dreams, and that he was doing everything wrong, and that he was too lazy to accomplish anything. But I was wrong.
The story takes place in Los Angeles, a city I never visited, but heard of in movies. But this aspect of the city that Matthew Stokoe introduced me to, was totally foreign to me. Los Angeles is described as the city where all the depraved acts one can think of, are possible if one has money.
Jack doesn’t have money, and his wife had been brutally murder, so his life is spiraling more and more into Los Angeles’ chaos. He is introduced to snuff shows, prostitution, many drugs, and more atrocities, by Rex and Ryan. Luckily for him, he meets Bella, a charismatic wealthy woman who could help him become famous. But would she?
In this story kindness doesn’t exist, nothing is free, there’s always a sick price to pay.
However Jack is ready to do anything to live the life he dreamed of. He doesn’t have limits, and he lacks empathy.
I won’t say more, because I’m afraid of saying too much. But, in conclusion I would say that all the characters are despicable and very well written. The writing style kept me captivated. I really wanted to know how the mystery around the crime would be resolved. I liked the story atmosphere, it reminded me of the noir crime movies.
I highly recommend High Life, if you don’t have triggers, because this book is vile beyond your imagination.
High Life by Matthew Stokoe, is perfect, I loved it!
It is the kind of book you’d recommend in a discussion about original works in literature, or the kind of book that other authors would be inspired by.
In my opinion Matthew Stokoe is a very good writer. High Life is the second book by him, that I have read, and I enjoyed it very much too. Matthew Stokoe has a unique writing style, that I’m fond off.
In this book the main character is Jack, a self centered man, who is very determined to be like his idols in the entertainment industry. He wants to be famous. At first I thought he wasn’t ambitious enough for his dreams, and that he was doing everything wrong, and that he was too lazy to accomplish anything. But I was wrong.
The story takes place in Los Angeles, a city I never visited, but heard of in movies. But this aspect of the city that Matthew Stokoe introduced me to, was totally foreign to me. Los Angeles is described as the city where all the depraved acts one can think of, are possible if one has money.
Jack doesn’t have money, and his wife had been brutally murder, so his life is spiraling more and more into Los Angeles’ chaos. He is introduced to snuff shows, prostitution, many drugs, and more atrocities, by Rex and Ryan. Luckily for him, he meets Bella, a charismatic wealthy woman who could help him become famous. But would she?
In this story kindness doesn’t exist, nothing is free, there’s always a sick price to pay.
However Jack is ready to do anything to live the life he dreamed of. He doesn’t have limits, and he lacks empathy.
I won’t say more, because I’m afraid of saying too much. But, in conclusion I would say that all the characters are despicable and very well written. The writing style kept me captivated. I really wanted to know how the mystery around the crime would be resolved. I liked the story atmosphere, it reminded me of the noir crime movies.
I highly recommend High Life, if you don’t have triggers, because this book is vile beyond your imagination.
October 19, 2023
Karen, a hooker who sold her kidneys is murdered. Jack her husband sees the dead body on the scene. Who did it? In the course of the novel you will find out. And more. Inside there are many disgusting details on sexual intercourse, a lot of drugs, drinking and fucking are involved. Well, the book was a bit too depressing for my taste. Too monotonous, tedious with all the repetitive action all over again. Maybe recommended for fans of the author or those who like strong language on heavy rotation. The cover was great though!
June 21, 2012
“Roll up, roll up, step right this way” – hey, it’s that guy again! He keeps turning up in my reviews – he’s played by Tom Waits in a bowler hat – (memo to finance department - please don't squander your entire budget hiring cool singer/songwriter/actors to do bit parts in these reviews, I hope they can stand up on their own without such indulgencies) - anyway, what's he saying this time?
“It’s a continuous show, you pays your money and you takes just as long as you likes inside, yes sir! We have everything for the connoisseur IF you know what I mean, I’m saying we don’t just have LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS! oh no, oh no, not at all, we have FOR your DELECTATION and your EDIFICATION we have at no expense spared ALL THE MAJOR PARAPHILIAS yes sir, right inside, right up there BANG smack on stage, in floodlights, and a few in some private booths for a modest extra fee – Here you look like a man of the world, a l’homme du monde as they say in Italy, you there –“
“Who, me?”
“Yes sir, you appear to me like a guy with an interest in things, if you catch my drift – I can see it in your expression, in the tilt of your trilby, that pique of curiosity – step right inside, that’s it, just twenty reasonable dollars, that’s let’s say fifteen of your English pounds, all major credit cards accepted, thank you, thank you sir, here’s the door, it’s a show you won’t forget…”
DIGRESSION ABOUT REALISM
Is fiction realistic? Another question : is fiction supposed to be realistic? Let’s imagine a sliding scale. Over here, on the extreme left, we have Lord of the Rings. Over there, on the far right, we have The Executioner’s Song. We can spread everything else out between these two poles. So what about genre fiction? That deals in agreed conventions, covenants between the author and the reader – in thrillers it will be like this (guns and gals and gore), in science fiction it will be like that (aliens and time travel and hardly any gals). Within genres, you get another sliding scale – in science fiction, for instance, between the long range abstractions of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series on the left hand, all the way over to Kim Stanley Robinson’s meticulous terraforming books about Mars. In the detective story/murder mystery genre, the scale would be from Lord Peter Wimsey and Miss Marple on this side (no, that’s not how England EVER WAS) and all the way over to Richard Price’s forensically detailed procedurals Freedomland and Lush Life.
THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE!
This novel, High Life, is a genre exercise in "California noir", and comes at you like the younger snottier filthier even more nihilistic son of James Ellroy – a Trainspotting/Ellroy/Chandler mashup, almost. As such, that’s not a bad ambition. Unfortunately, High Life is a fairly lame way to do it.
One of the reasons why I’d quite like to live to be 200 years old is to find out what they’ll have left to gross each other out with in future decades. There are so many extreme films and books being produced in this line that we are surely now unshockable - I would have thought. Matthew Stokoe appears to have taken on the challenge of finding ways to shock and disturb even us terribly jaded types.
However I thought I'd rewrite this review and remove my previous description of Mr Stokoe's filthiness in an attempt to get an R rating and avoid the previous NC-17. But I'll give you a hint. In Mr Stokoe's view, there is definitely sex after death.
So there's that, and a stupid plot, and then there’s Mr Stokoe’s horrible stock characters, the main two of which are
- the bent copper who says stuff like
Now you wouldn’t wanna piss me off on such a nice day as this, would you, Jackie boy
I’m going to find out sooner or later so you may as well spare yourself some grief
with variations about a jillion times between pages 50 and 250 as he blackmails his way into Jack’s life. This kind of dialogue was much groaned at and mocked by viewers of The Sweeney, a British cop show, back in the 1970s.
and then (oh no, oh yes)
- the femme fatale, rich, beautiful, sexually voracious, any time, any where.
Mr Stokoe actually gets a whole lot of background detail and Los Angeles scene setting really spot on, with many nice touches which I enjoyed, but these characters, my God! They're all from the Planet dahmer.
And the plot is same old everything-points-to-this-person-being-the-killer-but-it’s-that-person-really. Surprise! Not!!
Then again, I finished it, I didn’t hurl it. Can't be denied, Matthew Stokoe has a kind of horrible unpleasant talent. This was the follow-up to Cows (also reviewed) which was not a genre exercise and was much more lunatic. I enjoyed that one a great deal more. It was about cows!
Mooo!
“It’s a continuous show, you pays your money and you takes just as long as you likes inside, yes sir! We have everything for the connoisseur IF you know what I mean, I’m saying we don’t just have LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS! oh no, oh no, not at all, we have FOR your DELECTATION and your EDIFICATION we have at no expense spared ALL THE MAJOR PARAPHILIAS yes sir, right inside, right up there BANG smack on stage, in floodlights, and a few in some private booths for a modest extra fee – Here you look like a man of the world, a l’homme du monde as they say in Italy, you there –“
“Who, me?”
“Yes sir, you appear to me like a guy with an interest in things, if you catch my drift – I can see it in your expression, in the tilt of your trilby, that pique of curiosity – step right inside, that’s it, just twenty reasonable dollars, that’s let’s say fifteen of your English pounds, all major credit cards accepted, thank you, thank you sir, here’s the door, it’s a show you won’t forget…”
DIGRESSION ABOUT REALISM
Is fiction realistic? Another question : is fiction supposed to be realistic? Let’s imagine a sliding scale. Over here, on the extreme left, we have Lord of the Rings. Over there, on the far right, we have The Executioner’s Song. We can spread everything else out between these two poles. So what about genre fiction? That deals in agreed conventions, covenants between the author and the reader – in thrillers it will be like this (guns and gals and gore), in science fiction it will be like that (aliens and time travel and hardly any gals). Within genres, you get another sliding scale – in science fiction, for instance, between the long range abstractions of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series on the left hand, all the way over to Kim Stanley Robinson’s meticulous terraforming books about Mars. In the detective story/murder mystery genre, the scale would be from Lord Peter Wimsey and Miss Marple on this side (no, that’s not how England EVER WAS) and all the way over to Richard Price’s forensically detailed procedurals Freedomland and Lush Life.
THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE!
This novel, High Life, is a genre exercise in "California noir", and comes at you like the younger snottier filthier even more nihilistic son of James Ellroy – a Trainspotting/Ellroy/Chandler mashup, almost. As such, that’s not a bad ambition. Unfortunately, High Life is a fairly lame way to do it.
One of the reasons why I’d quite like to live to be 200 years old is to find out what they’ll have left to gross each other out with in future decades. There are so many extreme films and books being produced in this line that we are surely now unshockable - I would have thought. Matthew Stokoe appears to have taken on the challenge of finding ways to shock and disturb even us terribly jaded types.
However I thought I'd rewrite this review and remove my previous description of Mr Stokoe's filthiness in an attempt to get an R rating and avoid the previous NC-17. But I'll give you a hint. In Mr Stokoe's view, there is definitely sex after death.
So there's that, and a stupid plot, and then there’s Mr Stokoe’s horrible stock characters, the main two of which are
- the bent copper who says stuff like
Now you wouldn’t wanna piss me off on such a nice day as this, would you, Jackie boy
I’m going to find out sooner or later so you may as well spare yourself some grief
with variations about a jillion times between pages 50 and 250 as he blackmails his way into Jack’s life. This kind of dialogue was much groaned at and mocked by viewers of The Sweeney, a British cop show, back in the 1970s.
and then (oh no, oh yes)
- the femme fatale, rich, beautiful, sexually voracious, any time, any where.
Mr Stokoe actually gets a whole lot of background detail and Los Angeles scene setting really spot on, with many nice touches which I enjoyed, but these characters, my God! They're all from the Planet dahmer.
And the plot is same old everything-points-to-this-person-being-the-killer-but-it’s-that-person-really. Surprise! Not!!
Then again, I finished it, I didn’t hurl it. Can't be denied, Matthew Stokoe has a kind of horrible unpleasant talent. This was the follow-up to Cows (also reviewed) which was not a genre exercise and was much more lunatic. I enjoyed that one a great deal more. It was about cows!
Mooo!
October 28, 2023
'Turbo-charged Midnight Cowboy - dark, extreme, brilliant!'
Jack craves fame, fortune, glamour and glitz in the movie media business down L.A. way, and is willing to do absolutely anything to join the massed ranks of the rich and the famous. But the path to success is always paved with problems and, unfortunately for him, these are only just beginning to surface and hurt.
'High Life' proved to be a fantastic extreme adult murder mystery with a great plot, vile and despicable characters and heap loads of high octane violent action, drug-fuelled encounters, graphical sexual behaviour and so many other triggers that they normalise as regular features and just simply tend to drip off the pages.
Negatively, sex scenes good, both creative and imaginative, but on occasion a little OTT gratuitous and
unnecessary .
Not to be missed if all the above appeals, otherwise extreme caution would be strongly advised.
Highly recommended to readers searching for high quality extreme adventure, but after completion a long lie down for recovery, brain cleansing and reflection would be essential before moving on.
Rating: 4.6 stars of pseudo-simulated, celebrity stardom.
Jack craves fame, fortune, glamour and glitz in the movie media business down L.A. way, and is willing to do absolutely anything to join the massed ranks of the rich and the famous. But the path to success is always paved with problems and, unfortunately for him, these are only just beginning to surface and hurt.
'High Life' proved to be a fantastic extreme adult murder mystery with a great plot, vile and despicable characters and heap loads of high octane violent action, drug-fuelled encounters, graphical sexual behaviour and so many other triggers that they normalise as regular features and just simply tend to drip off the pages.
Negatively, sex scenes good, both creative and imaginative, but on occasion a little OTT gratuitous and
unnecessary .
Not to be missed if all the above appeals, otherwise extreme caution would be strongly advised.
Highly recommended to readers searching for high quality extreme adventure, but after completion a long lie down for recovery, brain cleansing and reflection would be essential before moving on.
Rating: 4.6 stars of pseudo-simulated, celebrity stardom.
September 26, 2023
“ Everyone has secret thoughts, thoughts of murder, and torture, but they won’t admit to it.”
Drugs,prostitution, alcohol, lies, a crooked cop, a missing wife, and missing organs …. Welcome to the High Life. Where you either have it all or have the desire to be someone that does. Jack’s ,drug addicted prostitute of a wife Karen is missing. Her body is found missing every organ. The hunt for the killer is on, but it definitely will not deter him from seeking the life of the rich and famous. It is what he’s seeking after all. This book was absolutely incredible to say the least. The only issue I take with this book is that I can’t give it more stars than 5. This was my years 10 ⭐️read .
Drugs,prostitution, alcohol, lies, a crooked cop, a missing wife, and missing organs …. Welcome to the High Life. Where you either have it all or have the desire to be someone that does. Jack’s ,drug addicted prostitute of a wife Karen is missing. Her body is found missing every organ. The hunt for the killer is on, but it definitely will not deter him from seeking the life of the rich and famous. It is what he’s seeking after all. This book was absolutely incredible to say the least. The only issue I take with this book is that I can’t give it more stars than 5. This was my years 10 ⭐️read .
Read
July 16, 2023So romantic. Would recommend to blossoming lovers. Truly an inspiring work of fiction. 5/5 would read again.
July 21, 2023
I was not a fan of "Cow's" by Matthew Stokoe, the writing was fantastic but I'm not into Bizarro/Supernatural, so it was definitely not for me. But the writing was so good that I had to read something else by this author. And wow, I was not let down, High Life is a mix between Chandler Morrison, Dennis Cooper and Bret Easton Ellis, it's not Splatterpunk, it's 100% transgressive but it's still pretty extreme in term of content. You won't find anyone in those pages who can be considered a good and/or normal human being, behold the degeneracy of those characters.
If you loved "Along The Path Of Torment" by Chandler Morrison, read this book.
If you loved "The Sluts" or "Frisk" by Dennis Cooper, read this book.
If you loved "American Psycho" read this book.
Actually if you like anything transgressive, read it.
If you loved "Along The Path Of Torment" by Chandler Morrison, read this book.
If you loved "The Sluts" or "Frisk" by Dennis Cooper, read this book.
If you loved "American Psycho" read this book.
Actually if you like anything transgressive, read it.
October 22, 2023
4.5/5 Well holy fuck. This is very different from COWS and I’m glad I gave it a shot. This might be the most deranged thing I’ve ever read and I read a lot of extreme horror. Honestly, I’m surprised this isn’t more popular!
My only gripe with this, is it could of been 100 pages shorter. There was almost too much story here, but nonetheless, I really enjoyed it. High Life is EXTREMELY cinematic. If you’re into fast-paced, extremely deranged, disgusting, crime novels then make sure you pick this up. Reminded me a lot of a Hollywood version of ‘American Psycho’ (the movie). Will definitely be recommending this one to anyone into absolutely fuckery like me.
My only gripe with this, is it could of been 100 pages shorter. There was almost too much story here, but nonetheless, I really enjoyed it. High Life is EXTREMELY cinematic. If you’re into fast-paced, extremely deranged, disgusting, crime novels then make sure you pick this up. Reminded me a lot of a Hollywood version of ‘American Psycho’ (the movie). Will definitely be recommending this one to anyone into absolutely fuckery like me.
October 21, 2016
The Plot:
Jack's prostitute wife disappears & he later learns she has been found murdered & “gutted like a fish”. Ryan, a sleazy vice cop, takes a personal interest in the prostitute's murder as he was one of her clients. Karen, Jack's murdered wife, confesses to Jack before she disappears, she was paid $30,000 for one of her kidneys & Jack decides to find out who Karen sold her kidney to, as her body, when found, has all her other organs removed. Jack meets an incestuous, wealthy, father & daughter, who may have something to do with Karen's murder.
Quote:
“A hot rain blew in from the sea. It hit Ocean Avenue in sticky washes of reflected neon that took the coloured light from the hotels & stores & ran it into the gutters with the trash. In Palisades Park a fat tramp stood staring down at something by his feet. The way he held his head made him look like a hanged man. He swayed slightly & I imagined a rope stretching from his neck to the sky.”
Quote:
“Dreams. The Dream Factory. Most people thought its product was a form of entertainment, maybe a pointer to fashion or lifestyle. Most people went home from the movies & said “Wow, that was great. Man, that guy is so cool, that chick is so sexy, that house was so big, did you see that fucking car? But, shit, it's only a film… That ain't life.”
But I knew better. I knew that it was, and that films were windows into reality, not distortions of it-views of the only worthwhile way to live. Everything else was a river of shit.”
These two paragraphs, taken from the beginning of this disturbing, gritty, noirish tale, set in contemporary Los Angeles, give the reader an insight into it's main protagonists mindset. Jack's a wannabe actor, who constantly compares his life & interactions with others, to an unrealistic & idealised view of the actors he admires. His emotional detachment at times borders on the sociopathic & threatens to teeter into full psychopathy at any moment.
This gritty & at times disgusting (Necrophilia anyone?) narrative IS however, compelling & extremely well written. It is, in a way, an indictment of how false & facile much of modern media, advertising is & the unrealistic aspirations it engenders in many people.
As I was reading this book, I was strongly reminded of 'American Psycho' by Brett Easton Ellis. 'High Life' has that same sense of alienation from self & humanity for it's protagonist as American Psycho's, particularly in the character of Jack.
'High Life' won't be to everyone's taste & I had to think about it for a week, to decide if it was to mine. I've decided it is, although 'like' is perhaps not an appropriate word to use when evaluating this book. Ultimately though, I decided it met my criteria when deciding whether or not I think a book is 'good' or not. It's original, well written & entertaining. What more can a reader ask for? I look forward to reading more of Matthew Stockoe's other titles (Cows, Empty Mile), both of which I have already.
In conclusion, I recommend 'High Life' to readers who enjoy gritty (very), contemporary noir, who in addition have a strong stomach & are not easily shocked.
I give this 4 stars & am tempted to give it 5, though I just can't bring myself to do it.
Jack's prostitute wife disappears & he later learns she has been found murdered & “gutted like a fish”. Ryan, a sleazy vice cop, takes a personal interest in the prostitute's murder as he was one of her clients. Karen, Jack's murdered wife, confesses to Jack before she disappears, she was paid $30,000 for one of her kidneys & Jack decides to find out who Karen sold her kidney to, as her body, when found, has all her other organs removed. Jack meets an incestuous, wealthy, father & daughter, who may have something to do with Karen's murder.
Quote:
“A hot rain blew in from the sea. It hit Ocean Avenue in sticky washes of reflected neon that took the coloured light from the hotels & stores & ran it into the gutters with the trash. In Palisades Park a fat tramp stood staring down at something by his feet. The way he held his head made him look like a hanged man. He swayed slightly & I imagined a rope stretching from his neck to the sky.”
Quote:
“Dreams. The Dream Factory. Most people thought its product was a form of entertainment, maybe a pointer to fashion or lifestyle. Most people went home from the movies & said “Wow, that was great. Man, that guy is so cool, that chick is so sexy, that house was so big, did you see that fucking car? But, shit, it's only a film… That ain't life.”
But I knew better. I knew that it was, and that films were windows into reality, not distortions of it-views of the only worthwhile way to live. Everything else was a river of shit.”
These two paragraphs, taken from the beginning of this disturbing, gritty, noirish tale, set in contemporary Los Angeles, give the reader an insight into it's main protagonists mindset. Jack's a wannabe actor, who constantly compares his life & interactions with others, to an unrealistic & idealised view of the actors he admires. His emotional detachment at times borders on the sociopathic & threatens to teeter into full psychopathy at any moment.
This gritty & at times disgusting (Necrophilia anyone?) narrative IS however, compelling & extremely well written. It is, in a way, an indictment of how false & facile much of modern media, advertising is & the unrealistic aspirations it engenders in many people.
As I was reading this book, I was strongly reminded of 'American Psycho' by Brett Easton Ellis. 'High Life' has that same sense of alienation from self & humanity for it's protagonist as American Psycho's, particularly in the character of Jack.
'High Life' won't be to everyone's taste & I had to think about it for a week, to decide if it was to mine. I've decided it is, although 'like' is perhaps not an appropriate word to use when evaluating this book. Ultimately though, I decided it met my criteria when deciding whether or not I think a book is 'good' or not. It's original, well written & entertaining. What more can a reader ask for? I look forward to reading more of Matthew Stockoe's other titles (Cows, Empty Mile), both of which I have already.
In conclusion, I recommend 'High Life' to readers who enjoy gritty (very), contemporary noir, who in addition have a strong stomach & are not easily shocked.
I give this 4 stars & am tempted to give it 5, though I just can't bring myself to do it.
September 29, 2009
After reading this, I feel like Stokoe has just relieved himself into a wound hacked into my abdomen. And that's, in a weird way a good thing. This is a delirious, sickening novel of the nightmare hidden world of fame-addicted Los Angeles. The alternation of nausea and degradation with the surface gleam of the city's media factories hack out the rhythm of a sort of gorgeous deranged poetry, a texture that reads like the unholy union of J.G. Ballard and Raymond Chandler. This is a sick book, and I'm glad that I don't see life like this, but sometimes examining the world through an unhealthy, unholy filter is useful. I'm glad I read this, but be warned: I don't know that you will be.
May 14, 2014
A bit surprised by how poor this is. Certainly some set pieces that work for shock value, but much of the book is filler, with maybe about fifty pages of three hundred worth reading. Part of the problem is a central narrative that manages to be utterly boring (who killed the narrator's hateful hooker wife? will he find out? who cares?), but there are writerly issues, as well. Tons of pointless dialogue, pages upon pages of it, and characters that barely register as B-grade on the believability scale, kill any sense of awe or dread the narrative could have generated. Instead we're just ticking the boxes: scat porn? check! bestiality? check! more scat porn? check! snuff/rape? check!
I was a bit excited about a contemporary noir that decided to go way over the line, but there's a snap and crackle to Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler and David Goodis that is nowhere to be found here. Instead we have a narrator who kind of rambles his way from one situation to the next, none of which feels anywhere close to real.
A writer with more talent could have combined the void-besotted intoxication of facade, richess, and Los Angelino excess found in Bret Easton Ellis, with the powerful, brutal psycho-sexual allegories of J.G. Ballard, say, a cross between The Informers and Crash, and wind up with a book that won't clean off your hands.
As it is, you have something jokey, a wink-wink from a writer playing at nihilism. It works, sometimes. It's not terrible. It's just not terribly good.
I was a bit excited about a contemporary noir that decided to go way over the line, but there's a snap and crackle to Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler and David Goodis that is nowhere to be found here. Instead we have a narrator who kind of rambles his way from one situation to the next, none of which feels anywhere close to real.
A writer with more talent could have combined the void-besotted intoxication of facade, richess, and Los Angelino excess found in Bret Easton Ellis, with the powerful, brutal psycho-sexual allegories of J.G. Ballard, say, a cross between The Informers and Crash, and wind up with a book that won't clean off your hands.
As it is, you have something jokey, a wink-wink from a writer playing at nihilism. It works, sometimes. It's not terrible. It's just not terribly good.
March 22, 2011
I do not read very much, until now. I have decided to pick up reading as my new hobby. My friend and former English professor suggested this book as my first real read in my new hobby. Wow, what a story to begin with!
I may not write a review like most of the people on here as I am new to this.
This story reads nice and the pace is steady. The story itself starts out with an interesting character named Jack. He goes through various situations that are sick, twisted, demented and at times grotesque. There is incest, necrophilia and other disgustingly interesting acts.
This book is grotesquely sexy as my taste in subject matter can be a little off compared to others. I highly recommend this book to anyone who has the taste for demented twistedness with a side of gruesome sickness.
I will be moving on to Stokoe's "Cows".
To see all my reviews, please visit http://deviant-muse.blogspot.com/
I may not write a review like most of the people on here as I am new to this.
This story reads nice and the pace is steady. The story itself starts out with an interesting character named Jack. He goes through various situations that are sick, twisted, demented and at times grotesque. There is incest, necrophilia and other disgustingly interesting acts.
This book is grotesquely sexy as my taste in subject matter can be a little off compared to others. I highly recommend this book to anyone who has the taste for demented twistedness with a side of gruesome sickness.
I will be moving on to Stokoe's "Cows".
To see all my reviews, please visit http://deviant-muse.blogspot.com/
May 3, 2018
Full Review
High Life is often excruciatingly unpleasant to read, but it’s an excellently crafted novel. Stokoe’s prose is vivid and easily moves between painting scenes of the wealthiest in LA and the worst dregs of its streets. Its harsh criticisms of Hollywood have proven to be extremely prescient and more relevant than ever. It does all this and remains an entertaining, page-turner mystery if one can adjust to the extremely disturbing imagery.
High Life is often excruciatingly unpleasant to read, but it’s an excellently crafted novel. Stokoe’s prose is vivid and easily moves between painting scenes of the wealthiest in LA and the worst dregs of its streets. Its harsh criticisms of Hollywood have proven to be extremely prescient and more relevant than ever. It does all this and remains an entertaining, page-turner mystery if one can adjust to the extremely disturbing imagery.
April 22, 2012
This plus watching A Serbian Film for the first time rank in as pieces of writing that leave you feeling as filthy as the whores and sadists chronicled in both stories.
October 12, 2023
He tried to frame me, he beat me up, and he fucked things between me and Bella, but he also forced me to recognize things about myself. Some people might say those kind of things shouldn’t be recognized. I don’t know, maybe they shouldn’t. But I figure if they’re in there, ignoring them won’t change the person you are. And, shit, I’m a pretty normal guy, I’m not that different from a lot of people. Maybe only a few men ever actually get to fuck someone who’s dead, but I bet a whole lot of others think about it.
September 1, 2012
Just finished it last night on the train going home. If I could give this bitch more stars I would...
What a visceral, fucked-up, shank in the inner guts this book was. I'm trying to remember the last time I read a book so twisted & sick. I have some nasty stuff in my library, but DAAAAAAAYM...
And I want MORE.
Mr. Stokoe, please write some more. I loved this!
What a visceral, fucked-up, shank in the inner guts this book was. I'm trying to remember the last time I read a book so twisted & sick. I have some nasty stuff in my library, but DAAAAAAAYM...
And I want MORE.
Mr. Stokoe, please write some more. I loved this!
February 2, 2009
I think this is the filthiest most graphic thing I've ever read. And yet, it was actually kind of good for what it was. Really nasty noir-type novel.
August 19, 2008
This book is pretty over the top--in a good way. Akin to Bataille's "Story of an Eye," Stokoe shoots from the hip with a disgusting array of extreme sex scenes...scat, murder, organs, you name it.
It's a great read but not for the faint at heart. Sometimes the narrative suffers from an easy obsession with the more extreme content, but that makes me wonder if that's the point. The inner urges are not ones I can share but I was surprised at how comfortable I became with them by the end. This is my number two favorite read for the year.
It's a great read but not for the faint at heart. Sometimes the narrative suffers from an easy obsession with the more extreme content, but that makes me wonder if that's the point. The inner urges are not ones I can share but I was surprised at how comfortable I became with them by the end. This is my number two favorite read for the year.
May 14, 2024
3.5 ⭐️
July 7, 2019
This has been on my to-read list for a while, after seeing it on one of those Amazon people also brought suggestions. A dark, gritty crime story in LA seemed like something that would appeal to me.
But boy, was it gritty and increasingly perverted and depressing as I read it. Which, given the nature of the story fitted it well.
The plot follows Jack, an early thirties wannabe celebrity, eking a life out in LA, waiting for a big break that’s not coming, addicted to a mix of drugs and desperation to become an A-lister.
Married to a prostitute, Karen, he once picked up; they’ve become entangled, not through any kind of love or affection, but a sort of self-loathing desperation mixed with sex and drugs. After Karen comes into some money, she leaves Jack, apparently to be with one of her clients, but after two weeks, Jack finds her body, cut open and organs removed. This throws Jack down a dark rabbit hole of sex, prostitution, extreme sexual fetishes, murder, rape and drugs.
While be hounded by a perverted vice cop who had a complicated relationship with Karen, Jack who is trying to find answers to Karen’s death, meets Bella, a beautiful, rich and successful woman who begins to open doors to his ambition of stardom. But Bella has her own sordid tastes and as Jack gets further entwined with Bella and addicted to the life she offers, he begins to suspect that she knows something about Karen’s horrendous murder.
To say that this book is graphic in terms of sexual fetishes would be an understatement. While there is a lot of sex in the book, it really isn’t gone over a lot, a few lines in a paragraph for the most part. The weird stuff usually takes precedence, whether that’s scat, vomit or whatever you would call Bella’s perversion. While I get the nature of this book is the depth of some people’s dark fantasies, for me they did seem to get progressively more disturbed and uncomfortable, which might have been the point but still…
While the initial murder mystery was interesting, this for large parts takes a back seat as Jack explores this new underground world, only popping occasionally until becoming the main plot again towards the end. I think I would have preferred it to be more focused on finding out what happened to Karen. My main problem with this book though is that there is no ‘hero’. Even Jack could barely be called an ‘antihero’. Everyone I think for the most part is a sick and twisted individually that should be locked up. This isn’t from some prudish look at it, but from the fact robbery, incest, rape and murder are committed by all of the characters. Its hard to cheer the ‘heroes’ when they are at times no better than the ‘villians’.
The book is well written and does manage to drag you into the story and keep your interest even if in some kind of morbid fascination. Personally, even for those who like dark, grimy stories this might be a hard one to recommend. You’d have to be sure of their tastes before handing them a book like this. Jack, and his obsession with being ‘famous’ is a thread all the way through the book, on how people can be desperate, do anything to get and stay there, which is just as relevant today.
While I didn’t dislike this book, its hard for me to say I liked it. Without someone I can really get behind with at least a few positive attributes to their personality, and more focused plot on the murder of his wife and perhaps a bit less narcissistic, sick sexual depravities explained a bit too much, this might have got a more positive review from me, other than a reading with caution label.
But boy, was it gritty and increasingly perverted and depressing as I read it. Which, given the nature of the story fitted it well.
The plot follows Jack, an early thirties wannabe celebrity, eking a life out in LA, waiting for a big break that’s not coming, addicted to a mix of drugs and desperation to become an A-lister.
Married to a prostitute, Karen, he once picked up; they’ve become entangled, not through any kind of love or affection, but a sort of self-loathing desperation mixed with sex and drugs. After Karen comes into some money, she leaves Jack, apparently to be with one of her clients, but after two weeks, Jack finds her body, cut open and organs removed. This throws Jack down a dark rabbit hole of sex, prostitution, extreme sexual fetishes, murder, rape and drugs.
While be hounded by a perverted vice cop who had a complicated relationship with Karen, Jack who is trying to find answers to Karen’s death, meets Bella, a beautiful, rich and successful woman who begins to open doors to his ambition of stardom. But Bella has her own sordid tastes and as Jack gets further entwined with Bella and addicted to the life she offers, he begins to suspect that she knows something about Karen’s horrendous murder.
To say that this book is graphic in terms of sexual fetishes would be an understatement. While there is a lot of sex in the book, it really isn’t gone over a lot, a few lines in a paragraph for the most part. The weird stuff usually takes precedence, whether that’s scat, vomit or whatever you would call Bella’s perversion. While I get the nature of this book is the depth of some people’s dark fantasies, for me they did seem to get progressively more disturbed and uncomfortable, which might have been the point but still…
While the initial murder mystery was interesting, this for large parts takes a back seat as Jack explores this new underground world, only popping occasionally until becoming the main plot again towards the end. I think I would have preferred it to be more focused on finding out what happened to Karen. My main problem with this book though is that there is no ‘hero’. Even Jack could barely be called an ‘antihero’. Everyone I think for the most part is a sick and twisted individually that should be locked up. This isn’t from some prudish look at it, but from the fact robbery, incest, rape and murder are committed by all of the characters. Its hard to cheer the ‘heroes’ when they are at times no better than the ‘villians’.
The book is well written and does manage to drag you into the story and keep your interest even if in some kind of morbid fascination. Personally, even for those who like dark, grimy stories this might be a hard one to recommend. You’d have to be sure of their tastes before handing them a book like this. Jack, and his obsession with being ‘famous’ is a thread all the way through the book, on how people can be desperate, do anything to get and stay there, which is just as relevant today.
While I didn’t dislike this book, its hard for me to say I liked it. Without someone I can really get behind with at least a few positive attributes to their personality, and more focused plot on the murder of his wife and perhaps a bit less narcissistic, sick sexual depravities explained a bit too much, this might have got a more positive review from me, other than a reading with caution label.
February 29, 2012
Absolute filth! If this had been written several hundred years ago, the author would have been locked up to protect the innocence of society. This is the only modern book I have read which comes close to the spirit of the works of Marquis de Sade. Imagine the most heartless deviant sexual acts combined with gratuitous drug use in a Hollywood setting and you have High Life.
Want to read
November 20, 2008Honestly, I'm a little weary of reading this. I read Stokoe's other book, Cows, and given how disgusting that was, I'm not sure if I want to subject myself to something of that caliber again.
That said, I'm just a little curious...
That said, I'm just a little curious...
November 5, 2010
Stokoe is brilliant.
March 13, 2017
Laughably vulgar and disturbing to an extreme degree noir book.
May 21, 2018
This book comes just short of being a depraved masterpiece.
Emphasis on the depraved.
Emphatic emphasis.
This book opens with Jack discovering the body of his wife, intact-looking from a distance but with all its internal organs surgically removed. Oh and, yeah, somebody has masturbated into the empty chest cavity.
After that, it starts to get disturbing.
This is a book that flaunts its sense of the wildest, kinkiest, most depraved acts I can imagine. Most go well beyond what I can imagine. There’s necrophilia, incest, double penetration, felching (I didn’t know what felching was, and now I’m sorry I do), snuff shows, and hardcore fecephilia. There’s a woman at the center of this who, given her great wealth, makes a hobby of performing unnecessary surgery, declaring at one point that removing a person’s kidney is a violation even more titillating than rape.
With both a SPOILER and a TRIGGER warning, that brings me to what may be the most disturbing sentence in the history of literature. “Cutting ‘donors’ open to use their kidneys to wank off with kind of fucked the philanthropic story she’d used to sucker my acceptance of her extracurricular medical activities – the organs wouldn’t be much use to anyone after being stuffed up her…” (and cut scene).
All of that pushes the boundaries of bad taste, and I take pride in having expansive such boundaries. Quite simply, most people should stay away from this. It’s so shocking and potentially offensive that it will turn off the vast majority. That is, if you have any sense this will trouble you, listen to that sense and do not read it.
All that said, though, this is more than just a shock-fest. In fact, it has two significant and intriguing philosophies animating it, and it is genuinely a work of literature, one that uses its adrenaline rush to have us confront real issues of our moment.
The first is that Jack’s deeper infection is his sense that nothing matters other than our media. He watches Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, and he thinks their lives matter while his does not. He’s sharp enough to see they have no more substance than he does, but it’s not substance he’s after. It’s pure ethereality. Life becomes meaningful to him when you’re on TV or in the movies or, to a lesser extent, on billboards.
That vast emptiness hovers over the whole novel, and Stokoe is explicit about what it means. Given his sensibility, Jack has no purpose in life except to aim for public notice. When we step back, that’s a horrifyingly amoral premise; at its ultimate extension – as in Jack’s case – it makes it possible to accept the most brutal, uncaring possibilities of life. It’s a caste system crueler than the most naked capitalism: the more famous get to prey upon the less famous, whether through indenture or prostitution. If you can get on screen, you can get away with anything.
The second philosophical notion is subtler. As I read this, Stokoe implies it and then applies it inconsistently. Still, there’s a perpetual sense that the body itself is somehow innocent. Individuals can be brutalized, humiliated, or perpetrate humiliation, but there’s an implicit forgiveness – or, more modestly, an implicit re-set button. Someone can sell his or her body on the strip one night and then possess a kind of innocence the next.
There’s an old Lenny Bruce observation – not so much funny as philosophical – that there is nothing you can do to the human body that will make it dirty. Toilets can become dirty, he says, but never other humans. With most people regarding Bruce as nothing more than a provocateur, and with even many of his supporters claiming he’s merely finding new avenues for being funny, the impact of that philosophy gets blunted. Still, I think there’s something profoundly moral, maybe even religious in the claim, and I think Stokoe echoes it more intriguingly than anyone I know.
On the one hand, those two concepts speak to each other intriguingly. One speaks to an end of morality as we know it; it raises the notion of a purely visual culture without context. The other offers a glimmer of redemption. We live in our bodies, and there’s a fundamental decency and value to that possibility. There’s commodity value, but it’s also something more, something in the possibility each separate day has to offer.
On the other, those two concepts collide, fascinatingly, in Bella’s perverse sexuality. In its milder form, she gets off by conducting her illegal surgeries in limited fashion. She takes just a kidney, pays her “donors” $30k, and lets them return to the world. That raises the powerful question – powerful within the range of philosophies governing the novel – whether she has changed them. They are restored to the same possibilities as before, heightened even in that they now have money that can buy them a higher profile. (One donor buys a distinctive Egyptian-themed bar and becomes a ‘somebody’ as a consequence of selling his kidney.) They are also, however, different bodies. Even if they function the same (and, SPOILER, Jack’s one-time friend Rex cannot, which costs him his life) they bear a shocking scar. They’ve lost something they can’t name. They’ve been violated in a way that future success – future fame or future money – cannot cover over.
At that level, and at that point, I really do think this is a masterpiece. There’s something horrifying and perhaps titillating in all that, but there’s also something original and brave: in a world whose amorality is spun from exaggerations of our contemporary excesses, what are the limits of what one person can do to another. That’s an old question asked in new terminology, and I think it’s what the best literature sets out to do.
All that said, I think Stokoe blinks at the end. I think, SPOILER, it diminishes the philosophical interrogation to have Ryan – the wonderfully amoral and corrupt cop who’s been forcing much of the investigation Jack’s pursuing into his wife Karen’s murder – turn out to be Karen’s father. When he enters, he seems the embodiment of this new potential morality. He’ll abuse anyone, even his own daughter, sexually, but he seems genuinely offended by the surgical nature of Karen’s murder. He seems happy to exercise his perversion, to humiliate one after another of the people he comes across, but he seems to draw the line at preserving the human body.
For me, the novel takes a step backward when Ryan gloatingly takes Jack to a club where they perform public snuff shows. (The victim is jack-hammered in a kind of symbolic fucking.) It’s brutal, but so is the rest of the novel. It rings wrong in that scene, though, to have Ryan so unmoved by death and disfigurement. If, instead of being motivated by the coincidence of his being Karen’s father, he were motivated by an adherence to an odd code – to a code that views the body as somehow valuable in a world that values nothing else – I think this would be more consistent with the premises it supplies early on.
That’s all that keeps me from declaring this extraordinary. It ends with an amoral turn, one that becomes predictable as the hardboiled generic conventions slowly define Bella as a femme fatale, but one that’s still satisfying after all we’ve seen. (SPOILER: OK, I’ll spill. As Jack descends into the amorality that his involvement with Bella begins, he develops a taste for necrophilia. That can be revolting, but it’s an extreme test case for the concept of whether it’s possible to violate the living body. In the very end, then, when Bella seems to take him back under her wing since he’s the only one alive who knows the nature or her surgical perversions, he kills her in an attempt to save a comparative innocent. As she’s dying, well, I leave the rest to your imagination.)
Again, THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. Stay far away from this unless you want to be horrified. If you do go in for the horror, though, don’t forget to listen for its insistent and at times movingly radical conversation about the fundamental value of a human life.
Emphasis on the depraved.
Emphatic emphasis.
This book opens with Jack discovering the body of his wife, intact-looking from a distance but with all its internal organs surgically removed. Oh and, yeah, somebody has masturbated into the empty chest cavity.
After that, it starts to get disturbing.
This is a book that flaunts its sense of the wildest, kinkiest, most depraved acts I can imagine. Most go well beyond what I can imagine. There’s necrophilia, incest, double penetration, felching (I didn’t know what felching was, and now I’m sorry I do), snuff shows, and hardcore fecephilia. There’s a woman at the center of this who, given her great wealth, makes a hobby of performing unnecessary surgery, declaring at one point that removing a person’s kidney is a violation even more titillating than rape.
With both a SPOILER and a TRIGGER warning, that brings me to what may be the most disturbing sentence in the history of literature. “Cutting ‘donors’ open to use their kidneys to wank off with kind of fucked the philanthropic story she’d used to sucker my acceptance of her extracurricular medical activities – the organs wouldn’t be much use to anyone after being stuffed up her…” (and cut scene).
All of that pushes the boundaries of bad taste, and I take pride in having expansive such boundaries. Quite simply, most people should stay away from this. It’s so shocking and potentially offensive that it will turn off the vast majority. That is, if you have any sense this will trouble you, listen to that sense and do not read it.
All that said, though, this is more than just a shock-fest. In fact, it has two significant and intriguing philosophies animating it, and it is genuinely a work of literature, one that uses its adrenaline rush to have us confront real issues of our moment.
The first is that Jack’s deeper infection is his sense that nothing matters other than our media. He watches Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, and he thinks their lives matter while his does not. He’s sharp enough to see they have no more substance than he does, but it’s not substance he’s after. It’s pure ethereality. Life becomes meaningful to him when you’re on TV or in the movies or, to a lesser extent, on billboards.
That vast emptiness hovers over the whole novel, and Stokoe is explicit about what it means. Given his sensibility, Jack has no purpose in life except to aim for public notice. When we step back, that’s a horrifyingly amoral premise; at its ultimate extension – as in Jack’s case – it makes it possible to accept the most brutal, uncaring possibilities of life. It’s a caste system crueler than the most naked capitalism: the more famous get to prey upon the less famous, whether through indenture or prostitution. If you can get on screen, you can get away with anything.
The second philosophical notion is subtler. As I read this, Stokoe implies it and then applies it inconsistently. Still, there’s a perpetual sense that the body itself is somehow innocent. Individuals can be brutalized, humiliated, or perpetrate humiliation, but there’s an implicit forgiveness – or, more modestly, an implicit re-set button. Someone can sell his or her body on the strip one night and then possess a kind of innocence the next.
There’s an old Lenny Bruce observation – not so much funny as philosophical – that there is nothing you can do to the human body that will make it dirty. Toilets can become dirty, he says, but never other humans. With most people regarding Bruce as nothing more than a provocateur, and with even many of his supporters claiming he’s merely finding new avenues for being funny, the impact of that philosophy gets blunted. Still, I think there’s something profoundly moral, maybe even religious in the claim, and I think Stokoe echoes it more intriguingly than anyone I know.
On the one hand, those two concepts speak to each other intriguingly. One speaks to an end of morality as we know it; it raises the notion of a purely visual culture without context. The other offers a glimmer of redemption. We live in our bodies, and there’s a fundamental decency and value to that possibility. There’s commodity value, but it’s also something more, something in the possibility each separate day has to offer.
On the other, those two concepts collide, fascinatingly, in Bella’s perverse sexuality. In its milder form, she gets off by conducting her illegal surgeries in limited fashion. She takes just a kidney, pays her “donors” $30k, and lets them return to the world. That raises the powerful question – powerful within the range of philosophies governing the novel – whether she has changed them. They are restored to the same possibilities as before, heightened even in that they now have money that can buy them a higher profile. (One donor buys a distinctive Egyptian-themed bar and becomes a ‘somebody’ as a consequence of selling his kidney.) They are also, however, different bodies. Even if they function the same (and, SPOILER, Jack’s one-time friend Rex cannot, which costs him his life) they bear a shocking scar. They’ve lost something they can’t name. They’ve been violated in a way that future success – future fame or future money – cannot cover over.
At that level, and at that point, I really do think this is a masterpiece. There’s something horrifying and perhaps titillating in all that, but there’s also something original and brave: in a world whose amorality is spun from exaggerations of our contemporary excesses, what are the limits of what one person can do to another. That’s an old question asked in new terminology, and I think it’s what the best literature sets out to do.
All that said, I think Stokoe blinks at the end. I think, SPOILER, it diminishes the philosophical interrogation to have Ryan – the wonderfully amoral and corrupt cop who’s been forcing much of the investigation Jack’s pursuing into his wife Karen’s murder – turn out to be Karen’s father. When he enters, he seems the embodiment of this new potential morality. He’ll abuse anyone, even his own daughter, sexually, but he seems genuinely offended by the surgical nature of Karen’s murder. He seems happy to exercise his perversion, to humiliate one after another of the people he comes across, but he seems to draw the line at preserving the human body.
For me, the novel takes a step backward when Ryan gloatingly takes Jack to a club where they perform public snuff shows. (The victim is jack-hammered in a kind of symbolic fucking.) It’s brutal, but so is the rest of the novel. It rings wrong in that scene, though, to have Ryan so unmoved by death and disfigurement. If, instead of being motivated by the coincidence of his being Karen’s father, he were motivated by an adherence to an odd code – to a code that views the body as somehow valuable in a world that values nothing else – I think this would be more consistent with the premises it supplies early on.
That’s all that keeps me from declaring this extraordinary. It ends with an amoral turn, one that becomes predictable as the hardboiled generic conventions slowly define Bella as a femme fatale, but one that’s still satisfying after all we’ve seen. (SPOILER: OK, I’ll spill. As Jack descends into the amorality that his involvement with Bella begins, he develops a taste for necrophilia. That can be revolting, but it’s an extreme test case for the concept of whether it’s possible to violate the living body. In the very end, then, when Bella seems to take him back under her wing since he’s the only one alive who knows the nature or her surgical perversions, he kills her in an attempt to save a comparative innocent. As she’s dying, well, I leave the rest to your imagination.)
Again, THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. Stay far away from this unless you want to be horrified. If you do go in for the horror, though, don’t forget to listen for its insistent and at times movingly radical conversation about the fundamental value of a human life.
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