In Forest of Fortune, Ruland combines the tropes of hardboiled crime fiction with the creepy appeal of a ghost story, and riffs on elements from addiction/recovery narratives. What results is an absolutely unique novel: smart, funny, and masterful in its characterization.
The Forest of Fortune book trailer is here! The trailer, directed by Santa Fe filmmaker Jason DeBoer, features blurbs by Patrick deWitt, Fiona Maazel, Scott O’Connor, Teresa Svoboda and Jerry Stahl, and music by Texas garage rockers Mind Spiders. The song “Haunted Casino” was written exclusively for Forest of Fortune.
“The Haunted Casino” was my working title for the book and while that sounds like a Nancy Drew mystery I used it because I never wanted to forget that the characters trapped inside of Thunderclap Casino were all haunted by one thing or another in ways that baffled them entirely.
I’ve been a fan of Mind Spiders since 2011 when they released their first album on Dirtnap Records so I’m thrilled to be able to work with Mark Ryan on this project. (You should buy all of their records now, especially this one.) They’re also featured on the cover of Razorcake #80. Incidentally, the name Mind Spiders comes from the science fiction short story “The Mind Spider” by Fritz Leiber.
Things are rotten in the state of Thunderclap. Or at least they are rotten for the people who wash up at the remote, desert Indian casino somewhere in the mountains inland of San Diego in Jim Ruland’s masterpiece of desperation, delusion and misdeeds, “Forest of Fortune.”
This is kind of weird. My essay about working for Hardee’s in Radford, Virginia when I was an undergrad is now online at Oxford American. It originally appeared in April 2010 (that’s the weird part) but I’m really grateful that the editors put it online. I’m headed to my alma mater for homecoming in October and I’ve been thinking about the New River Valley a lot. An excerpt:
Most people underestimate the complexity of the biscuit. Biscuits are delicate and fickle, like hothouse flowers. Cook them too long and they turn into tough little hockey pucks. If the temperature in the oven isn’t high enough, you get a texture that’s cakey, not flaky, and a biscuit without a swirling engine of steam inside it is no longer a biscuit but a bastard scone.
This is kind of weird, but if you played text-based computer games as a kid (Zork anyone?) then you’ll get the references. It’s basically Edward Gorey’s ”the unspeakable horror of the literary life” told through the lens of an Infocom game.
You are at a desk. There is typewriter and a ream of paper. Write novel.
You have written a novel. You have used seven years of life force. Write memoir.
Are you sure about that? Write memoir.
You have written a memoir. You have no dignity points left.
At Great Writers Steal, Ken Nichols follows up his review of Forest of Fortune with this interview in which he investigates the creative choices I made while writing the novel. But even in questions of craft and narrative structure, things get personal…
Forest of Fortune is both a place within the casino and a fantasy. When I worked at an Indian casino, the names of the various establishments were a source of great amusement. For instance, we actually had a Dreamcatcher Lounge, as hokey as that sounds. My employment coincided with the recession, so I felt bound to the place. I wanted to leave, but felt like I couldn’t afford to quit. This feeling intensified when I went into recovery for alcoholism. I wanted to find a healthier place to build a new life for myself, but I was stuck at the casino. I felt trapped there. It was a feeling that was shared by many of my coworkers and this feeling is a big part of the book. Of course, it was only a feeling. I could have left anytime, but I didn’t. I stayed way too long.
The Nervous Breakdown has an except of Forest of Fortune. This section tells the story of how Pemberton going on a job interview that ends with a coke party in the Hollywood Hills (hate it when that happens). It’s one of the more risqué sections of the book and was inspired by an article I read in New Music Express way back in the ’90s about an infamous rock star. Kudos if you can guess who it is…
They went up to the Hills in Ricky’s limited edition Lexus. They lived in Koreatown, Kiki explained, but were mansion-sitting for a friend in the porn industry. The house looked like a wedding cake made out of birdcages. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, fire pit in the parlor, infinity pool on the patio. The guest bedroom bathroom was a tribute to the 1970s. Pemberton wondered how many adult films had been shot here.
