PECKERWOOD BOOK CLUB: Adding To The Chilly Season Reading Pile, Plus Bret Easton Ellis' Blood-Soaked Jamboree!

Welcome book sloots, to another edition of The Peckerwood Book Club! It's that time once again. What books have you been reading? Tell-tell-tell. Which ones did you love? And which ones made you throw them across the room and exclaim, "Drek!" For my part, I'm always busy enjoying the outdoors in the summer, and while I still keep active in the fall and winter, reading is my absolute favorite pastime during the cold weather months. It's when my Guilt Pile™ of books is hungrily devoured - one after another - and with such speed that I'm usually left wanting around early January. So I'm hoping that I'll find plenty of good recommendations in the comments, and not just for me. I can't be the only one who's a wintertime reading omnivore. 

Remember, reading a great, or even just decent, book is a hell of a lot better for your soul than doom-scrolling when you can't get to sleep at night. For me, reading before bed cleanses my emotional palette. And I'd much rather be kept up till the early yawning hours by an unputdownable novel than by all the real-life horrors from Mother Jones or Daily Kos or The New York Times, wouldn't you? Even the tawdriest, tackiest novel is far more restorative. 

Speaking of tawdry and tacky - in a good way - let's talk about Bret Easton Ellis' "The Shards," in which a wealthy high school senior in Los Angeles in the early 1980s fears that a popular new student is a notorious serial killer. A small-screen miniseries based on the novel is set to unfurl on FX in mid 2026 - the ubiquitous Ryan Murphy is one of the producers - but the book is definitely one you should try and read beforehand. Okay, enough preamble, ready to dive in? Here we go: 

Sex and death collide with the force of sledgehammers in this absorbing period thriller wherein Bret, a gay, deeply closeted, 1980s-era Los Angeles teen, finds himself trembling with suspense given both "The Trawler," a grisly serial killer in his midst, and his own hushed sexual encounters with similarly closeted men. “Fear and sex were rarely separated,” Bret tells us, which is not exactly a newsflash. "The Shard" is rarely subtle. 

Yet the novel's blunt, maximalist approach is part of what gives it a seductive pull – the violence is magnificently lurid, the sex messy and explicit – and while the shock value of its “serial killer on the loose” concept seems, if not old-fashioned, than at least the same-old same-old, the author's prose is so overcooked, much like its teen characters, for whom sex and violence is new and shiny, that you can't help but be swept up. 

The characters are self-referential, especially Bret, who, like the author, grows up to write "Less Than Zero." This doesn’t contribute much to Bret’s character - beyond adding some wink-wink literary fapping for the easily amused - yet it doesn't really matter in the long run. Brett's compelling on his own as an intentionally glossy, CW network-type teen taken to the nnth degree, one whose powered solely by hyper-frantic hormones and horror. Chief amongst his fears is Robert, the impossibly handsome new student whom he believes is a serial killer, and who enters the story like a old school femme fatale; he's all sinewy good looks, dangerous attitude and proves irresistible to every girl in sight. 

Only Bret seems to regard him for what he truly might be, and his dread is palpable, especially when Robert turns his knowing gaze upon him, all but yanking him out of the closet with a dirty little smile. There's also Susan and Thom, the school’s dazzling golden couple who find deep conflict when Susan becomes attracted to Robert; Matt, a likable stoner whom Bret hooks up with; and Terry, the lecherous Hollywood producer/father of Bret's friend Debbie, who crudely beds Bret by promising him a gig as a screenwriter. 

"The Shards" is best enjoyed as satiny, blood-soaked pulp, or hugely effective trash. Everything emotion is whipped up to near operatic heights, and every nod to "Peyton Place" and "Valley of the Dolls" is scrupulously delivered in a novel which reads like literate Judith Krantz instead of new-fangled Dashiell Hammett, though the author is clearly striving for the latter. He doesn't get there - not by a mile - but for those who haven't made time for reading lately, this is exactly the type of delicious nonsense that'll get you back in the habit.

Meanwhile, the Manor's Bibliophile Bendy Boy™ is just throbbing with book reading excitement, so remember to give him all you've got in terms of recommendations. He needs them badly. 

Photo Credits: Knopf/Penguin Random House; Joan Crisol