Jim White – Singer, songwriter, artist, writer, filmmaker
“For aficionados of all things Southern, JD. Hollingsworth’s novel Frankenstein’s Paradox sits perilously close to various literary mountaintops—the characters, places and events all so vividly drawn as to make the vast majority of efforts chronicling southern oddities seem ho-hum at best.
Hollingsworth’s language veritably leaps off the page in ways both alluring and terrifying, like the swarm of paper wasps emanating from the massive front porch nest of the protagonists ne’er-do-well neighbors. And just let me add that any work of fiction that by its cataclysmic conclusion manages to land all its central characters in either the prison or cemetery is just fine by me.
Diving headlong into this humanizing parade of small town Southern eccentrics, one is immediately put in mind of fellow lunatic authors Barry Hannah and Harry Crews, but this effort most reminds me of Jack Butler’s vastly underrated Jujitsu for Christ. Hopefully Hollingsworth’s novel will at least equal Butlers cult status, if not eclipse it altogether, landing it smack dab in the mainstream where it rightfully belongs.”
“Then, as if from a mist, an old woman, not five feet tall, emerged from the mass of blossoms, vines and stalks. She stepped forth from the jungle like Henry Stanley, drifted over with a toothless smile, and took hold to Gator's arm. The multiple, colorful calico housedresses she wore, one upon the other, and the gingham apron above it all bestowed upon her the psychedelic regalness of a Celestial Empress Dowager, and had perfectly camouflaged her, like some tropical mantis hiding in plain sight on the jungle orchid it mimics, among the crazy quilt of untamed inflorescence from which she had materialized. A mass of intricately braided gray hair crowned her head. A dribble of dried snuff juice streaked her chin. She smelled like a hobo.”