There aren’t many books like Naked Lunch by William Seward Burroughs. Some might say that this is a good thing. Others might not. Whatever the case, this book is an incendiary piece of modern literature. It was scrawled in the burning pits of passion of post WWII Beat era bebop prose New York. All the rules of literature are destroyed in one fell swoop, swallowed whole, and then defecated out again in a small, but luxurious pile in a corner of a run down, cockroach-infested, rented apartment.
The characters featured in the book are searingly original, based somewhere between weird science fiction, exotic, dystopian wasteland dwellers, or decadent, deviant party-goers at the edge of oblivion. Many of them exist in The Interzone, such as AJ, with his raucous antics, the irascible Dr Benway, and many more, come screaming from the page.
The words in this book are like firecrackers exploding in the night. Wild imagination fizzes off every page from every line. This book just keeps on inventing, and is more cinematic than any film could achieve, far more than any book that has ever been released before or since. The humour is scorching hot too, as piercing and honest as any Lenny Bruce skit, but shot through with a psychotic, psychedelic mania.
This book is a node at the intersection of reality. If you read it, your brain will never be the same again.