THE DAMP FEDORA
By Kate Pilarcik
Down & Out Books
114 pgs
Stream of consciousness writing is
the process by which a writer jots down words faster than the output of a
Thompson submachine gun. It is not easy to do, as often what ends up on the
paper is a mish-mash of thoughts and disjointed ideas that simply don’t fit
together at all. On the other hand, if you’re Kate Pilarcik, you end up with a
book that is so energized with rapid-fire slang-slugs, it’s almost impossible
to keep up with. Honestly, if you aren’t
an experienced reader who truly loves the written word, we are going to warn
you away from this little gem. Why? Because to fully appreciate its nuances and
word-games, one needs to love fiction. Pulp fiction to be exact. And of course
we do, which in this case is a very happy happenstance.
Nelle Callahan is a gusty,
tough-as-nail female P.I. who agrees to help a mysterious, handsome stranger
locate his father’s lost will. Seems
like a simple enough, run-of-the-mill plot. Right. So she takes him to her
favorite coffee shop down the street where they are assaulted by a mob thug.
Then, after Nelle puts the mug’s lights out, with the owner’s help via a
swinging fry pan, she finds herself chasing after a famous baseball player who
just happened to be in the joint and witnessed the confrontation. Apparently a talented player for the
Phillies, this sportsman, it turns out, was at the shop looking for Nelle in
the hope she can get him reinstated and back on the playing field.
All of which takes the story into
the world of pre-World War II baseball and it is a ride as wacky and joyous as
an extra innings pitchers’ duel. Do
recall my earlier warning; this is the kind of book that takes detours you
never saw coming. Then, before you can sing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame,” we
discover this troubled big leaguer is in possession of a priceless J.R. Reach
bat made of white ash, of which only three were made.
Oh, and did we mention Nelle is also
a secret agent for the O.S.S.?
“The Damp Fedora,” once we managed
to cut our way through the first five pages, took off like a bucking bronco
fresh out of the rodeo shute forcing us to hold on for dear life. With every
wondrous phrase, evocative of times long gone, we experienced a thrill ride
like none other found between the pages of such a slim book. Pilarcik is a
bloody genius and you heard it here first.
Now, Lady, you owe me a cold one.