Glory to the Jackalope!

The Jackalopians: A Modern Tail by Mark Marlow

I’ve been tired lately. Out of it. Wake up, work, come home, nap. No damn energy to lift or write. But I did manage to read a lot. I finished three books in the past two weeks, one of them massive and difficult. I feel better now. More energy, more drive. Annoying crap at work is done, I’ve started to lift again, and I’m eager to get down to work on the novel that I’m going to drop and make you all read sometime next year.

Before I get back to work on the neo-modern ultra-maximalist epic that will drive my editor closer to madness than he already is, I need to drop a few reviews of independent novels I promised you guys. So, I brewed some Earl Gray, popped open a can of Coffee Zyn, and lit a stick of Frankincense for that mystical mood. Let us get to it, let’s talk about Mark Marlow’s novel The Jackalopians.

Now, I have to go on a quick aside before I get down to the novel itself. I’m sure you have all noticed that I’m very critical of the independent scene. I think most of the work put out is downright garbage. Not only poorly written but poorly conceptualized derivative nonsense. The independent scene, our guys, desperately need experienced editors and critics, if only to say no to the deluge of idiocy that drowns out the good stuff. But, not even taking the poorly written, the idiotic, or the masturbatory fantasies of degenerate anime perverts, a lot of independent fiction fails because it has nothing to say.

You know how all those assholes go on and on about woke this or woke that and superheroes suck because some Hollywood chick made them woke. Check this, if Disney, Marvel, Star Wars, and whatever other garbage suddenly became “unwoke” whatever the fuck that is, it would still suck. If the next Marvel movie portrayed Christian Boomercons and MAGA chuds as the heroes it would still be a shit movie because ultimately it would still be a Marvel movie and the whole genre is stale garbage.

What I’m trying to say, maybe not as clear as I want to because the Zyn is making my head spin, is that I’m pissed at the independent crowd. Yeah, here we have this great opportunity to break away from the mainstream, do some edgy stuff, and tell the damn truth, yet most of you are writing corny elf fantasy and boring space nonsense. Safe, stale, non-threatening. You can’t go back to Tolkien, you can’t go back to Howard, or Lovecraft, or any of the classics. If you try your best you will achieve the literary equivalent of a good Rennaissance Faire band. Fun in small doses, but ultimately lame. Accept it and move on.

Okay, that was a long aside. People say that they hate reviews where the writer goes off on personal tangents. I, as the writer, don’t give a fuck what you think, so cope. With that out of the way, let's talk about The Jackalopians, a novel that exemplifies what we should be writing and what I want out of our scene.

Mark Marlow’s novel is a current-day satire, a novel for and about the most marginalized and silenced voices in our present day, the decent, moderate-right, culturally Christian, young white American male. I know that statement will have some creatures pulling their blue hair and clenching their assholes so hard that the custom butt plugs crack, but it is damn true. I challenge everyone to walk into a Barnes & Noble and find a new book where the protagonist is a twenty-something conservative white male in the present day, not in historical fiction or SFF, and it can’t be written by a writer that has been grandfathered into the scene like Bret Easton Ellis.

The Jackalopians is a satire that starts in the most absurd time, the COVID plague of stupidity. Our narrator Dan is a young lawyer doing legal grunt work for a D.C. firm, dating a normal girl, and living a normie life when the virus hits and everything turns into the Kafkaesque nightmare we lived through. He’s stuck in his apartment working remotely, anti-Trump riots are happening in the streets, his girlfriend dumps him after cheating, and he slinks into a downward spiral of confusion and depression. At this low point, through a serendipitous accidental revelation of his political interests during a Zoom meeting, Dan gets invited to a meeting of a secret club called The Jackalopians, by no other than Hajii LeRoux, the group's esteemed founder.

Dan, skeptical at first, weary about being caught up in some right-wing fascist group, nonetheless decides to go to the meeting, which turns out to be in a pub on the edge of D.C. The Jackalopians, named after the famous American pseudo-cryptid are a group of young male professionals who get together, drink beer, and talk about politics, girls, and everything, all wrapped in the kitschy club-like ritual centered around the Jackalope. A sort of Rotary Club, but all they do is drink beer and joke around. A fundamental answer to the disconnected atomized world of COVID.

After the first meeting Dan, who is the standing for the reader, attends the novel and gives the background of Hajii Leroux and the story of how he came to create the Jackalopians during the turbulent but exciting 2015 political season. We learn about Hajii’s childhood as a Catholic, his time in college, where he was exposed to heretical progressive priests that led him to reject his faith, his era of self-destructive experimentation with alcohol and women, and finally his trip across the United States where he came across the Jackalope.

The Jackalopians is a novel about young, intelligent, men who would have been considered to be invaluable members of society in past generations but in our modern America are set adrift in a world of degeneracy and confusion. Yet, they find each other, hold on to old values, and rediscover old faith and friendships even when mired in the swamps of clownworld.

This book is a satire, often funny, but always true. We have the insanity of COVID lockdowns and hysteria. The riots and hypocrisy. Degenerate furry protesters who hide their perverse sadism with moral platitudes and liberal catchphrases. Car chases, gun battles, romance, faith, friendship, and a satisfying bittersweet ending. The Jackalopians has it all.

Most of all, Mark Marlow’s novel feels real. For all its satire and comedy there is a deep truth on these pages. A truth that you won’t find in any book sitting on the table at Barnes & Noble. But you will recognize it because you and I have lived it.

So, go pick up The Jackalopians. Read it. It’s not a perfect book, clunky here and there. A double frame narrative that didn’t work as well as I wanted it to, but nonetheless damn good, and a great start of what I hope is a new genre of literature free of the cadaverous stench of the mainstream.