Sometimes you write a book.  Sometimes you ask other folks to read said book and respond to you with their thoughts.  Sometimes those folks turn out to be other writers.  Sometimes they are writers whose work you might respect and admire.  And then… sometimes…. they say REALLY nice things about the book you wrote, making you feel like that sixteen-year-old girl at her first prom, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket of full-blown bliss.

Cody Goodfellow is one of those writers.  He’s written books that, according to legend, have been exploding heads all over the small press scene.  Books like Ravenous Dusk, Radiant Dawn, Perfect Union, and a gaggle of short stories so fucked up and bleeding-awesome-from-their-eyeballs that you’ll check them out if you know what’s good for you (I highly recommend his story “Squonk Hunt,” which is a cousin-of-sorts to A Town Called Suckhole).


Here’s Cody sitting between Robert Devereaux and some other asshole at BizarroCon ’10

So, I present to you the mad genius Cody Goodfellow’s thoughts on my debut bizarro novel.  Thanks go out to him, for I haven’t felt like a sixteen-year-old girl in ages….

“The greatest and least appreciated gift the Yankee ever tried to give his backward Southern brothers was the invention of shoes, which supposedly protected his unreconstructed flesh from becoming a haven for hookworms and other parasites which thrived in the moist hellhole of his chosen habitat… but David Barbee seems to have tumbled to the carpetbaggers’ plot, because some kind of mother of a worm must be at the controls of this redneck bastard’s double-wide brain. What other explanation could there be for an artistic declaration of uncivil war like A Town Called Suckhole?

A man has a dream too great to be achieved in his youth. He spends a lifetime honing his craft and training his imagination to dare to dream of something so fucked up that it will resonate forever in the descendants of the unfortunate motherfuckers who actually read it. And at the edge of senescence, he finally begins to write said epic, of mutant hillbillies in a post-nuclear Big Rock Candy Mountain. And then some shoeless redneck motherfucker half his age comes along and drops the whole thing in his lap, perfect, chicken-fried epic freakiness, and his life work is already redundant before it’s been begun. So fuck David Barbee. Fuck him sideways.

With the manic intensity of a tent revival on fire and the stupefying mendacity of a snake oil peddler on peyote, Barbee builds a rich, grimy world so steeped in rampaging Confederate id that for long stretches, I could not see it clearly through my red, blinding rage at not having written it, myself.”


2 Responses to “Cody Goodfellow on A TOWN CALLED SUCKHOLE”

  1. Congrats Warbee! That is a kick-ass heaping of tender-viddles from Mr. Goodfellow, lap it up!!!
    Needless to say, my interest in your work has been piqued!

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