Formerly known as The Book Catapult, this is now simply the blog of The Book Catapult – an actual independent bookstore in San Diego, CA!
You are cordially invited to an evening of literature and subtle violence, as only the Book Catapult can bring you…
That‘s right, Frank Bill, acclaimed author of Donnybrook and Crimes in Southern Indiana (a 2011 Catapult Notable Book) will be joining The Book Catapult (live and in person!) on:
But that’s not all! The evening will also be featuring 26-time World Champion arm wrestler, Allen Fisher and his posse of “pullers.” As a thematic link to the gritty nature of Frank’s work, Allen and the boys will be putting on an arm wrestling demonstration to help get the juices flowing.
This event is free, open to the public, and guaranteed to be a better time than whatever else you’ve got planned on a Tuesday night.
Questions? seth@thebookcatapult.com or scott@thebookcatapult.com
#donnybrookSD
In case you’ve forgotten or somehow failed to bookmark my earlier, brief review of Donnybrook, here’s what you’re getting into:
Frank Bill is also the author of Crimes in Southern Indiana – a Catapult Notable Book from last year – a collection of intense, violent short stories about the stinking, meth-lovin’ underbelly of America. In last year’s review, I called him “the real deal, a stone-cold badass writer with more skill & chops than you know what to do with.” I’m sticking to that assessment after reading Donnybrook, believe me. Frank scares me a little. Actually, I don’t think that there is a character in Donnybrook that wouldn’t make me pee a little if I met them in a dark alley. Even the pretty girls will break you in half or blow your face off with a .45. So the Donnybrook is an annual, 3-day bare-knuckle fighting tournament held on a 1000-acre compound owned by a madman in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. The $100,000 payout for the last man standing is enough to tempt every manner of scumbag deviant and half-wit for hundreds of miles around. Some come for the cash, some for revenge, and some for the fame, such as it is. All narrative strands are heading in the same face-punching direction, unfolding like a brisk, violent Guy Ritchie script on a serious dose of crank. Frank’s prose races through your veins like, well, like I would imagine a significant meth-rush would. Yeeeaaaaaaaaaa!!! Hillbilly-noir, some call it. All I know is it’s a rockin’ good time.