B oys of Life is Paul Russell's compulsive, dark novel of artistic and physical obsession in the world of underground filmmaking. Part love story, mystery, "psychological" novel, and quasi-roman a clef, Boys of Life manages to walk a fine line between restraint and excess in its depiction of sex and violence, charting regions heretofore the domain of Dennis Cooper. Unlike Cooper, however, Russell dishes up substance along with luridness and style.

The novel is told mostly in flashback by Tony Blair, a young man from Kentucky who gets involved with maverick underground filmmaker Carlos Reichart. Soon enough, we find out that Tony is in prison for killing Reichart, a man Tony supposedly loved. Why he killed Reichart is the core of the novel, plot-wise and emotionally. Reichart is a powerfully magnetic genius who presides over a close-knit, but volatile group of artists, actors, and technicians. When he arrives in Owen, Kentucky, to shoot a low-budget art film, Tony is fascinated and attracted to him, leaving his dead-end life in Kentucky to join Reichart's "company" and occupy Reichart's bed.

Russell captures Tony's voice perfectly. Uneducated, but astute, Tony wants to understand the emotional and sexual roller coaster he's lived through. He's prone to wild nightmares and alternately indulges and suppresses his desire for men. Reichart tells him to "choose one thing you remember and think about it...think what came before it, and then what came before that, and try thinking back as far as you can." In prison and alone, Tony takes Reichart's advice and tries to think his way "to something that's on the other side of all this mess." He writes it all down, collects clippings, and slowly reveals just what happened to him.

It's tempting to think of Carlos Reichart as some sort of monster. He's an enigma--manipulative, driven, emotionally sadistic, paranoid, a voyeur and an exhibitionist who picks up and discards boys as if they were scraps of paper. But he's also a creative genius and a deeply tormented man. It's to Russell's credit that he has created such a thoroughly magnetic and morally ambiguous character.

The real backbone of any novel about creativity and artists, though, is a well-imagined and convincing artistic milieu. Here Boys of Life is an unqualified success. Russell captures the grimy feel of low budget filmmaking, but he excels in his descriptions of Reichart's films, a weird and beautiful combination of Pier Paolo Pasolini, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, John Cassevetes, and Luis Bunuel. The films do as much to reveal Reichart's complex character as do all of Tony's remembrances. Without the films, Reichart would be a terribly one-sided creation and rather unconvincing as an artist. Russell also has some wicked fun by creating an article from American Film magazine on Reichart that is so well done it will have film fanatics scurrying through back issues to make sure it isn't real.

Pasolini's shadow looms ominously over the entire novel. Russell dedicates the novel in part to Pasolini and it's apparent that the Italian filmmaker was one of Russell's inspiration for the character of Reichart. Reichart's final film, called Boys of Life, is almost identical to Pasolini's final film, the horrifying and brutal Salo, and clearly Reichart's murder was suggested by Pasolini's violent demise. Yet Russell is obviously not merely fictionalizing Pasolini's life. He's created a thrilling and dramatic novel that also examines the intersection of homoeroticism and violence in art.

Here Russell runs the risk of titillation, but he doesn't falter. Boys of Life contains scenes that would make most mainstream readers' hair curl. Even this jaded reviewer gasped at one part. Russell's creation of a complex, engrossing world and the emotionally depth of his characterizations make the sexual elements not only motivated, but necessary. The shock or the arousal is an empathetic reaction, not a disconnected thrill.

Boys of Life is an exceptionally well-written book, but might be considered too bleak for the Pollyana set of readers who crave entertainment without catharsis. Yes, it's "depressing" and sad. True, it's violent and there's not a "well-adjusted" gay person in sight, yet it's an incredibly human book. Both wise and mysterious about the emotional convolutions of its characters, Russell's novel is a provocative and ultimately redemptive work that takes you along on a bumpy, risky ride. Take a deep breath and fasten your seat belt. As Depeche Mode says, "It's a lot like life."