Fictional books - as in, the ones that don't exist in the real world - always intrigue me. When I read Wonder Boys by Chabon, I wanted to read the collective works of Grady Tripp and those of "the first real writer" Tripp ever knew - August Van Zorn. So it goes without saying, when Californication came into my life, I wanted to read Hank Moody's novels. My prayers were answered when his novel, God Hates Us All, was released last year. Note: It wasn't the fact that I couldn't afford his book last year, it's just that it takes me a year to grow the balls to read a novel based on a novel in a TV show. Finally having finished the novel, I have to say that I understand why Hank Moody was pissed off when his novel - which takes its title from a Slayer album - was turned into the TomKat flick, A Crazy Little Thing Called Love (which, god forbid, no one decides to actually make). But then again, let's not forget how disappointed I was with the novel.

It's not that it's a bad book. And I really didn't know what to expect when a fictional novel is released into the real world, but whatever I did expect, I can assure you this wasn't it. I can't even fathom how something like this could ever be adapted into a romantic comedy starring TomKat. And I know, I shouldn't even think like that because neither Hank Moody, TomKat (in the sense of the show, anyway) or the real (though, actually, fictional) God Hates Us All don't really exist.

In actuality, Jonathan Grotenstein - who, possibly, wrote this book - probably had Hank Moody in the head. I'm not sure how much instruction he got or how much creative freedom he was allotted, but after a few chapters into the book, I thought less and less about Hank Moody's persona on the show and more about how this book seems completely color-by-numbers. The book starts reading more like something out of the mind of Hank Moody toward the last half, but the voice is still lacking. Push in a few music references - like the show does - and you got yourself something that isn't bad, but isn't something you'd expect. And the nearly perfect wrap up, well, that's something I'd rather not talk about.
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So I picked this up at the library because I was intrigued by the title. And it looked like a quick read. But something was definitely odd. There's a red blurb on the cover that says "As featured on the hit Showtime series Californication" which I have never seen. It says it's written by Hank Moody and there's a paragraph on the back cover about Hank Moody which also says the book has been made into a movie - A Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

This all seemed weird to me. What movie is this? So I had to google this to find out that David Duchovny's character in Californication is Hank Moody. Hank writes this book in the series. It is turned into a movie in the series. Apparently, someone wrote this book for real life so we can all partake of the illusion.

Now how do I review a book like this? I can only review the story which is kind of interesting - an accidental drug dealer has a psycho girlfriend (really psycho) and he lives (for awhile, anyway) in the Chelsea Hotel in New York and he has - adventures? escapades? Meets lots of odd people, anyway. It was entertainment for the weekend. It's not a lifestyle I've lived but it was interesting reading about it. I think it basically made me glad I'm not addicted to drugs.

And I can't figure out the picture of the people on the back cover at the amusement park. Are these characters in the book? Which characters? Are they the stars of the "movie" from the series? Puzzling for those of us not initiated into this world. ( )

I will delve deeper into this book than a customer review on barnesandnoble.com, which summed the book up with, “NEAT.” [There should be a disclaimer at the point: I am a huge fan of the series Californication, and of the smart-mouthed David Duchovny, and the ravishing Natascha McElhone.] The book’s cover names Hank Moody as the author (the lead character in the series who plays a writer), but if one flips to the title page, you find these telltale words, “with Jonathan Grotenstein.” Authorship and the quality of the book’s writing both resemble an onion—circles within circles AND smelly. But don't you agree, smelly is much deeper than NEAT?
I think the book was released to coincide with the start of the third season, but that’s meaningless trivia now. Possibly my attraction to this book was like some diehard fan of a grunting, drooling, monosyllabic band’s bass player (nothing against bass players as a life form) releasing his literary treatise. I believe that when fictional TV characters actually write fiction, and it’s published, and released, we just might have slid into some level of hell.
Anyway, the book is centered on the character Hank, has many of the familiar stylizations of the series, but there is no there, there. Sure, I laughed some, but I gained nothing from the reading—and I greatly missed getting to see the stunning Natascha McElhone. I’m stopping now. If you are ever tempted to pick this book up from some bargain basement’s subbasement, you deserve to suffer, as I WARNED YOU. Just watch the reruns. ( )

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