SICK CITY is set in Los Angeles, though the events described here could take place in virtually any city or country where the illicit drug trade has taken hold. But L.A. is arguably the perfect tableau for it, given that location's reputation as a place where dreams come true or are shattered, and everything and everyone is for sale.
Tony O'Neill's novel is about drugs and the people who take them and are addicted to them. Pure and simple with no apologies. O'Neill knows of what he speaks and writes authoritatively on the subject. What SICK CITY does is takes the grit and grime of, say, NAKED LUNCH by William Burroughs and makes it coherent --- no cut-up technique here --- within the context of a caper novel, as imagined by Elmore Leonard. To put it another way, it consists of the parts of the movie Pulp Fiction that couldn't be filmed. The camera lens would have burned out.
SICK CITY neither explicitly condemns nor implicitly glorifies drug addiction. It simply provides an unblinking and stark look at the lives of a number of people, including a down-and-out exotic dancer, a homosexual prostitute in denial, a host of addicts and drug dealers, and a drug rehabilitation guru who is nursing his own nasty little secret. Points of view change frequently, and you might want to take this book in one long sitting in order to appreciate just how fascinating it is to watch everyone's lives intersect with each other. When the dust settles and the smoke clears, however, the book is about Jeffrey and Randall, two irredeemable junkies who acquire --- along with cash and some extremely strong controlled substances --- a sex tape involving Sharon Tate and a number of deceased celebrities. They want to sell it for a fortune --- gainful employment is not high on the "to do" list of either gentleman --- but along the way they attract the attention and ire of Pat, an extremely dangerous and unbalanced drug dealer who is out for revenge.
Most of SICK CITY occurs where the buses don't run, and even if they did, those who are in their right minds would never want to go there. And if you wandered into those areas by accident, you would call OnStar to come send a helicopter to get you the heck out. Even if you have not led a sheltered life, there are scenes here that you have never encountered before and probably never will see again: acts of physical and sexual violence --- some voluntary, some not so much --- that you would be hard-pressed to make up on your own. O'Neill's writing is shot through with such straight-ahead prose that the book reads more like a documentary, in the best sense, than a work of fiction.
And, while I have the feeling that this was not his intent, it is possibly one of the most anti-drug treatises I have ever read. The subject matter is such that you wouldn't read it to your 12-year-old, yet if you wanted to warn them away from that first hit of speed, SICK CITY would be the perfect vehicle to utilize. By the time you felt they were old enough to handle all of the material, it would probably be too late.
SICK CITY makes Jim Thompson's novels look like Little Golden Books. And I love Thompson's work. There were times that I wondered, Why are you reading this? But just like Jeffrey and Randal, I couldn't stop. And I'm going to find O'Neill's other novels, too. By the way, the Mark Twain Hotel that O'Neill describes here is a real place.
--- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub