Tales of Lust, Hate and Despair by Ian Truman
Published By: Amazon Digital Services
Release Date: June 27, 2012
Format: eBook - 256 pages / Kindle - 518 KB
ASIN: B008FQ1ASW
Genre: Murder, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller / Romantic Noir
About The Author:
I am from a working class family and I am proud of my origins. For the last seven years, I have been employed as an assembly line worker, a forklift driver, a park ranger, a warehouse clerk, a janitor, an industrial laundry operator, a warehouse clerk some more and still am to this day.
I have gone back to school and just graduated from Concordia with a major in Creative Writing and a minor in Political Science.
I like to write for the rest of us and hope you will enjoy my work.
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Disclaimer: I received a copy of the book from the author in exchange for my honest review and participation in a virtual book review blitz tour.
Virtual Book Review Blitz Tour: On Friday, June 29, 2012, in association with Innovative Online Book Tours, author Ian Truman participated in a virtual book review blitz with an Author Guest Post on Jersey Girl Sizzling Book Reviews.
http://jerseygirlsizzlingbookreviews.blogspot.com/2012/06/author-guest-post-ian-truman-author-of.html
Virtual Book Review Blitz Tour Stops
Book Description:
Samuel Lee has known three days of freedom in the last eighteen years. Three days to come out of prison, see his daughter, settle a score and go back in again, for good this time.
Told in the tradition of the best literary noir, Tales of Lust, Hate and Despair is a modern, lowdown and gritty take on the genre.
Inspired by the cinema of Akira Kurosawa and Samuel Fuller as well as the music of Tom Waits, Sage Francis, Neurosis and Marilyn Manson, it is a novel that is sure to please anyone who has ever found themselves trapped and cast aside from the world.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
1996
It was early, early September. the sky was covered with thick gray clouds. There was rain forecast for the evening. The boss was coming down the road driving his best bike: a brand new, flat black, Fat Boy Harley. The exhaust noise echoed all around as he made his way on the deserted street. He pulled on the gas and the bike winded louder which drew a satisfied grin on the man's face.
He took a left at the gate of an abandoned industrial building lot. It was well fenced-off with plywood and tarps all around so that no one could peek inside. The building was awaiting demolition but the gates were open because the man on the bike also ran the company that would tear the place down. If they had killed me, I might have ended up in the same containers as the demolished concrete. There would have been a pile of rocks, mesh wire, floorboards, busted lamps and a dead Samuel Lee. Nobody would go looking for me.
He parked the bike right next to an old battered Buick Skylark. There were four other cars in the parking lot. The first two were a Cavalier and a revamped Impala. The other two were cars you forgot quickly about: a Hyundai and a Corolla.
He took off his helmet, went inside and up four stories. There were two men at the door, full patched men wearing leather jackets and dark sunglasses inside. They were silent and still, which was contrasted by a hell of a ruckus coming from inside the room.
Now most people imagine a Russian mob to be silent and methodical, likewise a Chinese triad or a Japanese Yakama too, and they're probably right, but these folks here were brawlers. Boxing was the fanciest martial art they were ever going to do. Their tactics were loud: they rarely got the job done right, let alone done clean.
I remember hearing the metallic door and the boss walking in. The room had been stripped of all features except for the large square frame windows that had seen too many decades. The lights were all shattered and the room was lit up by a series of double-headed industrial work lights. There wasn't any ventilation on the floor and with twenty men or so surrounding me in a closed space, it quickly felt like we were in the tropics. Each of them were granted a turn and I was hurting pretty badly. I was breathing heavily as thick, salty sweat was dripping from my forehead. The droplets ran down my cheeks and mixed with the blood pouring down from the cuts around my jaw. A pool of my own blood and sweat was starting to spread on the floor under the chair on which I was tied. I had at least a black eye and a busted lip, two teeth down and most likely a broken rib. But it seemed that would not be enough. I was in for the beating of a lifetime and I knew it was time to get tough when I heard someone say to the boss, "he's ready."
But we're not going to talk about that just yet.
1996
It was early, early September. the sky was covered with thick gray clouds. There was rain forecast for the evening. The boss was coming down the road driving his best bike: a brand new, flat black, Fat Boy Harley. The exhaust noise echoed all around as he made his way on the deserted street. He pulled on the gas and the bike winded louder which drew a satisfied grin on the man's face.
He took a left at the gate of an abandoned industrial building lot. It was well fenced-off with plywood and tarps all around so that no one could peek inside. The building was awaiting demolition but the gates were open because the man on the bike also ran the company that would tear the place down. If they had killed me, I might have ended up in the same containers as the demolished concrete. There would have been a pile of rocks, mesh wire, floorboards, busted lamps and a dead Samuel Lee. Nobody would go looking for me.
He parked the bike right next to an old battered Buick Skylark. There were four other cars in the parking lot. The first two were a Cavalier and a revamped Impala. The other two were cars you forgot quickly about: a Hyundai and a Corolla.
He took off his helmet, went inside and up four stories. There were two men at the door, full patched men wearing leather jackets and dark sunglasses inside. They were silent and still, which was contrasted by a hell of a ruckus coming from inside the room.
Now most people imagine a Russian mob to be silent and methodical, likewise a Chinese triad or a Japanese Yakama too, and they're probably right, but these folks here were brawlers. Boxing was the fanciest martial art they were ever going to do. Their tactics were loud: they rarely got the job done right, let alone done clean.
I remember hearing the metallic door and the boss walking in. The room had been stripped of all features except for the large square frame windows that had seen too many decades. The lights were all shattered and the room was lit up by a series of double-headed industrial work lights. There wasn't any ventilation on the floor and with twenty men or so surrounding me in a closed space, it quickly felt like we were in the tropics. Each of them were granted a turn and I was hurting pretty badly. I was breathing heavily as thick, salty sweat was dripping from my forehead. The droplets ran down my cheeks and mixed with the blood pouring down from the cuts around my jaw. A pool of my own blood and sweat was starting to spread on the floor under the chair on which I was tied. I had at least a black eye and a busted lip, two teeth down and most likely a broken rib. But it seemed that would not be enough. I was in for the beating of a lifetime and I knew it was time to get tough when I heard someone say to the boss, "he's ready."
But we're not going to talk about that just yet.
My Book Review:
Samuel Lee is in a Canadian federal prison serving a life sentence for murder. His daughter Melody wants to know why her father is in prison, and since she's almost eighteen years old now, he decides to tell her the story about his life and how he ended up in prison.
The story is set in Montreal, Canada, and told in the first person narrative by Samuel. Samuel has been in prison for sixteen years, and he weaves his sad dark tale from the present time with flashbacks to 1996, when his troubles began. In 1996, Samuel was released after two years in prison for attacking a police officer. He makes his way back to his hometown in search of his ex-girlfriend Alice and their two year old daughter Melody. When he locates Alice, he finds out that she is a junkie and living with a bad ass biker dude who is also a major drug dealer. When the biker dude refuses to let Samuel see Alice or Melody, he makes a plan to get his girls away from the biker dude, only to set off a violent chain of action that will ultimately change the course of their lives forever.
Tales of Lust, Hate and Despair is a gritty, dark, sad and violent page turner of a story. Author Ian Truman brings Samuel's story to light in a brutally realistic way. The storyline is set in the seedy rundown streets of Montreal, Canada. The author provides rich detail and descriptions of the rundown sections of Montreal, from streets to establishments, you get the tourist guide version of a decaying town gone seedy with derelicts, prostitutes, drug gangs and the poor working class. His vivid descriptions of the town and Samuel's violent three days of freedom from prison in 1996 captivates the readers and leaves them sitting on the edge of their seats. The author provides a cast of characters that are realistic, complex and downright scary. The intriguing interactions and intertwining lives of Samuel, best friends Mikey and Matty, an Irish prostitute named Josie, Alice and the biker dude, are fascinating and make the story that much more powerful and compelling.
Written in an angry dark noir style, this story is one that shows the dark side of a town and its downtrodden inhabitants. If you're looking for any sunshine and roses in this story, you will be sadly left mistaken, for this story doesn't have a happy ending. Nonetheless, this intriguing story is one that true fans of the dark noir genre will surely enjoy.
RATING: 3 STARS *** (My Rating) / 4 STARS **** (Amazon Rating)
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