Review by Dennis D. McDonald

It was the dame’s earrings … They kept jangling in my mind, like tolling Easter bells out of some giant, hollow, cavernous cathedral … dark, inky shadows … except for those damn earrings… like golden beacons in a monochrome Dark City …

I have to light another cigarette just thinking about them, how the light bounces off them, how the tiny pick-ax and heart and tiny rocket ship sway and dangle and tickle the side of her neck … and how the light glints off the barrel of the gun she holds trained between my eyes …

Every time I turn around there’s something careening … a bullet through the air to get trapped in a badge … a corpse filled sedan plunging into oily black tar while Irish mercenaries crouch to pounce … a hand grenade poised to go off … a cop car flying over the top of the hill … a body smashing through a window … a severed hand still clutching a revolver plops on the ground … nothing ever stands still except Solitary broken every Thursday by the arrival of Cordelia’s letter …

Marv is like giant knocked up Energizer bunny crossed with Hellboy and Riddick … not only do you not mess with Marv you do not mess with his dames and if you do the Wrath Of God shall descend upon your sorry ass and you shall lose whatever overcoat you are wearing that day … Marv is the glue who holds things together … I want Marv on my side next time I get in a jam …

Review copyright (c) 2005 by Dennis D. McDonald