Short Book

In this his first novel, Cortright McMeel supplies readers with a cavalcade of the capitalist grotesque. He re-creates the fast-paced, gluttonous world of energy brokers and traders'how they plan to make riches with swaps, puts and other derivatives that add nothing to the productivity of the economy; how they hide trades in multiple accounts; how they wine and dine themselves and clients in upper-crust hedonist venues just to maintain thread-strong relationships; how they seek revenge and jeopardize their careers and their company in the process. The characters are the epitome of male hubris in an uber-competitive environment. They are as unapologetic as market is unforgiving.

The opening chapters are tough to follow with the sparse and harsh dialogue and thin characterization. However, the technical language quickly becomes familiar and the characters gain depth. The language is so foul that mothers would hesitate to kiss the lips of their sons. In fact, when a new boss cleans house and a trader collapses of with a heart attack, there is no doubt that he will pass. No one on the trading floor would ever consider mouth-to-mouth.

The characters are unredeemable but laughable nonetheless. Nicknames abound--the Goat, the
Ghost, the Texan. Wait until you learn how the Colonel gets his moniker. He's a piece of work. While seemingly upstanding, he would sleep with your 17 ½ year old daughter and then ask her for her cute girlfriend's number on his way out the door. At times you might find yourself pulling for these rascals like Milt, with his girth, his Stetson, his ego and his unslakable lust for anything with legs including the Sea Hag, his ex-wife, and his ex-wife's real estate colleague. In the end, they are all swept toward meaningless lives.

Gallagher seems to be the protagonist. At least he seems to be the most intelligent, most normal and most capable of rising above the maelstrom of the conflict that drives the plot'the rift between going long (metaphor for hope and positive view on life) like his former boss, Andrews, or going short with the new boss, the Ghost, and ignoring risk just to exact personal revenge.
Readers will meet other peripheral, yet entertaining, characters like the Eduardo and Celina. The former is a midget, hired by the Colonel while in Vegas, to mix martinis to woo clients and liberate women from their inhibitions. Celina, Gallagher's wife, is an artist and leaves us with a memorable image when she attempts an acrobatic move at one of her gallery showings only to split her pants; moments later she is laying on a bed, "resigned to the fact that she didn't care if anyone saw her splayed out over the coats and jackets, the tear in her …"

My only criticism for Cort is the chapter Cape Hatteras. It reads so much like the opening of Hemingway's To Have and Have Not, it is impossible not to compare. Thankfully, you dragged Milt overboard to make it your own.

Here's a note for future readers. As you turn the pages, I highly suggest grabbing a beer'actually buy a whole case of something gritty like National Bohemian or Colt or the Beast, the beers that McMeel swilled as an undergrad at Hopkins while playing rugby and learning to write'and read about the lives of these unsavory traders. Get yourself into a good stupor. Then try to discern the intricacies of the short'selling first at a high price and then buying back later at lower price to make a profit. Savor the fatherly advice given by Milt to his son Aaron, "Never #@#%-ing flinch!" and other great one-liners that end many chapters and give the comedic and incisive edge to the fictive moments: "I told you it was a traffic violation," and "The problem with that boy," said Peter the German, shaking his head, "is that he thinks when he dies someone's going to give him a Viking burial," and "When a trader dies, nobody cries."


Bravo, Cort. Here's to number one. We want more.