A review by efbeckett
Body Rides by Richard Laymon
1.0
Well, I knew Laymon was divisive, but always assumed that it had something to do with his reputed extreme content. This book isn't particularly extreme, so I guess it's really a divide between Laymon's fans and people who don't like hot garbage.
The basic premise - of a magic bracelet that allows the wearer to jump into other people's bodies, where they are unable to control the other, but experience every feeling and thought that they do - is barely exploited, except to give some variety to an endless parade of tedious sex scenes. The book's hero doesn't require the bracelet to get the ladies: literally every female he encounters almost immediately declares undying loyalty to his penis. His longtime girlfriend is so devoted that when he turns up after leaving town for 2 days with an 18 year old lover in tow, she commits to their life together becoming an extended three-way. The characters are barely deserving of being described as such, exhibiting one or two defining characteristics but nothing else, but have no fear, Laymon will keep you informed at all times as to the state of the ladies' nipples.
The horror/crime aspect of the plot is the kind of thing a pulp writer of the 50s or 60s could have dealt with much more effectively in 100 pages or less. But Laymon lays out his scenes in excruciatingly boring detail. Maybe he thought that was suspenseful, but there isn't a drop of suspense in the entire damned thing, so all the prolonged description of the characters' actions does is endlessly reveal how screamingly stupid they all are. I don't often think fretting over the intelligence of horror characters is a very productive criticism - we all wish we had grace under pressure and all that - but, man. Think of the stupidest character you've ever seen in a horror film/book and the stupidest thing they ever did. At that very moment of peak stupidity, that character would be appalled at the unbelievable stupidity of Neal and crew.
The cherry on this suck sundae is that Laymon is, when it comes right down to it, not a very good writer. You are exposed to almost every thought and Neal and friends over the course of the tale and it just doesn't read as stuff that any human, or anyone who had observed humans for any length of time, would say or think. I'm happy I read this and not a different Laymon, so that I didn't have to feel his fingers at the back of my throat on top of his other writerly sins. I'm assuming the title is meant to be a double entendre, and it's just as tacky and graceless as the rest of the book.
The basic premise - of a magic bracelet that allows the wearer to jump into other people's bodies, where they are unable to control the other, but experience every feeling and thought that they do - is barely exploited, except to give some variety to an endless parade of tedious sex scenes. The book's hero doesn't require the bracelet to get the ladies: literally every female he encounters almost immediately declares undying loyalty to his penis. His longtime girlfriend is so devoted that when he turns up after leaving town for 2 days with an 18 year old lover in tow, she commits to their life together becoming an extended three-way. The characters are barely deserving of being described as such, exhibiting one or two defining characteristics but nothing else, but have no fear, Laymon will keep you informed at all times as to the state of the ladies' nipples.
The horror/crime aspect of the plot is the kind of thing a pulp writer of the 50s or 60s could have dealt with much more effectively in 100 pages or less. But Laymon lays out his scenes in excruciatingly boring detail. Maybe he thought that was suspenseful, but there isn't a drop of suspense in the entire damned thing, so all the prolonged description of the characters' actions does is endlessly reveal how screamingly stupid they all are. I don't often think fretting over the intelligence of horror characters is a very productive criticism - we all wish we had grace under pressure and all that - but, man. Think of the stupidest character you've ever seen in a horror film/book and the stupidest thing they ever did. At that very moment of peak stupidity, that character would be appalled at the unbelievable stupidity of Neal and crew.
The cherry on this suck sundae is that Laymon is, when it comes right down to it, not a very good writer. You are exposed to almost every thought and Neal and friends over the course of the tale and it just doesn't read as stuff that any human, or anyone who had observed humans for any length of time, would say or think. I'm happy I read this and not a different Laymon, so that I didn't have to feel his fingers at the back of my throat on top of his other writerly sins. I'm assuming the title is meant to be a double entendre, and it's just as tacky and graceless as the rest of the book.