A review by xterminal
Ball Peen Hammer by Adam Rapp, George O'Connor
3.0
Adam Rapp, Ball Peen Hammer (First Second, 2009)
My last experience with the work of Adam Rapp (33 Snowfish) was, to say the least, unpleasant. But who could resist that George O'Connor cover? I also hoped that Rapp would, given the smaller size of this, distill his writing somewhat. Unfortunately, he went too far.
Ball Peen Hammer takes place in an unnamed city that first seems to have suffered from war, and now is in the grip of a massive plague, one from which, according to one character, only four percent of the population is immune. Rapp introduces us to four characters. There's Welton, the musician, dying of the plague, and Underjohn, his new roommate, a writer and one of the lucky four percent. They're living in the basement of an old clock tower. Welton is a sacker, and he works for the collector. There's no way I can explain this without spoiling it, so I won't. High above them are Exley, the lovely young bug-eyed lass from the cover who may also be one of the four percent, and Horlick, thirteen years old and utterly amoral, who when we first meet him is securely tied to a chair. They're in the top of the clock tower. Their storyline concerns Exley attempting to socialize Horlick, at least kind of. But Horlick's problem is that he has a brother...
In Adam Rapp's defense, I will say that Ball Peen Hammer is the beginning of a brilliant story. Problem is that it's only the beginning, and there's no indication that this is the beginning of a series. (I'm not certain, but I don't think First Second does series books.) Not resolving a story is an art form, and an extremely difficult one. As far as I can discern, the trick to not resolving your main storyline (which I attempted to dance around cleverly in the synopsis) is to resolve enough of the subtexts satisfactorily that the reader feels he's actually reached the end of the story. (To see a master of this sort of thing at work, check the works of Caitlin Kiernan.) There is some resolution here, but none of it is in any way satisfactory; you'll find yourself asking “why?” over and over again while reading this. (Or, if you feel like it, “what's my motivation?”. Same idea.) We get very little in the way of context; Rapp seems to have had four characters in mind and just wanted to see how they'd interact. All well and good, but I really wanted a lot more context here. What little we get about the world these characters live in is tantalizing, all the more so because if you squint right you'll see some of the obvious influences (both Requiem from a Dream and Fullmetal Alchemist come through especially well), and a more detailed understanding of how it all meshes (mashes?) together would be fascinating. But we get these very small stories, with the action rarely going outside the clock tower (and then mostly in flashbacks).
I wanted more of this. I hope that eventually we get a lot more of this. If we do, I will come back and revise this rating upwards, because as I said at the beginning of this, this could be the beginning of something truly great. ** ½
My last experience with the work of Adam Rapp (33 Snowfish) was, to say the least, unpleasant. But who could resist that George O'Connor cover? I also hoped that Rapp would, given the smaller size of this, distill his writing somewhat. Unfortunately, he went too far.
Ball Peen Hammer takes place in an unnamed city that first seems to have suffered from war, and now is in the grip of a massive plague, one from which, according to one character, only four percent of the population is immune. Rapp introduces us to four characters. There's Welton, the musician, dying of the plague, and Underjohn, his new roommate, a writer and one of the lucky four percent. They're living in the basement of an old clock tower. Welton is a sacker, and he works for the collector. There's no way I can explain this without spoiling it, so I won't. High above them are Exley, the lovely young bug-eyed lass from the cover who may also be one of the four percent, and Horlick, thirteen years old and utterly amoral, who when we first meet him is securely tied to a chair. They're in the top of the clock tower. Their storyline concerns Exley attempting to socialize Horlick, at least kind of. But Horlick's problem is that he has a brother...
In Adam Rapp's defense, I will say that Ball Peen Hammer is the beginning of a brilliant story. Problem is that it's only the beginning, and there's no indication that this is the beginning of a series. (I'm not certain, but I don't think First Second does series books.) Not resolving a story is an art form, and an extremely difficult one. As far as I can discern, the trick to not resolving your main storyline (which I attempted to dance around cleverly in the synopsis) is to resolve enough of the subtexts satisfactorily that the reader feels he's actually reached the end of the story. (To see a master of this sort of thing at work, check the works of Caitlin Kiernan.) There is some resolution here, but none of it is in any way satisfactory; you'll find yourself asking “why?” over and over again while reading this. (Or, if you feel like it, “what's my motivation?”. Same idea.) We get very little in the way of context; Rapp seems to have had four characters in mind and just wanted to see how they'd interact. All well and good, but I really wanted a lot more context here. What little we get about the world these characters live in is tantalizing, all the more so because if you squint right you'll see some of the obvious influences (both Requiem from a Dream and Fullmetal Alchemist come through especially well), and a more detailed understanding of how it all meshes (mashes?) together would be fascinating. But we get these very small stories, with the action rarely going outside the clock tower (and then mostly in flashbacks).
I wanted more of this. I hope that eventually we get a lot more of this. If we do, I will come back and revise this rating upwards, because as I said at the beginning of this, this could be the beginning of something truly great. ** ½