I opted to read Galveston by Nic Pizzolatto because I've recently become obsessed with True Detective, his metafictional/physical nightmare HBO crime procedural.
By and large this was a rather unremarkable piece of gritty crime suspense. There were moments of dull sheen resonance, moments when Pizzolatto traded grit for pathos. Here readers will notice Pizzolatto cutting his teeth on some of the more philosophical elements peppering True Detective, namely his philosophically informed take on theoretical physics. Though some critics decry the series' metafictional bend as at least self-serving and at worst bonghaze induced dorm room philosophy, I don't have the luxury of being so entrenched in intelligentsia to so easily dismiss Pizzolatto's writing in that language. I find the show's digressions into M-Brane Theory, ontological philosphy, allusions to Gethsemane, and Keats and Nietzsche invocations exceptionally refreshing and rare for a television series to pull off successfully. Unfortunately, I didn't find that sort of intellectual satisfaction in Galveston. I hate to so casually dismiss this as genre fiction, as I mentioned there are passages that resonate deeply and are emotionally nourishing. On the whole however, this is not Pizzolatto's best work.