The first thing you notice is the title. Bullets of Rain. Damn, that is one hot title! Anyone who tells you a novel's title isn't important is either lying or thinks all horror novel titles should start with "The." Anyway, Schow knows a great title and uses it well. Would've caught my eye even if I didn't already appreciate his fiction.

When we meet Art Latimer, the novel seems fully grounded in reality. A well-off architect, still-grieving widower, and rehabbing alcoholic-slash-addict, Art is just now beginning to piece his life back together. Every room of the fortress-like cliff house he built for Lorelle reminds him of her (except for the gun safe, where he keeps several high-priced, slightly illegal toys she never liked), but now he's decided to get back to work designing high-end, high concept mall restaurants and the like. With his German Shepherd Blitz as sole company, Art plans to test his high-tech house's stability in the rapidly-approaching hurricane that's all over the news. As he prepares for the biggest blow in almost a century, he reads an enigmatic message in a bottle and an old friend drops in out of the blue. Memories of the three of them permeate a surreal evening that leaves Art a little the worse for wear with a hurricane knocking at the door.

But then the knocking also turns out to be Suzanne, who bailed from a party house down the beach. Art had found an invitation to that party in his mailbox, and now the allure is tangible. Against his better judgment, Art becomes involved not only with Suzanne, but with the party—run by a manipulative control-freak punk philosopher-type named Price.

From the minute Suzanne appears, things spiral into Alice-Dorothy territory. People speak in impressionistic riddles. Party-goers seem to gravitate between orgies, mystery-drug ingesting, and self-loathing. Personalities flip and flip again. A gun-toting ex-bodyguard almost kills then befriends Art, whose escape from the bizarre party can't come too soon.

And then things get weird.

Reality and unreality tangle and untangle. Bullets of Rain circles your vision like a rattler about to strike, keeping you guessing while toying with you much the same way Price toys with Art. This short, punchy novel manages to become a brainy, impressionistic and surreal thriller even while forming a surprisingly astute and intriguing character study of grief and guilt. As in any Schow work, you can guess that violence will be done, but while the springs tighten you can't guess for the life of you from where the explosion will come. But you can be sure that, when it does, it always leaves you breathlessly surprised.