Kiss Me, Judas. A story about a man whose kidney is stolen by a prostitute. Can that urban legend be anything but the stale center of an overtired premise? Apparantly, it CAN be something more.
Will Christopher Baer's writing is edgy, visceral, and almost nauseating in its effectiveness. Nauseating in the same way that leaping off a cliff can be nauseating. Phineas Poe, the central character of the novel, starts the novel kidney-less and on the verge of death, and for the rest of the story he eats very little, sleeps only when he is knocked out, and takes a whole boquet of random and usually nameless drugs that leave him teetering on the knife-edge between antsy bliss and crippling withdrawl. Baer's prose more than once left me feeling deep sympathy pains for the protagonist, and everytime I closed the book, I felt distinctly disoriented. It would be difficult to find someone not drawn head-first into this well-crafted world of present tense paranoias and pains.
There is not much to be found in the way of relief, however, and even the conclusion of the novel -- a powerful, poignant, and almost penultimate moment of touching sweetness and deep spiritual candor -- seems to end before it can really provide the kind of blessed closure the book seems to ache for.
Because, Phineas is not just suffering in a body that has been cut and battered and poisoned, but he is also aching under the strain of a heavy and shattered heart that thinks it may, once again, be in love -- this time with the woman who cut out his kidney.
As implausible as that seems in a summary, the book manages to navigate with well-honed instincts around the more treacherous areas of that premise into a deep, calm bay of believability. I wouldn't love the woman (Jude is her name, a somewhat overt Biblical reference with more symbolism attached than it first suggests), but I can certainly see with unquestionable clarity why Poe loves her, and as a result, I don't doubt much of what he does or why he does it, even if I shake my head when I read about it.
However, the book certainly gives you a lot to doubt. The story is plagued by liars and deceivers, and the final resting place of Poe's kidney is never clarified. Most of the elements of the tale are given some kind of resolution, but Baer teasingly suggests that every one of those resolutions could very well be false. In the end -- and this is a definite certainty -- very very very little about the novel's events can be understood with any certainty. Who is lying? Who isn't? What are anybody's true motives and goals? Baer seems to suggest some plausible explanations for all of these things, but in the same moment, with a wink and a dark smirk, he also lets you know that those explanations aren't necessarily valid.
Or important.
Because, in the end, whether or not any of the characters has told the truth, whether or not Jude really shares Poe's love or is simply using him, well, these things are all beside the point, because what the novel is about is Poe's shattered soul, and what it takes to repair it, to redeem it, to save it outside of the dark, twisted realm of lies and pain in which it is so deeply immersed.
In fact, the only reason I didn't give this novel five stars was because, ultimately, its more philosophical and spiritual and emotional points seem at odds with its dark Gothic dressing and its unrelenting ocean of anguish and confusion. Baer, it seems, has two different tales here, and although he has married them well, they still don't go together seamlessly. There are fits and starts to the emotional arc.
And while it is obvious that Baer is suggesting that not all of the questions need solid answers, he still sets you up to expect them, and their absence leaves a sort of aching void. But perhaps that's the point. The book is one big aching void, and its lack of sympathy for both its central character and the reader seems to belie a deeper intent: one that is, at its heart, purely speculative, purely emotional, purely mental. It's a bumpy ride with a sudden stop, but the landscape -- both external and internal -- is breath-taking, and not always in a pleasant and relaxing way. Like Poe, you have to search sometimes to reclaim the breath that was stolen from you.
And in the meantime, you're aching for air.