No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
Sometimes a work of fiction absolutely does make good on the promise to bring us to another world. And sometimes a novel can make a reader see the world through fresh eyes. New to paperback, Ryan Gattis’ All Involved delivers both as it brings us to a place and culture that few of us can ever know.
Three forceful knocks on the door of Joe’s Tavern are unacknowledged. Joyful voices and laughter are heard inside. The knocking starts again and doesn’t stop until someone near the door decides to see what’s going on.
[et_pb_section admin_label=”section”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section][et_pb_section admin_label=”section” transparent_background=”off” allow_player_pause=”off” inner_shadow=”off” parallax=”off” parallax_method=”off” padding_mobile=”off” make_fullwidth=”off” use_custom_width=”off” width_unit=”on” make_equal=”off” use_custom_gutter=”off” gutter_width=”3″][et_pb_row admin_label=”Row”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][et_pb_code admin_label=”Code” global_module=”116″ saved_tabs=”all”]<center><script type=’text/javascript’ src=’http://www.googletagservices.com/tag/js/gpt.js’> googletag.pubads().definePassback(‘/23083367/litbreaker/litbreak/Top’, [[970, 250], [728, 90]]).display(); </script> </center>[/et_pb_code][et_pb_divider admin_label=”Divider” color=”#ffffff” show_divider=”off” height=”10″ divider_style=”solid” divider_position=”top” divider_weight=”1″ hide_on_mobile=”on”] [/et_pb_divider][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Row”][et_pb_column type=”2_3″][et_pb_post_title admin_label=”Post Title” title=”on” meta=”on” author=”on” date=”on” categories=”on” comments=”off” featured_image=”on” featured_placement=”background” parallax_effect=”on” parallax_method=”on” text_orientation=”center” text_color=”dark” text_background=”on” text_bg_color=”rgba(255,255,255,0.9)” module_bg_color=”rgba(255,255,255,0)” title_all_caps=”off” meta_font_size=”14″ use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”] [/et_pb_post_title][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” background_layout=”light” text_orientation=”left” use_border_color=”off” border_color=”#ffffff” border_style=”solid”]
Now, look, I’ve been at this for more than forty-five years — long before Satish was even an itch in his father’s pants. I started with nothing, squatting on roadsides, selling roasted chana and peanuts off a gunny sack. They called me “Joker” because of how my wide smile always stayed on, even when dust, thick as chickpea flour, covered my face and hair.
They rise to the sky in shades deeper than the night, darker than my melancholy. Fragments of midnight, they consume the space between spaces, chew them and spit them out into obsidian cityscape. I observe them from my tenth-floor apartment – the highest aerie I could afford – and fill my vista with dark uncertainty. Outlined by infinity, bathed in the light spectral, the city’s building blocks stand aloft and not a single light shines. Not one.