An Alias Among Us

John Dolan Vincent would very much like to give the world the finger.

The Contortionist's HandbookWhy not? He's got 11 of 'em. But being a polydactyl - and getting his ass constantly kicked as a result - is just one of boy Vincent's many issues. Dad's away "gold-digging" (i.e. jail) more often than he's home, which means Mom's gotta put out in order to put food on the table. And Sis? Well, Sister's doin' it for herself despite a nasty limp, a by-product of an illness left untreated in a way that'd bring shame to even the most medi-phobic Christian Scientist. Add the facts that little Johnny didn't walk 'til he was three, talk 'til he was five, prepped in reform school, but could do the New Math and draw with remarkable precision virtually from the cradle, and you've got the cracked back story of Craig Clevenger's The Contortionist's Handbook (MacAdams/Cage, $23); a sinuous twisting of one full-fledged idiot savant.

And as the maxim might run: "When the idiot gets savant, the savant gets going to LA."

Fleeing the scene of his own life - wouldn't you? - our prestidigitator shrewdly uses a jokester god's dubious gifts and begins to find cold, cruel comfort in anonymity. A sleight of hand helps to hide his unsightly abnormality, his knack for numbers works great for counting cards, and that fine line of his makes him a natural forger. Hustling beleaguered bureaucrats with artfully dodgy documents is even easier done than said, and before long Vincent is quick changing his name with obsessive compulsive regularity. Eric Bishop. Daniel Fletcher. Paul John MacIntyre. Every six months he becomes a new him, with a squeaky clean slate and a shadow-free past.

Almost. Of course, you can't hide behind an invisible man. The past he invents exists only on paper, which means a shadow lurks over every alias. Sure a series of unblemished records and a well-honed facility with the shrinks that would have him wrapped up helps to keep him outta the loony bin (barely), but nothing, not even know-how, can prevent him from being loony.

It's in his blood, his bones, his brain, and - yes - his extra finger.

Clevenger, a newcomer to the game of hard-boiled psychosis (call this The Contortionist Inside Me) has done his homework. Identity theft, psychopharmacology, card sharking - even a few shady LA women - are here rendered in stunning detail. But it's the bold, knowing, black and blue of the soul that really gives kick to this small tall tale. There's a beautiful mind at the end of its tether, and you just know it's gonna smart - and scar - when and if it snaps back into place. What's cool, is how gloriously painful the mark truly is.

Note: This article was first published online in the now defunct Bully Magazine. Supplied with immense thanks to Ken Wohlrob.

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