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Nabokov Novel?
(No! This is way more scandalous than Vladimir!)


about Slam! Boom! Crash!
(scroll down for excerpt)

Postmodern literature gone berserk! This is more outrageous than any Vladimir Nabokov novel! This is wilder than Lolita!

Excerpts from Slam! Boom! Crash! have been published in literary magazines.

The story behind the creation of Slam! Boom! Crash! is an interesting one.

One night, while living in the colonial district of Salvador in the Bahia region of Brazil, Wolf Larsen heard loud thundering drums. He followed the sound for three to four blocks, until he came to a square packed with a thousand black Brazilians dancing to a half dozen mulattos beating on huge drums.

Slam!  Boom! Crash! Available for purchase now!  Click here!

After the music ended Wolf walked home and began writing his first novel, Slam! Boom! Crash! There is no book like it anywhere, not even a Nabokov novel comes close!

Slam! Boom! Crash! is a wild coming-of-age novel with Afro-Brazilian drums and orgies and marauding hordes of Vikings all crashing out of the page at the same time.

Slam! Boom! Crash! follows the life of Jack, a high school student, in the ten days before he decides to leave home. The novel seethes with the racial tensions that boil inside of inner-city America. Jack, a young white man who is dating a young black woman, finds himself right smack in the middle of a neighborhood's boiling racial tensions between black and white.

Nabokov Novel?
(No! This is way more scandalous than Vladimir!)


SLAM! BOOM! CRASH! is available for purchase now!
This is way more savage than a Vladimir Nabokov novel!



from SLAM! BOOM! CRASH! a novel

by Wolf Larsen

A face among the many now,You walked through the downtown crowds. Cheap clothing. Desperate faces. Intense serious expressions. Walkin' Fast. Everybody Walkin Fast nowhere - to their nowhere jobs their nowhere homes. Putting around in the giant and little circles of their nowhere lies.

Except You. You walked ex-tra slo-ow. You was the oddball. People eyeing you suspiciously as they shuf-f-fled irritably around you. You Walked slow…ly, you didn't care, you didn't give a shit. You are smiling. You finally…ahahahhahHAHAHAHAHAHhah.

You, standin' there at the busstop is the kinda person everybody like to avoid. You don't look too nice. Respectable uprightious upnoses dismissing you with a sneer. In one sweeping glance they make instant negative opinion about You! You's tough, you's hard, you's strong. YOU ARE an "undesirable character."

The bus comes fin-ally. You gets on the motherfucker. It's a bus, it goes, it takes you to wherever the fuck it is you're goin. You puts in the money, the fare, and of course it's too damn fuckin much.

On the bus white people sit with white people, blacks with blacks. It's not written, they just sit that way. You peers at them all - white and black - with one hostile sweeping glance. You walks straight pass them all - to the back of the bus. You sittin with all the other wasted worthless motherfuckers. Right at home, right like yourself.

The bus roars, it moves, it slows, and stops. It does this, it's a bus. People get on. The human species. A variety of animal. Some are welfare mothers, others geeky university students, a few padooperin' house wives, a drunk, a whore, a poor "businessman," it's all the same kind of neglected human urban rubbish that can't afford it's own car. Not to insult them, that's just what we are.

A drunk, a 30ish black man in old clothes and thick shades begins preaching a sermon - or something like that -

"MY BLACK BRO-THERS and SIS-TERS! LISTEN to what I have to tell you bout THE CRIMES OF THE WHITE MAN!"

-And everybody pretends to ignore the drunk, but you just K-N-O-O-O-W that everybody's ears are instantly glued to their second favorite obsession -

Drunk: THE WHITE MAN - "

voice: "Hey man, why don't you shut the fuck up!"

Drunk: "Bro - ther"

Same voice: "Naw - don't brother me!

Drunk: Brother, you're blind, and I have to wake you up! I have to speak out!"

Same voice: "You need to shut up is what you need to do"

- the black young people are just barely repressing their laughter with those smiles.

While the whites and older blacks maintain stone cold faces - like they don't hear a thing -


- and the bus is crowded. Half - white. Half - black. Full of people tired and cranky and annoyed. And there's that always tension in the air. The voice stabbing right into the heart of it -

"I HATE THE WHITE MAN! I HATE THE WHITE MAN!! (I may love the white women but that's a different story BECAUSE I HATE THE WHITE MAN! I HATE! I HATE! I HATE! (But I'm confused because I've got this white man's blood in my veins AND I HATE HIM ALL THE MORE FOR IT! LOOK AT MY skin! MY POLLUTED SKIN! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!"

Same voice: "Yeah look at you - you're a sorry-ass drunk. Now shut the fuck up."

Drunk: "Why Bro ther - why you be so down on me?

Same voice: "Because you're a drunk, you're a nobody. And you're acting ignorant".

Drunk: "Look ma-an. I'm just tired of livin' this nightmare. For the black people that's exactly what America is - a nightmare! And we black people got to DO SOMETHNG! We've Got TO DO SOMETHING!"

Female voice: "Do what? What we black people gonna do?

Drunk: "Well, WE GOTTA , we gotta… uh, …

- silence. Tense silence. He doesn't know. . . And the noise and commotion of downtown ends. The industrial district begins. Dead factories. Dead factories. And still more dead factories. One - after another - one after another - one after another. Neglected - decayed industrial hulks, darkened and empty shells. Hark! The enlightened prophet speaks anew to share with us his infinite wisdom -

Drunk: "Wondrous watching curious - happy playful joyous - shining hopeful                  --slam !-expectations

                trying learning concerns efforts attempts                 barriers

unmoving realities failures -slam !-                                 frustrations worries

rottingcarcassesofdreams                               slippingaway -slam !-

                              painful lonely alienated


                              - fading weakening crumbling death"

- outside the dead factories are ending. And we're passing through a white blue collar neighborhood -

- and the drunk falls silent, no I won't say that here, so far he's kept his mouth shut a whole three minutes!

- the neighborhood continues by. Houses small and unpretentious to a hideously ugly extreme. Colored with the dullest shades of monotonous brown brick - each the same dull repetitive - one house after another - one house after another - one house after another. Houses religiously faithful to their one sole duty - providing shelter. They were unfaithful to no other purpose -



a white lady: "Not all white people are the sa-ame! We blahBLAHblahblah - oh

                          we really blahblahBLAHBLAHBLAHblah! Our blah blah just blah

                          blah for you! We bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla"

- our hero ignores the whitelady and continues

- "You see we black people have our own thing. We know we have to work alongside of you whites and whatnot but after work - you go to your neighborhood and we go to ours."

Voice: "That's the first thing you've said all evening that I agree with. But everybody here is tired and everybody here has had a long day at work and everybody here wishes you'd shut up!"

Drunk: "oh - allright. I'm sorry brother... I'll shut up. I'm sorry everybody - I know you all must be tired."

Voice: "SHUT UP!"

Drunk: "O.K."

There were people out there on the streets, "middle class" by today's standards but by yesterday's standards they are poor - you could see it in their clothes, their faces and in the shoulder-stooped modesty of their walk. Some looked in shop windows at-

SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAM! - SCREAMING the drunk starts SCREAMING open eyEs(!) AwAKE(!) people startled nearlyOuT-of-their-seats startledstaringeverybody on the bus he's SCREAMING and still he keeps SCREAMING

and then he starts BANGING - BEATING - BANGING his head against the steel frame of the seat in front of him BANGING-BEATING - BANGING his forehead against steel BANGING-BEATING - BANGING the whole while SCREAMING at the top of his lungs

- and the white community ends and the bus S-M-A-S-H-E-S(!) though a thick big high fortified wall. And now the bus is passing through a black neighborhood -

Drunk: "I'm so OBSESSED - white and black - I can't get it out of my mind - white and black - I can't stop thinking about it - white and black - NIGHT AND DAY I'M OBSESSED with white and black - EVERY FUCKING WAKING MOMENT OF MY LIFE it's white and black -HOW I hate THE WHITE MAN - (but i love the white woman BUT I HATE HER TOO - I HATE EVERYTHING WHITE! -

outside the black community continues - a miserable repeat of the miserable white neighborhood we left behind only more miserable. Browns and grays of old slabs of buildings passing by. The bus goes oh so slowly onward for quite some time .... quite some time - quite some time .... before ... we began approaching another wall. Soon the black community will end and another white community will begin - your own. the


Copyright © Wolf Larsen 1996

More outrageous than any Vladimir Nabokov novel! This is boisterous postmodern literature! Lolita? Slam! Boom! Crash! is wilder!


SLAM! BOOM! CRASH! is available for purchase now!

Whooppee!   This is crazier than Nabokov!  Click here to buy it at Amazon.com!


Click to buy SLAM! BOOM! CRASH! at Amazon.com



Vladimir Nabokov Novels
Includes publication dates

Mashenka, 1926

King, Queen, Knave, 1928

The Defence, 1930

Camera Obscura, 1932

Despair, 1936

The Gift, 1937-38

Invitation to a Beheading, 1938

The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, 1941

Bend Sinister

Pnin, 1957

Lolita, 1955

Pale Fire, 1962

Ada, 1969

Transparent Things, 1973

Look at the Harlequins, 1974


Vladimir Nabokov
(The following is from Wikipedia)

Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov (April 22 [O.S. April 10] 1899, Saint Petersburg – July 2, 1977, Montreux) was a Russian-American author. He wrote his first literary works in Russian, but rose to international prominence as a masterly prose stylist for the novels he composed in English. He is also noted for having made significant contributions to lepidoptery and created a number of chess problems. Nabokov's Lolita (1955) is frequently cited as one of the most important novels of the 20th century. It is his best-known work in English, probably followed by the singularly structured Pale Fire (1962). Both of these works exhibit Nabokov's love of wordplay and descriptive detail. (from Wikipedia)


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Unalaska, Alaska: the novel by Wolf Larsen