Pulped!

A reviewer on Vault Of Evil, after reading Pt1 of this tale in the magazine 'Worlds Of Strangeness', writes... " "The style was appalling: purple and hyperbolic, with an emphasis on hysterical pace and ridiculous analogy" Andy tears out of the starting gate, superseding homage with bang-on portrayals of those familiar genres. More fun than Christmas, and besides a ton of references I'm sure sailed over my head, there's a bucket of enjoyment from those that hit home. Red Admiral, The Big Figure, Al Murray...and Al Bowley?!?! Pulp - schmulp - worth it for the section headings alone - surely part two can't equal let alone surpass this?" How can you resist? Thrills Publications is a pulp house housed in a seemingly run-down block on the lower east side. It churns out five monthly publications: Thrilling Crime Stories (featuring the Red Admiral); Unearthly Thrills (featuring Joss Likely, master of the unknown); Quaterstaff Of the Jungle; Cosmic Thrills (featuring Crash Flanagan, space soldier of fortune); and The Black Pearl. In each of these, an adventurer has, every month on the dot, a thrilling tale in which they battle space villains, crime overlords and criminal masterminds, threats from beyond the sundered veil, and mad scientists populating the jungles and deserts of the world. What the world doesn't know is that the five writers ARE their heroes, and they return shattered from incredible confrontations to write them up and earn the money to finance their adventures. All the while, they have to keep up the pretence that this is fiction, lest the public panic. We see them in action at the beginning of the novel, clearing up their current missions, tidying up to make sure all is kept secret, then returning to the office to keep their schedules under the iron will and eye of Frank Gruber, owner of Thrills and the man who co-ordinates their missions. Frank is cynical, off-hand, cigar-chomping and unconcerned about their safety and health, as long as they deliver the goods, in both senses. Bald and moustachioed, talking in exclamation points, and with a series of blonde, leggy secretaries who seem to be nothing but eye-candy, he seems to be the archetype hard-bitten editor. In fact, this is partly a pose that has become a habit. In truth, Frank is a graduate of MIT and an electronics whizz who long ago realised that there was an enemy both from space, and from the world beyond space, that had infiltrated our continuum. He was ignored by the authorities, but forged on alone, using a private income to create machines and wepaons that would combat the perils faced by the unknowing world. Although this a 1930's world, it's more like one out of a Flash Gordon serial than the world we know. The PT building is an old garment warehouse on New York's lower east side, converted into five floors that house the editorial and printing facilties, as well as a basement and rooftop installation that allow the heroes to operate in secrecy. This is a New York of bright, primary colours and bold lines, where people talk like Damon Runyan characters, and the night is grimy and mysterious.


Genre: Science Fiction