I had never heard of Sam W. Anderson or his Money Run series of stories prior to the box of Gallows Press books turning up on my stoop. Remorsefully ashamed is how I feel now upon completion, for these stories are fantastic. Is it horror? Not really. Is it straight fiction? Far fucking from it.
The stories in American Gomorrah are set on the edges of the American grid. Back roads, lost highways, bars and strip clubs, and all those seedy places we drive by and through and never give a passing nod.
Truckers ferry the damned and the doomed to destinations better unknown. Diner cooks have unique menus that include long pig and other fiendish foods. There are schizophrenics and midgets and sociopathic hypnotist preachers. Lot lizards with literal tails are all just another part of the deal.
The writing is as rich as the characters who reside here. Life is hard in the veins and arteries of the American circulatory system. The roads paved with tears and blood, sweat and spunk.
This is the real deal.
This is 21st century trash Americana noir.
This is…one of my new favorite books.