Average Reviews:
(More customer reviews)This book was recommended to me by a CHP officer as a good resource for MC clubs' criminal history. If this is what passes for a good resource, I'd say the MC Gang-True Crime genre is ripe for a real history written by a real life honest to goodness writer.
After finishing this book, initiation in the Hell's Angels almost looks refreshing. First the good: it held interest, was a fast read, and had interesting 'facts' (the reader has to assume this is either true or not, as the author doesn't cite any specific text except, apparently, what he read in the newspapers).
However, I have to wonder if it held interest because of how awfully it was written, thus affecting a sort of voyeuristic "Where is he going with this?" kind of feeling. As to it being a fast read, I can't really account for this, as it often felt as though the whole book was the same first-draft page reprinted 339 times and shipped to the book store.
I don't know if Lavigne was going for his own 'style' here or not, a la Hemingway. What I do know is that writing a history of anything written entirely in present tense is enough to make me want to stop shaving and bathing and beat people up as I ride around on a bike trying to forget the whole experience. When did this brilliant idea surface? It's very irritating and the book suffers tremendously for it.
Also, I'm not sure anyone, including the author, reread or edited this book beyond the first draft. It seems like every 3,4,5 pages some bit of information is repeated as though it was a new thought. Very often this repetition is almost a complete letter-for-letter copy of a previous paragraph.
And another thing: could Lavigne compare MORE things to genitalia? Jeez, it's like he writes sentences around some 8th grader playground vocabulary in a way he just MUST have thought a tough guy would talk. You just start feeling embarrassed for him after awhile.
Although Lavigne claims to dislike motorcycle gangs and ostensibly writes this book to 'expose' them, he writes as though he was some Hell's Angels rejected prospect who writes a poison pen book to get back at those mean guys, but down deep he still pines away for them.
Messy, unsubstantiated (though probably mostly true), overwrought, reaching, ultimately a disappointment. This is the book that, in getting published as is, makes struggling writers who are ten times better bang their heads on the walls in frustration.
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