If you choose to read GALVESTON, by Nick Pizzolatto, be prepared for one helluva tragic journey through a bleak landscape. I was drawn into the dingy atmosphere of this book and swept away into a world where I could see and smell and touch everything. Pizzolatto's prose is simplistic but punchy. The man knows how to say a whole lot with very little. There are no heroes here, and I'm especially fond of those types of tales.
The opening of the book is a gunshot to the face. The middle is slow and peppered with jarring time jumps, but you should get used to them after the first one. Then you get to the blackmail (that's as close to a spoiler as you get) and things pick back up. My one complaint, and it's a pretty big one, is that we spend so much time with Roy and Rocky and Tiffany and their two weeks together only to speed through the ending like a hyperactive toddler freebasing cocaine and Sugar Smacks. I thought about why it felt like this, and the only thing I can think of is that maybe this was a novella that became Big-Six inflated. Meaning, the publisher (SIMON & SCHUSTER are infamous for this shit) requested more material so that they could sell it as a full-length novel. Same thing happened with Gaiman's THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE, but there, the filler worked. Here, not so much. And trust me, I know this is an unpopular opinion, but it's my opinion, and I loves it likes my own!
I would only recommend this book to those of you who enjoy a diet high in tragedy and immoral fiber. GALVESTON is a well written novel that messes with your feels, not to mention, you will be covered in a thin coat of muck and grime by the time you finish the final pages.
In summation, I like depressing shit, but GALVESTON lost a star for dragging its ass all over the place like a worm-infected Terrier. Fo' outta five hookers.