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Nobody Move: A Novel

Nobody Move: A Novel

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Nobody Move: A Novel

ratings:
3.5/5 (36 ratings)
Length:
172 pages
2 hours
Released:
Apr 27, 2010
ISBN:
9781429959711
Format:
Book

Description

From the National Book Award–winning, bestselling author of Tree of Smoke comes a provocative thriller set in the American West.

Nobody Move
, which first appeared in the pages of Playboy, is the story of an assortment of lowlifes in Bakersfield, California, and their cat-and-mouse game over $2.3 million. Touched by echoes of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, Nobody Move is at once an homage to and a variation on literary form. It salutes one of our most enduring and popular genres—the American crime novel—but with a grisly humor and outrageousness that are Denis Johnson's own. Sexy, suspenseful, and above all entertaining, Nobody Move shows one of our greatest novelists at his versatile best.

Released:
Apr 27, 2010
ISBN:
9781429959711
Format:
Book

About the author

Denis Johnson is the author of several novels, including Already Dead (published by Picador), Resuscitation of a Hanged Man, Fiskadoro, The Stars at Noon, Angels and The Name of the World, as well as a short story writer and poet. He lives in northern Idaho.

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Nobody Move - Denis Johnson

Ribalow

PART

ONE

JIMMY LUNTZ had never been to war, but this was the sensation, he was sure of that—eighteen guys in a room, Rob, the director, sending them out—eighteen guys shoulder to shoulder, moving out on the orders of their leader to do what they’ve been training day and night to do. Waiting silently in darkness behind the heavy curtain while on the other side of it the MC tells a stale joke, and then—THE ALHAMBRA CALIFORNIA BEACHCOMBER CHORDSMEN!—and they were smiling at hot lights, doing their two numbers.

Luntz was one of four leads. On Firefly he thought they did pretty well. Their vowels matched, they went easy on the consonants, and Luntz knew he, at least, was lit up and smiling, with plenty of body language. On If We Can’t Be the Same Old Sweethearts they caught the wave. Uniformity, resonance, expression of pathos, everything Rob had ever asked for. They’d never done it so well. Right face, down the steps, and into the convention center’s basement, where once again they arranged themselves in ranks, this time to pose for souvenir pictures.

Even if we come in twentieth out of twenty, Rob told them afterward, while they were changing out of their gear, the white tuxedos and checkered vests and checkered bow ties, we’re really coming in twentieth out of a hundred, right? Because remember, guys, one hundred outfits tried to get to this competition, and only twenty made it all the way here to Bakersfield. Don’t forget that. We’re out of a hundred, not twenty. Remember that, okay? You got a bit of an impression Rob didn’t think they’d done too well.

Almost noon. Luntz didn’t bother changing into street clothes. He grabbed his gym bag, promised to meet the others back at the Best Value Inn, and hurried upstairs still wearing the getup. He felt the itch to make a bet. Felt lucky. He had a Santa Anita sheet folded up in the pocket of his blinding white tux. They started running at twelve-thirty. Find a pay phone and give somebody a jingle.

On his way out through the lobby he saw they’d already posted the judgments. The Alhambra Chordsmen ranked seventeenth out of twenty. But, come on, that was really seventeenth out of a hundred, right?

All right—fine. They’d tanked. But Luntz still had that lucky feeling. A shave, a haircut, a tuxedo. He was practically Monte Carlo.

He headed out through the big glass doors, and there’s old Gambol standing just outside the entrance. Checking the comings and goings. A tall, sad man in expensive slacks and shoes, camel-hair sports coat, one of those white straw hats that senior-citizen golfers wear. A very large head.

So hey, Gambol said, you are in a barbershop chorus.

What are you doing here?

I came here to see you.

No, but really.

Really. Believe it.

All the way to Bakersfield?

That lucky feeling. It had let him down before.

I’m parked over here, Gambol said.

Gambol was driving a copper-colored Cadillac Brougham with soft white leather seats. There’s a button on the side of the seat, he said, to adjust it how you want.

People will be missing me, Luntz said. I’ve got a ride back down to LA. It’s all arranged.

Call somebody.

Good, sure—just find a pay phone, and I’ll hop out.

Gambol handed him a cell phone. Nobody’s hopping anywhere.

Luntz patted his pockets, found his notebook, spread it on his knee, punched buttons with his thumb. He got Rob’s voice mail and said, Hey, I’m all set. I got a lift, a lift back down to Alhambra. He thought a second. This is Jimmy. What else? Luntz. What else? Nothing. Good deal. I’ll see you Tuesday. Practice is Tuesday, right? Yeah. Tuesday.

He handed back the phone, and Gambol put it in the pocket of his fancy Italian sports coat.

Luntz said, Okay if I smoke?

Sure. In your car. But not in my car.

Gambol drove with one hand on the wheel and one long arm reaching into the back seat, going through Luntz’s gym bag. What’s this?

Protection.

From what? Grizzly bears? He reached across Luntz’s lap and shoved it in the glove compartment. That is one big gun.

Luntz opened the compartment. Shut that thing, goddamn it.

Luntz shut it.

You want protection? Pay your debts. That’s the best protection.

I agree completely, Luntz said, and can I tell you about an uncle of mine? I have an appointment to see him this afternoon.

A rich uncle.

Coincidentally, yes. He just moved out from the coast. Made a pile in the garbage business. The guy gets a new Mercedes every year. Just moved to Bakersfield. Last time I saw him he was still living in La Mirada. The Garbage King of La Mirada. Told me anytime I needed money to get in touch. We had lunch at the Outback Steakhouse in La Mirada. Wow, do they deliver. Choice cuts as thick as your arm. You ever try the Outback?

Not lately.

So, in other words, let me give this guy a call before we get too far out of town.

In other words, you can’t make a payment.

Yes, definitely, yes, Luntz said, I can make a payment. Just let me use your phone and work a little magic.

Gambol behaved as if he hadn’t heard.

Come on. The guy drives a Mercedes. Let me go see him.

Fucking bullshit. Your uncle.

Okay. He’s Shelly’s uncle. But he’s real.

Is Shelly real?

She’s—yeah. Shelly? I used to live with her.

The uncle of some bitch you used to live with.

Give me a chance, friend. A chance to work my magic.

You’re working it now. It ain’t working.

Look, man, look, Luntz said, let’s call Juarez. Let me talk to the man himself.

Juarez is not a talker.

Come on. Don’t we know each other? What’s the problem?

Gambol said, My brother just died.

What?

He died exactly a week ago.

Luntz knew nothing about any brother. How do you reason with someone who throws something like that into the conversation?

They were heading north. Bakersfield stank of oil and natural gas. In the most unlikely places, in the middle of a shopping mall or next to one of those fancy new churches, all glass and swooping curves, you’d see oil rigs with their heads going up and down.

Used to fish up here with my brother, Gambol said, somewhere around here anyway. On the Feather River.

Luntz unclasped his hands from each other and looked at them. What?

Once, to be exact. We went fishing one time. We should’ve done it more.

The road was a four-lane, but not an interstate. The clock on the dash said 4:00 p.m.

Where are we?

We’re just driving around, Gambol said. Why? You need to be someplace?

Luntz placed his hands on his knees and sat up straight. Where are we going?

On this kind of trip, you don’t want to ask where it ends.

Luntz closed his eyes.

When he opened them he saw a crowd of bikers on Harleys coming toward them and sweeping past.

Gambol said, See that? Half those bikies had Oregon plates. I think there’s a convention in Oakland or someplace like that. Guess what? I’ve never been on a motorcycle.

Shit, Luntz said.

What?

Nothing. Those bikers. Shit, he said, the Feather River. Is there a Feather River Tavern or something?

The river’s not anywhere around here. It’s more north. Guess what? You’ll never get me on a Harley.

Yeah?

Helmet or not. What good is a helmet?

The Feather fucking River, Luntz said.

Standing at the pay phone, Jimmy Luntz punched a nine and a one and stopped. He couldn’t hear the dial tone. His ears still rang. That old Colt revolver made a bang that slapped you silly.

He dropped the receiver and let it dangle a few seconds. He shook his head and wiped both hands across the thighs of his slacks. He jabbed at the one again as he put the phone to his head. Some woman said, Palo County Sheriff’s Department. What is your emergency?

A guy. This guy, he said. A guy’s been shot.

What is your name and location, sir?

Well, we’re at this rest stop north of the Tastee-Freez on Seventy, somewhere past Ortonville. Way past Ortonville.

Sir. Do you mean Oroville?

On the nose, he said. He searched with his free hand for a cigarette.

Do you see a milepost marker, sir?

No. There’s these big pines right by the road. Kind of behind there.

The rest stop north of the Tastee-Freez and north of Oroville. What’s his condition, can you tell me?

Luntz said, He got shot in the leg. How do you make a tourniquet?

Just apply direct pressure to the wound. Is he conscious?

He’s fine, honey. But the blood’s just pouring.

Apply pressure. Put a clean cloth down and press hard on the wound with the palm of your hand.

I’ll do that, yeah, but I mean—can you get here pretty quick?

She started talking again, and he hung up.

He found his lighter and got his Camel going. Took several deep puffs, threw it aside.

He went across the rest stop under the evergreens to where Gambol sat propped against the left rear wheel of his Cadillac, looking very pale. Very large. He’d removed his white golfing hat. What a head. A huge head. His entire right pants leg was soaked black with blood. The white hat lay beside him.

Luntz bent from his waist and unbuckled Gambol’s belt, and Gambol opened his big foreign-looking eyes.

Luntz said, I need your belt for a tourniquet.

He put his foot between the man’s big legs and dragged the belt free through the loops around his fat middle. Look, brother, he said to Gambol, I hope you understand.

Gambol breathed deep a couple times but didn’t seem able to speak.

Luntz said, Am I supposed to sit around and wait for you to break my arm? When was the last time you got a broken bone?

Gambol huffed and puffed. He felt for his hat beside him, brought it to his chest, and held it there. Guess what? he managed to say. I got a busted thigh bone right this minute.

I called 911, so just hang on.

With surprising energy, Gambol suddenly tossed away his white hat. The wind caught it, and it sailed a dozen yards into the trees. Then he seemed to lose consciousness.

Luntz dropped the belt in Gambol’s bloody lap. He parted the lapels of Gambol’s camel-hair sports coat and reached inside for Gambol’s wallet and pocketed

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Reviews

What people think about Nobody Move

3.6
36 ratings / 30 Reviews
What did you think?
Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

Reader reviews

  • (3/5)
    Dennis Johnson is a great writer. This however is not his best work. The story is well written there just isn't a lot of substance. It follow the genre formula to the letter and is instantly forgetable.
  • (4/5)
    This book zips along and is pleasurable but ultimately falls well short of awe inspiring. It is a hard-boiled, noir-like story set in California. A likable gambler shoots a mobster in the leg to escape paying a debt, he goes on the run, meets a beautiful woman also at odds with the law, and they hole up in a biker bar together. While they are spinning a plan to get millions of dollars she was framed for embezzling, the mob catches up with him and a certain amount of action ensues. Ultimately, the bad guys don't fare particularly well.

    The dialogue is a strong point in this book, with well drawn characters and rapid fire repartee. And the plot is enough to keep you going with interest but not enough to, at the end of the day, say one be very impressed.

    I have not read any other Denis Johnson books but if this is an appetizer then it makes me look forward to the main course.
  • (3/5)
    This is first book I've read by Denis Johnson, and that was possibly a mistake. His writing style is amazing but most of the genre homages were lost on me.
  • (4/5)
    Denis Johnson's "Nobody Move," set in the depressed burgs of Northern California, is a moody homage to the works of Raymond Chandler, Mickey Spillane, and James M. Cain.. All of Johnson's characters are losers of one sort or another: Jimmy Luntz, a middle-aged nobody with a serious gambling debt; Juarez, Jimmy's creditor, a small-time crook who has assumed a false name and accent to conceal the fact that he is actually from the Middle East; Gambol, Juarez's lumbering "enforcer" who is sent to collect Jimmy's debt; and no less than two femme fatales: Anita Desilvera, a petite brunette with a drinking problem who joins Jimmy's fugitive run with a few plans of her own, and Mary, a "hefty blonde" who applies her nursing skills (and more) to an injured and morose Gambol in hopes of gaining some personal dividends in the bargain. The book is an abrupt departure from Johnson's previous prize-winning book, "Tree of Smoke," and one gets the feeling that he is having fun with it. Johnson's book evokes the mood of vintage noir films like "Double Indemnity" and "Kiss Me Deadly." The dialogue is terse, cynical, and darkly humorous: "You're drunk." "Not yet, but I like how you think." The light banter that ricochets between characters in a volley of poker-faced one-liners is eerily at odds with the extreme violence of the story line, but Johnson works this contradiction to the book's advantage, a la "Pulp Fiction." Much of Johnson's dialogue echoes that of Richard Price ("Lush Life," "Clockers"), the current king of gritty urban dialogue, who also happens to be a script writer ("The Wire."). No wonder "Nobody Move" almost begs to be made into a movie.
  • (5/5)
    Johnson takes what appears at first to be a typical crime story and imbues it with both spark and depth. Jimmy Luntz, a likeable. impractical gambler with a "sissy body" gets in trouble with a bad crowd over - what else? - gambling debts. There's a bad woman, a good woman, and many bad men. The writing is crisp and the dialogue pin-point, punctuated by moments of poetry: "Her hearing came up: the hiss of the river in this wide slow spot, and the breeze in the branches, the tick of the willow leaves." A deceitful judge is "the father of lies." Johnson doles out facts and plot tidbits artfully, but not necessarily where you would expect them. Nearly every word and scene is written as if it could be no other way.
  • (3/5)
    This is a quick read. It's a fun crime novel that reads like a Quentin Tarantino movie.
  • (5/5)
    Leave to Denis Johnson to write a highly readable yarn about a group of low-life losers and gangsters and allow a measure of redemption. Many such books fail in the last regard and can only be labeled as decadent. (Not that I'm above a decadent read now and then.) But when a hard-boiled story is deft enough to twist and turn and leave the reader guessing until the last page the pleasure is double or triple. I closed "Nobody Move" with a satisfying, wry smile.
  • (4/5)
    The action and characters and snappy dialogue and impossible situations keep you reading until the end. It is a bit like a cross between Elmore Leonard and Flannery O'Connor. The gambler Jimmy Luntz is pretty lucky even though he keeps losing his lottery scratch offs.
  • (3/5)
    Good fun. Nowhere as deep as his other works, but good fun and a step up for airplane books.
  • (3/5)
    Nobody Move is the story of interconnected characters in the California desert. Jimmy Luntz is a gambler deep in the whole to his bookie, Gambol is the man sent to inflict physical harm to get the money, Juarez is the king of this underworld, and Anita Desilvera is an alcoholic and soon-to-be-divorced woman convicted of embezzlement who happens upon Jimmy. It's a motley cast of characters, and the cover's gunshots holes are a good indicator of the amount of violence.Denis Johnson is a gifted writer; no one disputes this fact. The characters are intriguing, and there is suspense of sorts, but somehow it didn't all come together for me. Perhaps my own cynicism led me to believe their futures to be bleak and inevitable and I didn't fully embrace the characters. I usually adore noir, but I was ambivalent about this one. It's a brief book, less than 200 pages, and it seems to beg for a movie rather than a book. I wanted to like it more than I did, although I did enjoy reading it (except for one completely unnecessary, disgusting scene that would not have been out of place in a cheap teen comedy).
  • (5/5)
    The best Elmore Leonard novel ever!
  • (3/5)
    There's not much too add to the reviews below. Nobody Move is like Tarentino's Pulp Fiction in novel form. Fun, fast, witty, and violent. Nobody Move doesn't have the depth and resonance of many of DJ's other works, but it seems clear that this was more of a palate cleanser for DJ following the weighty Tree of Smoke. That said, I found Mary and Jimmy's struggle to find love on the run endearing as hell. Now that I think about it, it reminds me of Clarence and Alabama's adventures in the Tarantino-scripted True Romance. May I humbly suggest that True Romance replace Pulp Fiction as the Tarantino comparison of choice for Nobody Move?
  • (5/5)
    A quick fun read about losers constantly turning on each other, lots for violence and bad language to round out a great book to read.
  • (5/5)
    Excellent brief read with great dialogue and an enteraining plot and characters. It reads like a script written by combination of Elmore Leonard with help from Quenton Tarantino.
  • (4/5)
    Will Patton was born to read Denis Johnson. Near perfect crime crosswire non-resolve. I loved it. Welcome to California.
  • (3/5)
    delicious pulp
  • (5/5)
    Readers who know Denis Johnson only from his 614-page National Book Award winner, "Tree of Smoke," a complicated novel about the Vietnam War, will find it difficult to believe that "Nobody Move" is from the same author. "Nobody Move" is short and it is certainly not complicated. The novel, in fact, first appeared in print as a four-part serialization in Playboy in 2008 and the book's pacing reflects the fact that it was written to be presented in four distinct parts over a period of months.In a book filled with lowlifes, thugs, enforcers, and other assorted sociopaths, Jimmy Luntz is about the closest thing to a hero there is - proving that everything is, indeed, relative. Luntz, in debt to a cutthroat loan shark, one day finds himself in a car being driven by Gambol, a man who intends to remind Luntz of his monetary obligations by using a $10 crowbar on his kneecaps. Gambol, though, gets careless just long enough for Luntz to gain the upper hand. Luntz, not one to pass up an opportunity to avoid a good beating, manages to shoot Gambol in the leg, steal his fat wallet, push Gambol out of the car, and drive away in the man's Cadillac.Jimmy, now on the run in northern California, meets one Anita Desilvera, newly divorced and recently framed by her ex-husband in a $2.3 million embezzlement scheme. Anita is determined to get her hands on the money she has been accused of stealing and sees Jimmy as the kind of "muscle" she needs to get it done. Jimmy, on the other hand, just likes what he sees when he looks at Anita and is happy to be hiding out with someone so attractive.Jimmy and Anita hatch a plan that will net each of them half of the missing $2.3 million dollars but, when Gambol and his loan shark boss catch up with them, plans change - and quickly. What happens next reads like Raymond Chandler on speed. Denis Johnson pulls no punches. This is a dark book, one filled with violence and brutality but, very much in the Chandler style, Johnson uses dark humor and sharp dialogue to temper what his characters are doing to each other.The audio version of "Nobody Move" is read by actor Will Patton, well known for the major books he has narrated in the past, including Johnson's own "Tree of Smoke." Patton's delivery is perfect for this four-CD audio book, employing exactly the tone needed to deliver Johnson's sarcastic dialogue and witty give-and-take at its best. Even the most brutal of Johnson's characters are given distinct personalities of their own by Patton's vocal takes on their make-up.This one, bloody as it is at times, is still great fun, and that is due in no small part to Will Patton's reading. I am not sure that I would have found it nearly so funny in written format but I highly recommend the "Nobody Move" audio book to readers who have a "Pulp Fiction" frame-of-mind.Rated at: 5.0
  • (4/5)
    This book zips along and is pleasurable but ultimately falls well short of awe inspiring. It is a hard-boiled, noir-like story set in California. A likable gambler shoots a mobster in the leg to escape paying a debt, he goes on the run, meets a beautiful woman also at odds with the law, and they hole up in a biker bar together. While they are spinning a plan to get millions of dollars she was framed for embezzling, the mob catches up with him and a certain amount of action ensues. Ultimately, the bad guys don't fare particularly well.The dialogue is a strong point in this book, with well drawn characters and rapid fire repartee. And the plot is enough to keep you going with interest but not enough to, at the end of the day, say one be very impressed.I have not read any other Denis Johnson books but if this is an appetizer then it makes me look forward to the main course.
  • (3/5)
    Fast and entertaining read.
  • (3/5)
    When I first started reading this book, I didn't have high hopes, but it completely surprised me. The characters were archetypal without seeming cliche. I thought all of them were interesting, and the story was too. I loved the way the author gave his readers credit; instead of just spelling out the story or trying (and failing) to give a surprise twist, he expected the reader to follow along. Well written.
  • (3/5)
    Certainly a breezy read, perfect for transport reading. But it never quite delivers on its promise to be in the league with Elmore Leonard or Carl Hiassen. Starting with low-life gambler and sad sack Luntz getting nabbed by a gangster he owes money just as he leaves his barbershop chorus concert, you think that's where it's going. But despite plenty of nastiness, there isn't enough quirkiness, color or memorable dialogue. Also, the Amy character's arc wasn't convincing. She got awfully cruel and violent near the end; where did that come from? No foreshadowing. Greedy, sure but not capable of this. Also, it's as though Johnson has never done online banking. Lacking four digits as part of a code might be a problem but getting into a bank account, even one's on onshore account, you'll need more than that.Still, in the right hands, this could make a Tarantino-esque movie and Anita's surprise viciousness would work fine.
  • (4/5)
    Trust Denis Johnson. If you need someone to lay down a straight flush pulp masterpiece, one of the best writers in the business is a safe bet. Not that I usually expect to find Johnson writing in this genre. But if anyone understands the movement of plot and character through dialogue, it’s him.Jimmy Luntz is a bit down on his luck. He’s in debt to some unsavoury people. The kind who come round to collect. And that gun you see in the first act will go off. In the first act. It’s that kind of novel. When Jimmy crosses paths with Anita Desilvera, he might think his luck has changed. She’s clearly out of his league. But she’s got troubles of her own, a taste for vodka, a bad karaoke habit, and a few million in missing funds that she’s taking the fall for having pilfered. She’s also got a bit of a mean streak. But she and Jimmy hit it off, sort of. And their two narrative paths are certain to comingle. With consequences.Mostly this is just fun writing and fun reading. There isn’t really much more to it than that. Johnson’s dialogue is endlessly refreshing. And he knows how to mingle fates both subtly and with lead. You might as well just sit back and enjoy. Gently recommended.
  • (4/5)
    The story starts with a kidnapping in Bakersfield by a big guy named Ernie. He's mean and gets the girl. (Just not the way you'd like.) I'm tired of being stereotyped.
  • (4/5)
    The book opens with the main character, Jimmy Luntz, being exposed as a member of The Alhambra California Beachcomber Chordsmen, a sort of barbershop singing group. Aside from this completely unrealistic aside, Luntz is a pitch-perfect witty portrayal of a gambling addict, including his relationship with a well-written fetching boozer. Luntz needs to take increasing risks to get himself out of gambling debts being called in. Packed with guns, quirky bad guys, surprising plot twists, this novel benefits from Johnson's writing skills, without being wrapped around some controversial setting or characters with less action-packed ramblings.
  • (4/5)
    After "Tree of Smoke", Denis Johnson has written a brief, action-packed, noir thriller. That's what the reviews all said. True, but there's a little more to it than that. A good read.
  • (3/5)
    Gambling addict Jimmy Luntz knows he’s in big trouble when he gets nabbed by Gambol, an enforcer working for Juarez, the underworld crime boss Jimmy’s in the hole to for a few grand. But his perenially bad luck changes when he manages to escape, having shot Gambol in the kneecap and stolen his cash-filled wallet. On the run, Jimmy crosses paths with another bitter loser, alchoholic Anita Desilvera. Anita’s crooked lawyer husband has embezzeled $2.3 million, framed Anita for the job, and, adding insult to injury, divorced her coldly…and Anita wants to get even. The two hide out, planning a caper to steal the $2.3 million from Anita’s ex while avoiding the thugs out to get Jimmy. Unfortunately for them both, Gambol and Juarez not only find them, but find out about the big money at stake. Fates collide violently, and, of course, not everyone makes it out alive and well.Deeply flawed but strangely likeable characters, from weaselly Jimmy to dedicated Gambol, add a little bit of something special to this grim and gritty noir thriller. Shots of bleak humor enliven the starkness of Johnson’s view of lowlifes on the make.
  • (3/5)
    A solid, fast-paced crime novel that has none of Johnson's poetic flourishes whatsoever. If it had a blank cover I would have assumed it was by Elmore Leonard.
  • (5/5)
    Great fun. Read like a classic noir, witty, violent, suspenseful.
  • (2/5)
    Are you familiar with the subreddit r/menwritingwomen ? Because that is where this book belongs. Though Johnson's female characters certainly have some agency. Quentin Tarantino could direct the movie.This novel did apparently first appear in Playboy. And it very much reads like a c1950s harboiled detective novel, but everyone here is a criminal--there is no detective. Gamblers, loan sharks, thieves, embezzlers, who knows what all. They come from Arcadia, Bakersfield, and somewhere outside Oroville. They are all interconnected, because I guess all criminals know each other? And it's equal opportunity insults, with women, Mexicans, Muslims, and Natives all getting it. Only the gay characters aren't mocked.I listened on hoopla so don't have page numbers, but here are some lines:--"pee kind of musically" (a woman, of course)--"a hefty woman", also described as "a hefty blonde"--"Do you always talk about people as though they are invisible?" "Usually just women." (HAR HAR)--"You do drink like an Indian." (another woman)--"possibly pregnant or ready for a diet"So...yeah. There's also lots of shooting.
  • (3/5)
    Read at a single sitting (10 PM - 2 AM), rare for me. Denis Johnson's Nobody Move caroms and skids through a week's worth of antics, ending up -- after significant collateral damage -- about where it started. I can imagine several scenes adopted as set pieces in snide movies. The crime noir plot is propelled by action and dialogue such that it’s easy to miss the book's elegant structure and occasionally evocative description. A gateway drug to Jesus’ Son or Tree of Smoke.