Review: "The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre" by Jonathan Raab
In this effort The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre succeeds, eventually. The story's thrust follows Abraham Richards, a war veteran recently returned to Cattaraugus County, a backwater conglomeration of acreage that resembles a town as much as any other 500 population fly-over. Plagued by wartime traumas, and perhaps hoping a job might give him some much needed direction, Abe falls under the employ of Sheriff Cecil Kotto as the County's newest deputy.
As any good pulp story asserts, the main character (Abraham Richards, in this case) will always play second fiddle to the their more interesting counterpart, often a campy, caricatured totem representing facism. Raab skips the political commentary this time around and leaves us with a less shout-y Alex Jones, rampant alcoholism and beer belly to boot.
Kotto hosts a local AM radio show called, "Kotto's Crazies" in the vein of Coast-to-Coast AM. Given his lawful mantle by way of a mass meth-based exodus of local government officials, Cecil ends up being one of the only things that stands between the world and a true-to-goodness alien invasion of warped and terrible proportions.
It's unfortunate that it takes so long for the book to pick up. The front half is spent almost entirely on building character (some of it seemingly needless and other parts redeeming themselves with humor) not for Abraham, but for Cecil. It isn't until they enlist the help of a local newswoman and her "oafish" cameraman halfway through (and a biomechanical satanic alien UFO attacks a main thoroughfare in Cattaraugus County) that the story shifts into proper gear and you begin to soak yourself in utter, blissful nonsense.
The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre isn't perfect, but nothing in its wheelhouse ever is. In fact I'd go so far as to say it's better with its flaws. This isn't trying to be the written equivalent of the Conjuring franchise, or Jordan Peele's latest take on horror. It's not trying to make a statement, though it makes a rather clumsy one about the feeling of lost belonging when a soldier returns home. Like Grindhouse films and schlocky B-movies, it revels in its flaws and amplifies them at every chance it gets.
Speaking of, this book is graphic. At one point a character's face is literally melting off and Raab spares no details, nor on any of the instances of violent cannibalism or multi-story bone pyres made in worship of some unseen gore lord. To describe the amount of blood and guts as "buckets" would be appropriate, if a little tacky.
Let us not forget the rampant drug abuse. It's a core part of the plot, even! A concoction of magic mushrooms, mescaline tea, and Cream Ale tall boys takes Abraham and Cecil on a truly psychedelic astral projection in the hopes of locating Larry "Bucky" Green, the mostly-off-screen antagonist of the novel who also serves as the distiller and distributor of his signature, blood-craze-inducing moonshine.
Larry often feels forgotten. His arc is interesting enough but we see so little of it that he may as well have been involved in name only. Because of this the climax falls a little flat, despite its overt theatrics and gleefully weird events. Raab wraps the story quickly afterward, leaving us only with a transcript of Sheriff Kotto's new cryptozoology TV show and the equivalent of a post-credits scene setting up further adventures with Cecil (found currently in the sequel, The Lesser Swamp Gods of Little Dixie).
I give The Hillbilly Moonshine Massacre 3 Jakes out of 5 possible Jakes. This is a complete story, a wild ride, and is tons of fun to read. It also lacks a level of character development and pacing from which it could have benefited greatly. If you're a conspiracy fan or enjoy alien fiction, I highly recommend this piece. Otherwise skip it and let your crazy uncle fill you in at Thanksgiving.
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