by Craig Wolf

In Trespass, first novelist Craig Wolf offers up a streamlined greyhound of a plot and some fairly disturbing scenes guaranteed to raise shivers and hackles. While using a healthy dollop of surrealism, the author still keeps the action grounded and cinematic in the sense that certain portions reminded me, perhaps unfairly, of The Cell's phantasmagorical, allegorical sequences.

The novel leaps out of the blocks when a social misfit, Charlie Whitmore, attacks an attractive young librarian and unwittingly puts her into a coma. It's soon obvious that she's not his first "love," and he's not used to leaving a living body behind. Melanie is more than just "not dead"—her essence is now locked in a world of Charlie's making, a world located inside his head. Symbolic locations (such as a beach and several rooms) and items (such as a junker Camaro) populate the world in which Melanie is now a prisoner, but she soon realizes she's not the only one. In fact, she's just the latest victim in Charlie's long career. Charlie is a loser desperate for love, but the only way he can find it is to imprison the objects of his affections inside this internal world—raping until he tires of them, at which point he metaphorically chucks them into a lake. Or is it metaphorical? And what has happened to all his discarded victims?

But this time is different because Melanie is almost the first to figure out what Charlie does, and she's definitely the first who realizes she can reverse the process and take control of Charlie in the same way he takes control of her. A truly plucky heroine, the disembodied Melanie shares altogether too many similarities with Charlie, a fact which gives her the advantage—he doesn't know what he's up against, but she does, rifling through his memories until she understands what made him this way. Unraveling why Melanie is different from his previous victims becomes the novel's true plot—for they are each the key to the other's motivation, and their surreal dance is both frightening and engaging. Ultimately, out of the bleakness a ray of humanity shines on both protagonists, and it's a surprisingly touching event.

Wolf (Pressure Points) builds the novel's tension surgically, mostly shunning subplots and homing in on the main theme without deviating from the goal of presenting ideas that are bound to make readers uncomfortable. Rape is never an easy subject to tackle, and those of us who've tried it can attest to the ease with which it can go awry. Wolf's approach never wavers from the necessary visuals, but his heroine's pragmatism and downright clear-headedness even in the face of her own murder, keep the controversial aspects in check. There is generally no better way to explore evil than by presenting it in its unvarnished condition, smacking us in the face with all its ugliness. It's a precarious perch, but well-negotiated by a writer unafraid to look down. While the novel's brevity may be a partial flaw due to the many other themes he could have explored, Craig Wolf's first effort benefits from its singular focus and clean—not stripped down—prose. Clearly, this is a writer to watch, and Fine Tooth Press is noteworthy for their willingness to go along on this journey through the dark.