A swift, fine little snarl of vampire/Western funk--it rips along, with little patience for the expansive mythological noodling which can bloat much horror fiction. Ryker's prose is stripped-down, as is the plot, but the author manages to flesh out in terse flashbacks some complex character dynamics that make the novel (novella? novelish? it's brief) improve as it progresses. He also takes vamp-lore in a couple cool, unexpected directions, too. Meth is medicinal--who knew?
The cinematic rush of the writing can at times be over-determined. There's a fine moment late in the novel where antihero Keith notices a strange cylinder of light piercing the dark, and realizes it's streaming outdoors through a bullethole--and it's described much like that. A cool scene to imagine, and it'd look killer on screen, but it'd be cool to have prose as piercing as the idea.
Still, minor whines--it's a very fun read, and I'll read more Ryker. (Never would have run into this but for karen's review--thanks, k!)