Available from Wings Press, San Antonio.
ISBN 0-930324-86-2, paper, $14.00
"If you're a writer or a serious reader, looking for prose that takes you to the type of places where few have successfully kept your attention before, pick this one up. Redoubt is told through the mind of one unfathomable woman permanently relegated to warn of imminent invasion by the Enemy. Redoubt will carry you into an emotional maelstrom where Apocalypse would seem like liberation, in contrast to the heroine's timeless solitude. Enmeshed in an existence more Huit Clos than Sisyphus's most dreaded nightmare, it will carry your unwilling Self into niches of life never described in any dictionary. Redoubt is as close as I've ever come to "being one" with a woman, through the pages of a book."
Rudy Garcia http://labloga.blogspot.com/2007/06/bloodsuckers-quinones-like-son-redoubt.html
Hear that struggle in the corridor? Press your eye to the keyhole. See her in there? Like a egg, she is. All sugar ruffles, pink pastel, fresh from the pastry tube. Smart, ahn't she? Give herself airs, a duchess at the very least, long fingernails lacquered vermilion, pressing the mouthpiece to her gums, pouting-like, pulling on her hookah, sucking on the tube, drawing the air in, making bubbles in the bowl. See her in there? Like a clown she is, legs spread, peaked cap, hectic spots of rouge, the fluted ruff, the garish wig, tight henna'ed curls. Watch now. See if you can stand on tiptoe. See? It's them! The hockey team! thundering down the chute! millions of them, piling up in their sweaty best. Throwing their weight against the gate. Bending it, bulging it, bowing it, BANG! splinters flying! The big one there, the fatty, see him streaking through the clutter of shin guards, sticks and pricks, ahead of all the others now, charging for the puck, huff and puff, a hero at the very least! Hurling himself on the shining, shimmering splendor. CRACK! The yolky lake spreading its golden puddle on the floor. What a mess! See him now? on all fours? lapping it up, licking, licking in there, head first, swallowed up. Ah, yes, ah, yes: the spider bleeds the soft stuff white, while in the corridor the also-rans lie dying. Can you hear it? out there? It's them. See them clowns, all cyclops eyes, squinting through the keyhole? Peering at you? Grinning? Trying to make you out in the obscurity? They're pulling on the guy ropes, hauling you in. They're sure it's you. You can hear everything they say. See them straining for a look? Row on row of them: painted faces, scruffy ruffs, the smudgy white, red noses pressed to the pane, smeary red lips, scarlet-stained teeth. Grinning, waving, clamoring, pushing. Can you see them now? red pompons bobbing, hurling confetti? shouting SURPRISE!!!"