Exquisite Corpse

Poppy Z. Brite? More like Poppy Z. Extremely Dark

I’ll begin my review by saying that I have a somewhat tenuous relationship with Splatterpunk as a genre. I want to like it (I really do!) but my experiences with it have all been underwhelming. Whether it’s extremely gory, graphic, and often gratuitous movies or dark and moody books, I think there is a lot that can go right with Splatterpunk and, more often than not, far more that goes wrong. I’ll say it again, it gets to being gratuitous. You have a subgenre whose entire existence is owed to the idea that horror, of all things, doesn’t exude enough darkness. That the mainstream often shies away from showing what sometimes needs to be shown, that fading to black undermines the purpose of a cautionary, brutal, horrifying tale. I agree, largely. If horror isn’t for you, I don’t blame you, but I don’t think that a horror books punches land as hard when all the character stakes amount to a fade to black with text that reads “they died” like a Dark Souls game over screen.

That in mind, I don’t like Splatterpunk. For all its values, for all my agreement, my every foray into the genre has ended the same way: disappointment. It’s used for pointless violence and shock value, with nothing more to say for itself than the fact that its author has a perverted sense of humor.

Or so I thought.

Billy Martin’s Exquisite Corpse shocked me, truly and honestly. To my core. It was violent, bloody, gory, and poignant. It disgusted me, made me feel literally sick to my stomach at times, and yet I couldn’t put it down. It was literary, for lack of a better description. It was deep, it was sincere, it was important. And I have never had those feelings for a Splatterpunk book before. My god was I pleasantly surprised.

I read this book for a book club in Williamsburg’s own Twisted Spine bookstore (shameless plug [I’m not affiliated, I just like the store]) coming up near the end of May. I was skeptical, deeply so, but with my classes and my internship coming to a close I’m finally able to attend one, so I decided to go for it.

While there’s a lot I still haven’t put together about the book (a glowing recommendation, coming from me) I can tell you this: it’s a brutal examination of the AIDS crisis in the twentieth century and it never pulls a punch. Talking about such an important part of history and such a colossal tragedy, a certain amount of caution must be taken. This book does not take it. Coming from a queer author, and speaking as a queer reader, the book is a harrowing experience. From my current analysis the specter of AIDS takes the form of two brutal serial killers haunting the gay scene in New Orleans’ French Quarter. They’re bloody, they’re cruel, they’re torturers of the highest order, and they are prolific.

The characters described inside are deeply flawed and wounded, each of them either wary of or having already been served a slow, painful death sentence. They make mistakes, they hurt people, they hurt themselves. They bleed with personality and sincerity, and Martin’s writing style and authorial voice is as varied and distinct as it is deeply compelling.

The story had me on the edge of my seat the entire time, even if it could be a relatively slow burn getting to the events detailed in the book’s backmatter. I never felt as though I had to slog through anything or that I was really waiting on it to get good. It comes out of the gate with an extremely entertaining and bloody scene before laying low for a while. The pacing is at times breakneck and at times slow, but it never feels as though we were whipping around at an uncomfortable pace. Overall it feels masterfully put together and it makes for an unforgettable read.

Overall, I can’t suggest this book highly enough. If you don’t have the stomach for horror, keep away, but if you’re a fan or looking to explore deeper into the genre then please give this a read.