Knuckle Supper by Drew Stepek: Book Review

Oct 28, 2010
Hari Navarro

Knuckle Supper by Drew Stepek - © Drew Stepek, 2010

Those who shy away from mirrors should avert their eyes as author Drew Stepek slams his addiction smeared social looking glass up for all to see.

Often with material as desolate and violence ridden as Knuckle Supper most surely is, there is a decided tendency to temper the pace by ebbing and flowing the emotional pummel. But not here, no. Here within author Drew Stepek’s intricately drawn wasteland of wasted humanity, a junk-fueled commitment to the bleakest of premises is in full flight. This is a place where reader sensibility is sidelined in lieu of a style of prose that screams credibility.

Each and every passing page subliminally leads into a supposedly fictional world, the likes of which run parallel to the mainstream in most every city on the planet. It is this distant and somewhat guilt-laced familiarity to the characters and places as they struggle, beg and bribe for their respective Knuckle Suppers, that sets this vampire yarn apart.

The deeper into the book the page turner stumbles, the more tactile the surroundings. The clock on the wall will stall its relentless harvest and the reading of just one more chapter will be never enough. The palate will dry and tongues will probe through the acid bite of regurgitated bile at imagined morsels of human sinew that wedge into clenched teeth. Stepek’s masterful ability to give distinct voice and create indelible form with his deceivingly simple cache of words really is that engaging.

Knuckle Supper – The City of Dirty Angels

The city of Los Angeles is segmented, with each piece of the coveted pie reigned over by a different vampire clan. Each one distinct, but as one in their insatiable quest for fresh drug-addled human blood. At the heart of the action is minor gang leader RJ, a creature drawn from the gutter who now uncomfortably resides in his desecrated husk of human flesh. We meet him as he in turn meets Bait, a twelve-year-old prostitute and the catalyst to his impending blood sodden arc. A journey that sees this once unflinching and soulless killer not only confront his steadily amassing enemies, but also the wretched truth of his origin.

There is a tone, a streaming colloquial elegance to the way in which people - both alive and deceased - communicate as they pass through Knuckle Supper’s distended colon. This is no flippant stab at offensive imagery as finishing and absorbing this read truly does leave you dirty. The language here is extremely specific, it calls upon an intricate knowledge of drug use and abuse, the codes that dictate street gang decorum and words that simply drip from the mouths of those who live in houses of card - but it all resonates. It all fits.

Knuckle Supper – Fantastically Exaggerated Characters Drawn from the Street

What little light relief that does exist within Knuckle Supper’s ruddied narrative comes in the form of a wonderful turn by failed actor Eldritch. Self-imposed vampire queen of kings and ever-flamboyant, even his pointed digs at sacrosanct vampire lore are not enough to dull the impact of the story’s innumerable ripped limbs and scooped clean skull cavities. Though poignantly, it is in fact this meticulously described violence that in the end offers the piece its most sobering subtext. Although fantastical and wildly excessive the gore and suffering that is detailed is shamed, not by a vampire but the solitary desperate act of a human child.

Knuckle Supper – A New Breed of Vampire

It is no secret that vampire themed literature and film is the new black. Night stalkers of every imaginable ilk pollute our screens, for the most part pointlessly adrift within a fog of pulp romance and hollow angst. Our bookstores and libraries dedicate entire sections to a sub genre that has snatched teendom by the neck and emotionlessly clamped in its corporate talons. But look beyond the rows of identical dust jackets, each and every one emblazoned with the same full pouting lips, dribbling red in fake rapture. Find the back alley that lurks behind your favorite bookstore and travel to its darkest end. Here, huddled and hooded you will find the lost and Drew Stepek’s Knuckle Supper will most surely be their meal of choice.

Up to 10% of the revenue from Knuckle Supper will be donated to Children of the Night, a privately funded non-profit organization established in 1979 for the rescue of children from child prostitution.