This is an intense and drug raddled, almost stream of consciousness, descent into the underworld of New York's 42nd Street. Andy Lew is a projectionist in a seedy cinema with a taste for extreme filmmaking. He's a burnout with no soul any more. How much of that is the drugs, and how much is the film he watches obsessively every chance he gets featuring unspeakable acts of violence.
The book follows him over a few weeks in 1977 (and 65 in a flashback sequence) in which his life takes a nosedive from the depths it was already in. A crooked cop, small time thieves threatening his ownership of "Her" - the girl in his precious film - and the mysterious figure who gave him the film, all combine to drag him, and New York, into a maelstrom of violence and depravity.
It's difficult to say much more about the plot without giving spoilers. The seedy underside of New York life is unflinchingly depicted in graphic detail. I've not read a book that dives this deep into this type of depravity since Stations of Shadow by J Daniel Stone.
There's not a single likeable character in this book, but that doesn't matter. Preston Fassel drags us through the dirty streets, shining his spotlight on the darkest corners of existence and we can't look away. It's intense and unputdownable. He builds tension consistently and the third act is a suitably blood soaked and satisfying release.
I will certainly be tracking down more of his books. Apparently Andy Lew is a minor character in his other works, given his own full novel here. I like when writers do worldbuilding of this type, and I want to learn more about this world in all its grime and violence.
Fassel is a hell of a writer. Rarely do I feel as repulsed and fascinated by the characters as I did in this book.
It's available through the Cemetery Dance website. Beasts of 42nd Street, by Preston Fassel: Cemetery Dance Publications
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