
A non-review by J. Stefan-Cole
At the top of Thaddeus Rutkowski’s novel is the definition of Tetched: adj (1921) somewhat unbalanced mentally; touched [Alteration (influenced by obsolete tached, of a given disposition) of touched]. You know, those kids in school you’d make a rotating sign around your temple at, behind their back, to your laughing friends; touched, whacked, weird, odd, different. Those kids who wore punk or goth before punk and goth hit the mainstream, and before the Columbine High School massacres made headlines out of outsider kids who took their pain to deadly extremes.
Told in the first person, the book spans from a boy’s rural childhood in a dysfunctional, biracial family (he’s a “Twinkie,” yellow and white, Chinese American) to a more functional if not entirely convincingly resolved adulthood in the big city. Everything in between borders on the insane. My take on the kid is that he’s the sane one, reacting to the world he found himself born to, bending out of shape in the home soil. Underneath, he’s perfectly tuned, it’s the others that strike the sick notes, and the craziness of it leads to experiments in self-mutilation, like tying a string tourniquet-style over his penis, toying along the edge, “I found if I stood on a chair I could hang myself. I didn’t want to hang myself by my neck, because that would have been too dangerous. So I hung myself by my wrists.” It’s a tortured form of taking control.
(more…)