Notes-to-Self: A Jack of All Trades
Christopher Alan Broadstone has no desire to be the next Stephen King. A writer first and foremost, he’s also a jack-of-all creative trades: DIY filmmaker (Human No More) and musician (About 9 Times; The Judas Engine). When he commits to art – regardless of medium – he commits in full. And he’s a firm resister of formulaic storytelling.
Such is the case with his latest published effort, Notes-to-Self: Accumulated Thoughts, Transferred into Word Form.
Per the title, this is a compilation of material spanning 4 decades, which ranges from previously unpublished short fiction, a screenplay, and copious poetry. If we adhere to the old cliché, “variety is the spice of life,” Broadstone offers it in spades.
Beyond Viral Trends
From a physical standpoint, the paperback edition of Notes-to-Self foreshadows the author’s attention to detail: an oversized image of an open, bloodshot eye acting as a window into the titular body-horror tale. The color scheme of the front and back cover has the quality of aged mahogany, suggesting a paradox of the classical and the contemporary. Even the thickness of the pages in this 443-page tome recalls a time when books – and art in general – were built to hold permanent space on one’s shelf, instead of being an incendiary, easily-discarded fad.
In a world where “content” (and its immediate consumption and defecation) is king, Broadstone looks beyond viral trends that sometimes last less than 24 hours; he’s far more interested in longevity and timelessness (or simply being outside of time altogether).
Existential Trips to Hell
Notes-to-Self follows the progress of a man whose body is changing in strange and uncontrollable ways. It’s no mistake that the Indiana Jones films are referenced within the text, as the protagonist – “The Splitfoot Killer” – makes a whirlwind tour from a Cairo hospital to his Boston apartment, where the climactic action occurs.
Broadstone is keenly aware that the foundation of a good story is a solid concept. His vivid description creates a fully-fleshed-out vision of locations, emotions, and even physical transformation. Words do not fail him; in fact, he always seems to come up with the right ones.
One of the best stories in the collection is “Again Once More,” the tale of Spaceman – an astronaut stranded on the moon. In the distance, Earth is going to hell – literally – and he spends his final moments of life shouting out his complaints toward the blue-and-green sphere and its inhabitants. Broadstone uses this simple setup for a story that would play well as a bit of old-time radio drama (albeit attuned to our contemporary sensibilities) – it’s at once caustic and transfixing, unafraid to say things others might shy away from.
Contrast that to “The Deformity,” wherein two yokels share a dialog-heavy journey through a circus sideshow on the way to meet their maker. The tone is reminiscent of a bizarro Abbott and Costello routine, yet Broadstone’s conceptual confidence drives the tale to a satisfying, darkly tongue-in-cheek conclusion.
The emphasis on detailed description resurfaces in “The Dying Man: A Comedy of Eschatology,” in which recurring Broadstone character Frederick Dexter Chromenplated takes a torturous, existential trip to Hell, which entails mysterious mocking voices and getting sealed up in a human-sized egg-cocoon, reverse-Alien style. It’s a tale that deliberately tests the reader’s patience, but the author’s assured hand keeps us invested in the outcome. No small feat.
Religious imagery infiltrates Broadstone’s fiction and poetry, with its most potent depiction in a screenplay adaptation of his short story, “Roseblood.” A callous Los Angeles agent named Ron Damasc finds himself in a position of martyrdom at the hands of vagrant flower salesman Andre John Valentine. The short story is graphic in its description, and this adaptation spares little detail – it would make one hell of an NC-17-rated movie. The violent beats resonate with a visceral effectiveness that complement the philosophy at play.
Pause for Reflection
Broadstone utilizes – again – a conceptual approach for his poetry. Part of what makes this portion of Notes-to-Self satisfying is the chronological order: commencing with the four-part “To Infinity,” we begin circa 1978-80, through a series of poems that tackle history, mythology, and religion through an abstract, unpretentious lens. Lyrics from Broadstone’s pop/New Wave band, About 9 Times, are interwoven with original works from the 1980s. A darkness seeps in, but there’s always something playful and palatable about it.
When we get around to the lyrics for metal band The Judas Engine, intellectual curiosity commingles with cynicism to create confrontational verse that challenges the reader/listener. Despite poetry’s abbreviated form, Broadstone’s wordplay is complex enough to inspire pauses for reflection. This isn’t bubblegum pop about love lost and found – it’s designed to prod your gray matter with the business end of a thumbtack.
Looking Closer
Adding to the value and appeal of Notes-to-Self is commentary from Human No More producer Matthew Sanderson, who provides intelligent analysis of Broadstone’s stories, style, and themes. His interpretation is fascinating, but also just that: an interpretation. Broadstone himself is similarly averse to definitive explanations in his introduction to the poetry section, which concludes with this delicious nugget: “Have you learned anything about me yet?”
Notes-to-Self, along with all of Broadstone’s work, encourages the individual to look closer, think for themselves, and take away what they will. The experience is never dull.
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Crash Analysis Support Team
Jonny Numb
Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) spends his spa days in the autopsy sarcophagus, and co-hosts The Last Knock horror podcast. His writing can also be found at The Screening Space.
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(Notes-to-Self images from Christopher Alan Broadstone.)