Chaos – A Review

If you are one of those people that believe there’s always more to the story, that nothing is ever as it seems, and that the CIA are some of the slimiest, most devious bastards there have ever been, this book will be one of the most interesting, gripping and vindicating reads you will ever have.

As a firm believer we have been told many, many, lies, I can’t suggest a finer way to spend either a few lazy, cozy days slowly descending into this rabbit-hole, or a more exciting way to take one shocking, thrilling rollercoaster straight to the bottom.

Both will leave you feeling that feeling that we love; that bittersweet feeling of knowing;

   ‘I’m not crazy, they do lie to us all the time! This guy just proved it!’

In one mighty blow, Tom O’Neill has delivered a jaw-dropping account of something I thought had been trampled to death, dug up for a few more regurgitations and reiterations, and then trampled some more.

The first time I ever heard of the Manson family would have been around the same time Tom started working on this book, and even then, to me, it was like ancient history.

In my head, little, creepy, weird Charles, and his harem of psychotically unhinged young ladies, had always been like a horrific, memetic and leering reflection of The Beverly Hillbillies.

I can’t say why, it just used to evoke a sense of warped, bare-footed and bloody-toothed americana that made them feel like surreal, Rob Zombie, amalgamations of the age of peace and love and the birth of Satanic Panic.

They may have been dangerous psychos, but they were silly, and that was all they were.

I had watched some of the documentaries that were out there, little bits here and there, I had heard weird conspiracies about Manson being a beach boy, or a CIA asset and I had watched numerous clips of the madman himself, but I genuinely thought that if there was meat on them bones someone would have picked them clean by now.

I was wrong.

While I was thinking that, Tom O’Neill was in the trenches writing this book.

I won’t spoil it for you, but I can assure you that it’s not the same story you’ve heard a million times, all boxcars, razorblades, and venereal disease.

Tom O’Neill goes further down the rabbit-hole than many would ever have the stomach to, chasing down uncomfortable truths, endless threads, shady characters, buried secrets and chaos.

In doing so, he masterfully displays not only a stark and unsettling reality to a story that was never quite what we were sold, but also an ominous comparison to the times we find ourselves in now.

An unspoken question, about who the boogieman really was, did he ramble away into nothing in San Quentin Prison, or did he just keep right on, and boogie on right up the road, man?