Love the sudden lurch into over-excited, red-hued capitals…. It’s like the copywriter was just going to do a reserved, low-key plot synopsis, but MY GOD, HE JUST CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT HE’S READING!
I hate to sound overly judgemental, but for fans of the pulp-fiction-as-outsider-art kinda way of looking at things, this is some real, grade A ranting-into-a-dictaphone type bad writing right here. And all those exclamation marks! Reminds me of that story in Richard Brautigan’s ‘Revenge of the Lawn’ where he’s hired to type up a book by an illiterate logger, only without the pathos.
It’s all the more surprising therefore to recall that Jim Harmon (1933-2010) was actually a *proper writer* - a ‘50s SF stalwart and pioneering radio historian. I mean, I guess this must be the same guy, right..?
The only other result that turns up when searching “Jim Harmon Epic Books” is ‘The Man Who Made Maniacs’ (1961), which looks to be some kind of freaky horror-ish smut novel..? (It also seems to have employed the same cover artist).
Somehow, neither of these publications merit a mention in the assorted biographies and obits for Harmon available online.
1 comment:
The crawling maggots of lust, perversion and lechery. I have to get hold of this book!
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