Scan barcode
A review by xterminal
Muscle Memory by Steve Lowe
4.0
Steve Lowe, Muscle Memory (Eraserhead Press, 2010)
I actually finished reading Muscle Memory over four months ago. I've only been writing reviews sporadically this summer (trying to get a bunch of really big projects hurried along toward their conclusions), so I've ended up sitting on this one in particular for way too long. Sorry about that, Steve. As you will know if you've read the one I tore off a while back for Wolves Dressed As Men, I am an unrepentant, unapologetic Steve Lowe fanboy, so I'm not even going to attempt to put up some sort of facade that this is an unbiased review in any way. In fact, if I could just write “read this!” three hundred eight (and a half) times, I'd do that.
Now, normally I'm not a big fan of comedy; if you've read enough of my reviews you'll probably get that impression. But when I find an author who actually manages to come up with good, solid comic timing, I become a fan pretty quick. Lowe, for all that Wolves... was a serious book, is capable of firing off the witty one-liners as well. And where better to do it than in the middle of a scurrilous, jaundiced, obscene murder mystery? And despite this being a comedy, and even better one about switching bodies (and the point at which the main characters discover the law that oversaw the switching of bodies is one of the book's most hilarious), it is at heart a mystery. Our main character, Billy, wakes up one morning and finds his consciousness inhabiting the body of his wife Tina. And here's where it gets interesting: it's entirely possible that Tina floated over into Billy's body... but no one knows, because Billy is lying there quite dead. It's pretty obvious what happened, since there was no one else in the house, and wasn't that the best karmic joke ever on Tina? But the fact remains, this whole body-switching business is not just limited to one household. Which means, inevitably, the guys in the black suits are going to get involved. Billy and his cadre of redneck pals have to figure out what happened before the Feds decide to haul everyone away to Gitmo or something. But, and here's kicker #2, do they want to put it back? After all, Billy's body is lying in the house decaying...
My main complaint with Muscle Memory is the same as my main complaint with Wolves Dressed As Men: it's too bloody short. Lowe is easily gifted enough to be writing full-length blockbuster novels, and judging by the differences in subject matter form his first two books, he may well be capable of doing so for any genre to which he turns his hand. (And while I'm not sure if this parenthetical will make it through the Amazon censors, I should note that the sequel to Muscle Memory is available free on Lowe's website... which I can't link to because I KNOW that'd get pulled. Google it.) But for the ninety-odd pages we get, Muscle Memory is a sheer joy, as long as you don't mind scatology, rednecks, dead bodies, guys who react exactly the way you think guys would react when finding themselves in female bodies, the Man, and intimations of sexual acts so perverse they're banned in Seattle. In other words, as one highly astute reviewer of another book I reviewed in this ish said, “Not for Christians to read.” Well, I wouldn't go quite that far, I know a few who would probably split themselves laughing at this.
And if you didn't like the review, just pretend I said “read this!” three hundred eight and a half times. But one way or the other, read this! *** ½
I actually finished reading Muscle Memory over four months ago. I've only been writing reviews sporadically this summer (trying to get a bunch of really big projects hurried along toward their conclusions), so I've ended up sitting on this one in particular for way too long. Sorry about that, Steve. As you will know if you've read the one I tore off a while back for Wolves Dressed As Men, I am an unrepentant, unapologetic Steve Lowe fanboy, so I'm not even going to attempt to put up some sort of facade that this is an unbiased review in any way. In fact, if I could just write “read this!” three hundred eight (and a half) times, I'd do that.
Now, normally I'm not a big fan of comedy; if you've read enough of my reviews you'll probably get that impression. But when I find an author who actually manages to come up with good, solid comic timing, I become a fan pretty quick. Lowe, for all that Wolves... was a serious book, is capable of firing off the witty one-liners as well. And where better to do it than in the middle of a scurrilous, jaundiced, obscene murder mystery? And despite this being a comedy, and even better one about switching bodies (and the point at which the main characters discover the law that oversaw the switching of bodies is one of the book's most hilarious), it is at heart a mystery. Our main character, Billy, wakes up one morning and finds his consciousness inhabiting the body of his wife Tina. And here's where it gets interesting: it's entirely possible that Tina floated over into Billy's body... but no one knows, because Billy is lying there quite dead. It's pretty obvious what happened, since there was no one else in the house, and wasn't that the best karmic joke ever on Tina? But the fact remains, this whole body-switching business is not just limited to one household. Which means, inevitably, the guys in the black suits are going to get involved. Billy and his cadre of redneck pals have to figure out what happened before the Feds decide to haul everyone away to Gitmo or something. But, and here's kicker #2, do they want to put it back? After all, Billy's body is lying in the house decaying...
My main complaint with Muscle Memory is the same as my main complaint with Wolves Dressed As Men: it's too bloody short. Lowe is easily gifted enough to be writing full-length blockbuster novels, and judging by the differences in subject matter form his first two books, he may well be capable of doing so for any genre to which he turns his hand. (And while I'm not sure if this parenthetical will make it through the Amazon censors, I should note that the sequel to Muscle Memory is available free on Lowe's website... which I can't link to because I KNOW that'd get pulled. Google it.) But for the ninety-odd pages we get, Muscle Memory is a sheer joy, as long as you don't mind scatology, rednecks, dead bodies, guys who react exactly the way you think guys would react when finding themselves in female bodies, the Man, and intimations of sexual acts so perverse they're banned in Seattle. In other words, as one highly astute reviewer of another book I reviewed in this ish said, “Not for Christians to read.” Well, I wouldn't go quite that far, I know a few who would probably split themselves laughing at this.
And if you didn't like the review, just pretend I said “read this!” three hundred eight and a half times. But one way or the other, read this! *** ½