The prose of Don Winslow's "Savages" is a beast that unfurls like the anarchic characters that inhabit it. The first "chapter," a mere two words of neglect, set up the impression that not only are these characters rude, but they're working on a different level. As the pages unfold, it is discovered that these Southern California residents are a couple of small time drug dealers who get mixed up with the Mexican Drug Cartel. Winslow doesn't so much capture the ensuing conflict that resonates over 2008 and 2009, but finds a way to add intensity by playing with the structure of language, mixing poetry with immature philosophy, entire chapters written like screenplays, and a stream of consciousness approach that shows just how manic everything is. For all of the books' fault of being rooted in a time and place, it does so with such efficiency that it becomes astounding to witness the brief period between when the Bush era ended and the Obama one started. These are one of a kind characters, and Winslow knows how to get them under our skin.
With exception to a chronological narrative, there's no rigid structure to "Savages." There are times when passionate conversations span many lengthy paragraphs and feature details differentiating drug strains and practice, or how they are openly sexual. The world of Chon, Ben, and O (short for Ophelia) is one that is a perverted paradise, where they get by on drug dealing and doing their best to be seen as something greater. The only issue is that they don't care about much. Whole scenes delve into profane sexual passages that paint an ideal capitalist society where beauty and wealth can fill in the gaps. They're definitely smart and self-motivated, but they're more capable of giving into their base impulses than change the world. They're drug dealers first, and their dreams are often as mundane as getting O breast implants, or simply lounging around for a morning. This is how their story starts, where they pray at the altar of malls, full of corporations that get an entire chapter dedicated to simply labeling them.
Add in themes of veteran soldiers, and the story couldn't fit anywhere else but the late 00's, where Bush-era politics were still front and center. There's a certain xenophobia to America's relationship with Mexico, in part because none of the Mexican characters are anything but drug dealers and murderers who broadcast their attacks on the dark web. It's a surreal vision, especially when applied to characters with such casual language and a foolish confidence. It's a hazy mentality that is uncertain of how anything can be done, and it shows in their scrappy nature. They don't think in complete thoughts, but fragments that connect themselves in a hostile sense of conservatism, where liberals are weak and the fight for self-starters like Ben and Chon take precedent. It's a hostile world, and one where not everything makes sense, at least if written in the traditional sense.
The book is an electric read, in large part because Winslow operates in a format that isn't common. With language often parsed out, it feels like the reader is understanding the thinking process of "Savages" as it unveils. It all feels so casual that it almost feels that way. Sometimes the thought is merely to apply useless terminology to thoughts, most famously wargasms, as if they are clever prophets. Despite being smart enough to make money on drug dealing, they aren't capable of sustaining themselves against the Mexican cartel. With a Spanglish touch that hits certain chapters, the book becomes a stylized look that gives the characters depth, often within word choices. It's a clever book that is at times horrifying because of the violence described. Other times, it's a novel of self-indulgence, and one that barely holds itself together. The novel make be active constantly, but the charm only lasts as long as the reader's interest in the prose does. Considering that they're not always the most sympathetic, it does get hard at times.
"Savages" is a unique novel that never lets up its secrets. What it does have is a vision of a time and place so specific that it could be seen as an artifact. It could be a prime example of the vapid nature of Americans in relation to consumerism and racism, or it could just be a story of stoners getting high and fornicating. There's a lot of ways to read it, and everything flows with such efficiency that it's a miracle how well it turned out. Winslow almost seems to choose each word too precisely, and it makes these characters feel real, able to create an image of themselves even if Winslow rarely chooses that technique. As much as it suffers from being a gimmick, it's still a fascinating read that shows the impact that style can make, and how a time can come alive in simple vernacular. It isn't the greatest book in the world, but it may be a great indictment of American culture in 2008 in ways that not even the most informed editorial is. That's saying a lot, and not in that many words.
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