The DNA Cowboys Trilogy

DNA Cowboys Trilogy 2002	Well here it is at last, thanks to The Do-Not Press, the long overdue re-publication of The Quest of the DNA Cowboys, Synaptic Manhunt, and The Neural Atrocity, Mick Farren's classic mid 1970s sci-fi series otherwise known, and re-published in one volume, as The DNA Cowboys Trilogy. See below for availability and details of both the original series and the re-published volume.
Funtopia review:	The world is a damaged place, whole swathes of its fabric shredded by unseen forces into primal, chaotic Nothingness. In the few stable areas between the Nothings, protected by stasis generators and supplied with goods from Stuff Central, humanity continues its struggle to keep a toehold on existence. Most of the Damaged World's precarious, isolated communities have evolved their own unique take on civilization: some are good-time, easygoing towns, some are places of worship and contemplation, a few are veritable pleasure domes; by far the majority, though, are paradigms of dominion, pain and control. Even in extremis, humanity continues to repeat its sordid and degrading history. Meanwhile the Disruptors continue to carve away chunks of reality, a spoiled patrician named A A Catto is starting to feel the megalomania rush, and the Brotherhood have detailed their top assassin to extirpate the root of corruption that threatens the Damaged World with total annihilation. Into this maelstrom wander the DNA Cowboys: a trio of drifters – Billy Oblivion, Reave Mekonta and The Minstrel Boy, unwitting heroes whose basic instincts are for getting high and getting laid, but whose every turn puts them in close proximity to others with more sinister agendas. The DNA Cowboys trilogy is a glorious psychedelic mandala of images, characters and events, with nods and references to cultural archetypes ranging across A Clockwork Orange, Hitler's Bunker, vintage s/m porn, gunfighter movies, HAL-9000, Lord of the Rings, Elvis Presley, 1984, the Battle of Stalingrad, Bruce Lee and the Shaolin temple, The Glass Bead Game, the Foundation trilogy and the court of the Borgias, to name but a few. Not so much science fiction as an exploration of alternative realities, tempered with a healthily jaded view of Mankind’s abilities to order its affairs rationally and with proper regard for the wellbeing of its members. Given a hypothetically free and inexhaustible supply of goods (the Stuff Central of the novels) Humanity is free to create Paradise for itself. Instead, in time-honoured fashion, we get war, suffering and domination. Forget historicism, human perfectibility and the guiding hands of wise statesmen. The mass of humanity is fundamentally hedonist and well-meaning, but the atavistic templates of our animal prehistory lurk just beneath the surface, and can be activated all too readily by charismatic psychopaths – Savonarola, Hitler, Manson, A A Catto. Throw in the randomness to which all human affairs are subject, and you have the Damaged World, a mere extrapolation from the one we presently inhabit. Enjoy the trip. And keep your portable stasis generator handy.
Borderlands Books review of The DNA Cowboys Trilogy by Jude Feldman 2002	DNA COWBOYS TRILOGY by Mick Farren (Do Not Press, British import 1st complete Trade Paperback edition, $16.60) Finally back in print, all in one volume! You may already know that we at Borderlands think that Mick Farren walks on literary water, and you may therefore be taking this review with a grain of salt. Let me assure you that the DNA COWBOYS TRILOGY is nothing short of drug-induced-and-fueled brilliance and ridiculousness, and we don't use the words "bizarre cult following" lightly. Honestly, to describe the many and varied inhabitants of these novels is to sound like our description of the newest Lemony Snickett book! Expect giant domestic lizards, martial arts practicing monks, gunfights, mysterious women in high heels and all sorts of other strange things that I don't remember. Imagine that Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Robbins wrote a space opera together, and you have the DNA Cowboys. Recommended by Jude.
The Quest of the DNA Cowboys- Sideswipe - The Month's New Science Fiction: "Charles Shaar Murray ... scrutinizes the new Science Fiction". NME, July 24, 1976, p.21	...The Quest Of The DNA Cowboys (Mayflower 60p) neatly cuts both mustard and any Gordian Knots which may be lurking in the area by using a rock ambience and characters whom any practising rock freak will identify with fairly readily, but avoiding any overt reference to rock hardware. Basically it's about two rather thick punks trapped in a Bob Dylan song (a Dylan analogue known as Minstrel Boy appears periodically to act as deux et machina and haul our heroes (who're vaguely reminiscent of the Hopper/Fonda characters out of Easy Rider out of whatever dumb jam they've landed themselves in) and a jolly good time is had by all. It's a relaxed, unpretentious, imaginative and moderately witty performance which bodes well for its two forthcoming sequels, and shows Farren developing an increasing ability to cope with the form. (Can I get up now Micky? Your heels are creasing my collar)
The Neural Atrocity - Teazers - NME, March 12, 1977, p.55	...Neural Atrocity,the final book in the Mick Farren sci-fi trilogy, hit the bookstands last week at the much more reasonable price of 60p. The NME critical collective describe it as "wondrous, marvellous, miraculous, monstrous, prodigious, phenomenal, a worthy successor to James Joyce's Ulysses".
Author's comment	See Mick Farren's Collected Works. The early short story Mo The Roller prefigures a number of the themes explored in 'DNA Cowboys'
Availability	The original series of these books are out of print and virtually impossible to find. A few copies of "Synaptic Manhunt" and "Neural Atrocity" were recently available through online booksellers, but don't count on the links below still turning anything up. However, thanks to the guys at Do-Not Press re-publishing all three titles in one big volume as The DNA Cowboys Trilogy it is available in it's entirety once again. Find The DNA Cowboys Trilogy at Amazon.co.uk Find Synaptic Manhunt at ookfinder.com Find The Neural Atrocity at Bookfinder.com Search Bibliofind Search AbeBooks
Excerpt (by permission)	From 'The Quest Of The DNA Cowboys' There hadn't been any trouble in Pleasant Gap for a long, long time. No disruptor had come near them in living memory, and the even pattern of life was rarely interrupted. Occasionally a small rupture would appear in a garden or the main street, but nothing worse than you could maybe catch your foot in. Once, a few years back, an ankylosaurus had wandered down Yew Street, but Ma Hoffman had chased it away with a broom ... ...It was Billy who first brought it up. Billy liked people to call him Captain Oblivion, but most people called him Billy. It was a great disappointment. He felt his thin good looks and hard penetrating eyes merited a better title. Billy was secretly very vain. He and his buddy Reave were lying in the back room of McTurk's Bar with the alphaset cranked up past euphoria. Reave was the stockier, more solid of the two. In another age he would have been a farmer. It was the middle of the day, nobody was about, and Billy was bored. 'I'm bored.' His voice was slurred. It was very hard to talk against an alphaset running at full power. Reave rolled over slowly, and pushed his long greasy hair out of his eyes. 'What's the matter?' 'I'm bored.' 'Bored?' 'Bored.' 'So let's go down to the tracks, and watch the train come in.' 'We must have watched the train come in maybe a thousand times.' 'So? Let's go watch it again.' 'Who needs it?' Reave shrugged and said nothing. Billy was always having these fits of discontent, and it didn't pay to take them too seriously. After a while, another thought struck him. 'We could go down to Miss Ettie's.' 'Why?' 'I dunno, maybe have a few drinks, get laid. It's something to do.' 'Maybe.' There was another long silence, and then Billy stretched out and hit the off button on the alphaset, and their nervous systems came down with a bump. 'Shit, what did you do that for?' Billy sat up. He had that kind of crazy look that people get when they've been soaking up alphas for too long. 'Let's split.' Reave scratched his leg. 'That's what I said. Let's go down to Miss Ettie's.' 'I don't mean go to Miss Ettie's or the railroad track. Fuck Miss Ettie's and the railroad track. I mean split the town, leave Pleasant Gap and go somewhere else....' ... They spent the rest of the day going round town telling their friends and buddies that they were leaving. Their friends and buddies shook their heads and told them that they were crazy. After they'd left, the friends and buddies all shook their heads and told each other that Billy and Reave had always been no good... From 'The Quest Of The DNA Cowboys' No counter-attack came, and at nightfall the mercenaries dismounted from their machines and made a temporary camp. The killing was too strong in Billy's mind to allow him to sit and relax with the other crews. He wandered along the trench, until he came to a group of Shirik huddled round a small fire. Without going too close he watched the strange subhuman creatures and listened to their grunted conversation. The Shirik seemed to have been issued with fresh meat, possibly as a reward for their victory. They snuffled and grunted over large bones... 'Kill 'em.' 'Plenty good killing, huh?' One of the Shirik waved his bone in the air. 'Good killing, good eating.' He wiped his mouth with a strip of blue uniform, and in a flash Billy realized. The fresh meat was human. The Shirik were eating the bodies of the Harodin. He backed away in silent panic, and as soon as he was well away from the Shirik, he bolted along the trench towards where the machine crews were camped. He stumbled across a figure lying in the darkness. 'Fuck off, I'm trying to sleep.' 'It's me, it's Billy. Listen, I just saw...' The words stuck in his throat. Reave looked at him in alarm. 'What's wrong, man? You look like you seen a ghost.' 'You remember how Duck told us about the guys who went kill crazy? How they always attack the Shirik? I found out why. The Shirik, man. Those fucking animals eat the dead! They're out there, eating the men they killed today!' Reave closed his eyes. 'I saw it, Reave. I saw it and heard them talking. It was horrible. We got to get out of here.' He clutched at Reave and sobbed into his jacket. Reave put an arm out and stroked Billy's hair. 'It's alright, kid. We'll get away from this place. We did in Dogbreath, and we can do it here.' Billy said nothing, and for a long time they clung together in silence. A figure emerged out of the darkness. 'What's the matter with you two? Never had you tagged as a couple of queers.' Reave looked up, and saw Axmann standing over him. Axmann had been in command of the lead tank. 'My partner cracked up when he saw the Shirik eating the dead.' 'Didn't Duck warn you what they'd be like?' 'He didn't tell us they'd be cannibals.' Axmann scratched the stubble on his chin. 'That's too bad...' From 'Synaptic Manhunt' Over the centuries since the natural laws had ceased to be consistent and human life had clung to areas where artificial stasis could be generated, the brothers had worked single-mindedly on their never-ending task. They had observed and recorded the smallest event in the hundred thousand communities that survived in among the grey nothings. The most insignificant happening was plotted into their charts and included in their calculations. Jeb Stuart Ho had only been in the huge room four times before, but he fully understood the meaning of the coloured points and lines. Years of study in the seminary had equipped him to recognize and appreciate the meanings of the curves. The uphill struggle of the society seeking material progress, the plateau form of the stable culture, the clear straight lines of the stuff beam cities in the central ring, the elegant curve down to decadence: Jeb Stuart Ho could read the subtleties of history in the sudden variations of each curve. He could recognize the sudden termination that meant that disruption had hit a unit of civilization. One of the black figures bent over the expanse of plan table straightened, detached itself from the group and approached Jeb Stuart Ho. The face above the black robe was that of a very old man. The skin was pink and soft like a baby's, terribly wrinkled and totally without hair. The eyes, however, had the look of purposeful calm that was common to all of the brothers. The old man halted in front of Jeb Stuart Ho and bowed. Jeb Stuart Ho returned the bow. "I have prepared, Teacher." The old man nodded gravely. "And you are ready?" "I am ready, Teacher." "The task you are being set will not be simple. It can be a heavy load. Your back must be strong enough to bear it. The probability has reached almost maximum that large areas of the rim, and to a lesser extent the inner sectors, will disrupt." He paused, and Jeb Stuart Ho said nothing. “The result of this disruption will be twofold. A state of war will occur which will escalate unchecked until the antagonized will begin to destroy their opponents’ stasis generators, and disrupt the territory they occupy. The resultant loss of existing inhabited space would be a minimum of 65.79 per cent.” “The second danger is that the release of energy from warfare would attract the disruptors. In this event the space and, of course, population loss could be as high as 98.51 per cent.” “All our calculations lead us to one conclusion. There is a single individual. The individual’s future actions will be the seeds of this disaster. If they are allowed to germinate and grow, the flowers that eventually bloom will be terrible to look upon.” Jeb Stuart Ho looked straight ahead. “I must kill, Teacher?” “You must kill, Jeb Stuart Ho.” There was a long silence. “Who is the subject?” “A female, current age thirteen, technocrat upbringing. You will receive a data package as you depart.” From 'The Neural Atrocity' Another black robed figure sat cross-legged on the floor. A white silk sheet was spread out in front of him. Laid on it, in a formal arrangement, was the heavy duty battle equipment of a Brotherhood assassin. There was a black fighting suit, and an array of weaponry: a three-section nunchak, its lengths of steel joined by two short chains; a .90 magnum in its carrying case; a variable laser set and a flat case of miniature throwing knives. In addition to the arms there was a miniature stasis generator and a combined food and water container. The man sitting on the floor was polishing a long double-handed sword. The blade already reflected the light of the single candle like a mirror, but he continued running the soft cloth up and down its length. From 'Synaptic Manhunt' Anger exploded inside the Minstrel Boy. It was intolerable. Someone was actually interfering with him, bringing him back to reality. His privacy was being invaded. In one violent move he surfaced. He sat up inside the coffin-shaped cubicle. He tore the headphones from his ears. The amplified sound of his own circulation abruptly stopped. 'What the fuck....' The real world crashed in on him. He felt sick and dropped back onto the cushioned interior of the coffin. He tried it a little more gently this time. Carefully he opened his eyes again. The light still hurt, but it was bearable. He found that he could see. He didn't like what he saw. A tall thin man in a black cloak was standing beside the black steel coffin... 'What the fuck do you think you're doing? What makes you think you can walk in here and drag me down to your level?' Jeb Stuart Ho looked calmly at the Minstrel Boy. 'I have need of you.' From 'The Neural Atrocity' A.A.Catto was beginning to hate the Venus Flytrap. She was beginning to hate the entire city of Litz. She was even beginning to hate herself. She looked down at her thirteen-year-old body encased in the brief metal foil dress. She was thoroughly sick of the thin arms and legs and the half-formed breasts. The only thing that stopped her leaving off the growth retarder and letting it mature was the possibility that she might regret it afterwards. Once you allowed yourself to age there was no going back. You could halt your growth any time you liked, you could accelerate it if you wanted to. The one thing you couldn't do was reverse the process. A. A.Catto was sick of living in an age of such incomplete and half-arsed technology. Way over on the other side of the club she could just make out Reave. His face was illuminated by the rainbow lamp above the foursquare table. She could see from the anxious, stupid look on his face that he was losing consistently. He was more interested in watching the tits of the topless dealer than in paying attention to his cards. She was beginning to get sick of Reave. She kept him, she dressed him, chose all his clothes and makeup. He looked particularly cute tonight in his black silk suit and purple lipstick. Her hand moved towards the silver ring on her left hand. It was inlaid with a complicated gold pattern. Reave wore a matching collar. The two pieces of jewellery were linked by an energy transfer. She turned the ring a fraction in the direction of pain. Reave jerked, dropped his cards, then looked in her direction and smiled. He was so predictable. Even when she hurt him, he took it as a sign of affection. ...... A. A. Catto pressed the control for the ninety-third floor. Reave ran his fingers through his hair. "Sure is good to be back home." A. A. Catto's eyes narrowed. She looked sideways at Reave. "Don't get too pleased too soon, honey." "What's wrong now?" "You've been giving me a pain all evening." "Oh, come on." "Come on, nothing. You've pissed me off, and you're going to pay for it." "Please, isn't it a bit late in the day for more games?" A. A. Catto held up her ring finger. "No games, sweetie. You are going to suffer." Reave opened his mouth to speak. He thought better of it, and closed it again. If the fancy took her, A. A. Catto had enough dope in the apartment to keep her awake for days. The game could go on for ages. He felt sick to his stomach. The lift stopped at the ninety-third floor and Reave followed her out, fingering the collar round his neck.



Mayflower 1976 (UK) ISBN 583 12448 8	Mayflower 1976 (UK) ISBN 583 12565 4	Mayflower 1977 (UK) ISBN 583 12603 0