After being wowed by True Detective, I remember that somewhere I had a Pizzolatto book, begging to be read. After I hunted it down, I settled in to be lead into another world on mystery and murder in the South. Instead, I got disappointment, barely sketched out characters and casual misogyny. (Granted, this is Pizzolatto’s first foray into writing, but it’s still hard to bridge this first outing to the nuance and character development of True Detective Season 1).
Our manly man, Roy, works for the mob, hurting people, sometimes killing them, depending on their debt. He gets the news that he’s dying of cancer the same day the mob boss tries to bump him off. He flees the scene with a teen prostitute named Rocky, because why not? While on the run, they stop at Rocky’s old home so she can grab her kid “sister” (“I bet it’s her kid.” – Things I actually said out loud and turned out to be right about because this book is all about not being subtle.) This unlikely trio makes it to Texas, where they stay at a hotel in Galveston. Honestly, the city, even though it’s the title of the book, has no bearing on the plot. Pizzolatto just wanted a town that would be hot and have a beach so he could write a lot about Roy ogling Rocky in a bikini (but not acting on those impulses, because even though he beats people up, he still believes in chivalry!).
I get that there shouldn’t be anything off limits in literature. Teenagers being forced into prostitution is a thing. Teenagers being awash with hormones is a thing. These are all valid topics to write on. What my gripe is with Galveston is that it’s done in such a predatory way. That Pizzolatto seems to be talking directly to his readers, which are, of course, red blooded manly men because us lady like women wouldn’t have the stomach for a gory murder story, saying, “hey, imagine this piece of teenage ass I just wrote about, bet you want some of this!” It’s just grody.
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