Available now: Even the Dog Won’t Touch Me. by Tom Bradley

         "Stories that bounce back and forth across the Pacific as if it were a mud puddle..."

A seven-foot-tall member of the Greatest Generation gets to stay home from World War II and fornicate with his friends’ wives... sexually ambiguous creatures lay a six-figure book advance on a harelip... an obese janitor in a Mormon prayer hall wedges himself behind the organ pipes, dies, and “fills the joint with green corpse steam...”

Meanwhile, in China...

A Palestinian medical student gets chained to a conveyor belt in a Manchurian abortion mill... a former Red Guard returns from rustication only to find his comrades running a bourgeois beauty salon called SYJVESTER STAJJONE’S... an American “foreign expert” hijacks a beggar’s wheelchair and steals a baby...

 Tom Bradley is one of the most criminally underrated authors on the planet. 
         —Andrew Gallix, 3:am Magazine

It takes a twisted sense of humor to appreciate this lunatic scholar, degenerate Harold Bloom, and biblical madman. 
         —John-Ivan Palmer, nthposition Magazine

Tom Bradley is one of the most exasperating, offensive, pleasurable, and brilliant writers I know. I recommend his work to anyone with spiritual fortitude and a taste for something so strange that it might well be genius. 
         —Denis Dutton, editor of Arts & Letters Daily

What critics have said about Tom Bradley’s previous books:

I found Acting Alone to have an incredible energy level. 
         —Stanley Elkin, author of A Bad Man

The contemporaries of Michelangelo found it useful to employ the term terribilita to characterize some of the expressions of his genius, and I will quote it here to sum up the shocking impact of this novel as a whole. I read it in a state of fascination, admiration, awe, anxiety, and outrage. 
         —R.V. Cassill, editor of The Norton Anthology of Short Fiction

I tell you that Dr. Bradley has devoted his existence to writing because he intends for every center of consciousness, everywhere, in all planes and conditions (not just terrestrial female Homo sapiens in breeding prime), to love him forever, starting as soon as possible, though he’s prepared to wait thousands of centuries after he’s dead. 
            —Cye Johan, Exquisite Corpse

When Tom Bradley was a little boy he was given a gazetteer for Christmas.  As little boys will, he looked up all the places in the world that start with the F-word.  There were two, Fukien in China and Fukuoka in Japan. Little did he suspect that he would one day be exiled to both.

Tom is a former lounge harpist.  During his pre-exilic period, he played his own transcriptions of Bach and Debussy in a Salt Lake City synagogue that had been transformed into a pricey watering hole by a nephew of the Shah of Iran.

He taught British and American literature to Chinese graduate students in the years leading up to the Tiananmen Square massacre.  He was politely invited to leave China after burning a batch of student essays about the democracy movement rather than surrendering them to "the leaders."

He wound up teaching conversational skills to freshman dentistry majors in the Japanese "imperial university" where they used to vivisect our bomber pilots and serve their livers raw at festive banquets.  But his writing somehow sustains him.

Tom's prose shares the legendary pages of London's Ambit Magazine with J.G. Ballard and Ralph Steadman.  His Fission Among the Fanatics (Spuyten Duyvil Press, NYC) was named Non-Fiction Book of the Year 2007 by 3:AM Magazine.  Various of his novels have been nominated for the Editor's Book Award and the New York University Bobst Prize, and one was a finalist in the AWP Award Series in the Novel.  Reviews and excerpts, a couple hours of recorded readings, plus links to Tom's essays in Salon.com and other such high-tone swanky magazines, are at tombradley.org.