*Edit
Denis Johnson can do no wrong. ( )

Quite a heady mix of espionage, friendship, love, and African tribes. A rather gloomy depiction of Africa. Not very sure what's this book is about. ( )

This is simply fantastic writing, and much different from anything else I have read (or in this case listed to) by Johnson. It takes place in Sierra Leone, Uganda, and the Congo, and it tells the story of a morally ambiguous Danish/American man, Roland Nair, who has worked in various intelligence agencies. The plot, which is murky at times, has him looking for an old colleague, the unforgettable Michael Adriko, who has a scheme to make a lot of money in Africa. Except that the book is not really so much about the plot as it is about Nair's inner conflicts and turmoil as he floats through this strange world trying to find some place for himself in it. It portrays the mindset of an anchorless person extremely well, and the collection of characters, almost 100% shady, that he encounters are very memorable, as are the settings and landscapes. This is a deeply immersive, very strange book that grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. It could have been much longer, in fact, and I would probably have enjoyed it as much or more--but a longer book would have made it much more a book about plot instead of a book about this very human, very pitiful character. One can only wonder where he goes from here.

The audio book was extremely well read by Scott Shepherd in a variety of accents that brought all the characters to life, especially Nair's desperation as things get darker and darker. ( )

After reading Tree of Smoke and Jesus' Son, I became a Denis Johnson fanboy. This, the last book he published while he was alive, confirms me as a fan. His depiction of Freetown, Sierra Leone, where I lived for a time almost 45 years ago, rang true despite a very thin plot. Of course, I read Johnson for his writing skill, his ambivalent characters and the murkiness of his plots. ( )

Denis Johnson, for me at least, has always represented a more important place in American Lit than Bukowski. He is a tenderer, internationally aware, less solipsistic writer in my opinion. Though Johnson's writing lacks a lot of the wild humor, it is still black comedy and is often rowdy and mean.

The Laughing Monsters is a terse, constrained Heart of Darkness, where most of the day-to-day duties of an international amateur (or professional?) terrorist lend it an air of realism. The larger-than-life characters and grandiose plot devices undermine the seemingly less-than-competent narrator's blase attitude toward existence. Like Bukowski, the main character lugs around a sack of discontent and unfulfilled ideals, and an obvious label of 'washed-up' immediately comes to mind.

Taking place in Ghana, the Congo and Sierra Leone, about as much action occurs as one might expect from D. J., which is to say, not a ton, but just enough to justify all of the brooding, which is just another of many excuses to drink, not to mention a convenient moment to engage in a tad of womanizing.

Money is the root of all evil. We all understand that. But from Nair's perspective, it is a necessary, and alluring evil. This is more of a travel narrative, I thought, than an espionage thriller, and the commentary it gives on the state of affairs and the picture it paints of the African continent is absorbing and well worth the cover price. ( )