There are no old drug addicts. That’s what everyone says, at least. So how did Chuck get to his forty-third birthday and find himself still neck-deep in this scene? He knows he’s the creepy old guy with the drugs or the guy who’s too old to be at the party doing everyone else’s drugs, but if it ain’t broke… Well, he manages to make it to work at the dwarf whale distributor every day. He may hate that his dearly seedy San Francisco has become overrun with Starbucks, startups, and Lululemon moms, but he makes do every month for the rent-controlled apartment he shares with roommates he never sees. It’s not perfect, but it’s livable.
In the end, though, every addict has that one special vice that can tip them from relatively functional to completely unhinged. For Chuck, it’s a new drug that doesn’t even have a name yet; it’s just a smokable, everlasting gobstopper of mellow high. But when chunks of time begin to disappear and rearrange themselves , he wonders if this really is just another life-ruining drug or if it’s something straight out of a Philip K. Dick universe. Word on the street is that this little black marble is actually altering users’ timelines, but that’s impossible, right? That’s just something the schizophrenic homeless guy on Guerrero screamed at customers outside Tartine, isn’t it? Isn’t it?!
Although Black Hole is Sinister’s first novel, he’s an experienced storyteller.
Black Hole is designer drugs so new they haven’t been outlawed. It’s dead end jobs, douchebag dot com’ers, punk rock heroes . . . Bucky Sinister nails the incomprehensible demoralization of the addict’s existence. Hell, he nails it so well you won’t have to try it for yourself.
Bucky writes with a bullshit blasting lazer beam. Funny and dark.
This scabrously funny novel is a character study of a badly aging punk whose prime motivation in life is his voracious appetite for drugs . . . Reading about his crazy antics is a heady experience in its own right.
Classic down-the-rabbit hole drug fantasies in the spirit of the best of Hunter S. Thompson.
[A] fun read, with lots of sharp, satirical jabs at the Bay Area’s changing landscape.
Sinister is self-aware and never talks down to the reader . . . Sinister knows something of this world (he’s the author of a self-help book that details his own recovery), and this allows the writing to attain a refreshing clarity.
Bucky Sinister offers plenty of smart observations about the difficulty of maintaining one’s youthful ideals into middle-age, and how navigating the self-deceptions of nostalgia and addiction can be as treacherous as driving through a dense San Francisco fog.\xE2\x80\x9D