Both Smither's company and Emmins' book ‘Mop Men’ are founded on the same premise: death sells. Alan Emmins is desperate to find a highly saleable subject for a magazine feature and he is only too aware that tales of a morbid nature are what the public (and the editors) genuinely want.. Cue Mr. Smither, perhaps the only cleaner in the world with a salary in the mid-seven figures. On their first meeting, whilst mopping up the aftermath of a particularly nasty gunshot suicide, the abhorrent sound bytes leap from the page. As Smither simultaneously condemns all suicides as 'selfish'and praises the messy ones for lining his pockets, and Emmins thanks his lucky stars that his subject is so appalling, the exploitation exacted by both men is overwhelming. It is only when Emmins realises that Smither is perhaps not as immoral as he makes out, but is rather deliberately disgusting the media to score some free international marketing, that he decides to spend a month working as a 'cleaner' with the man himself.

They say that reality is stranger than fiction, and you can't get much stranger than ‘Mop Men.’ On the one hand, it is an insightful account of perhaps the weirdest business in history, and on the other it is a highly astute examination of American morality, politics, and the general degradation of society. Emmins' deterioration from appalled onlooker to desensitised participant, praying for deaths during quiet spells in order to make his book more interesting, is both captivating and alarming in equal measures. The fact that his original business proposition was inspired by a scene in ‘Pulp Fiction’ couldn't be any more perfect, with film and business both appalling the moral majority beyond words. Smither's curious habit of pulling up next a convertible with a three-month old rotten corpse in the truck and 'stinking them out' probably doesn't help his mass appeal, but it does create a profitable mythology, and in spite of the analytical tone of the book, you can't ignore for long the fact that death is now lining Emmins' pockets too.

Interestingly, the book calls on moral and political 'sub-plots' to further illustrate his deep concerns over the state of society. Perhaps most interesting is his reaction to viewing ‘Kill Bill’ in a cinema with small children, or his observations of Schwarzennegger's quest for power in Florida. It may seem disjointed for much of the book, yet the final chapters bond all the given information together into a subtle moral argument so compelling that you'd be hard pushed to dispute it.

The thing that keeps you reading is Emmins' relaxed conversational tone; at times it is as though you are having a direct discourse with the Grim Reaper himself. As the dead bodies stop dropping like flies, the book seems to lose its way, meandering through bar and cinema visits in what comes across as a serious amount of filler. On first impressions, it feels like a heavy-handed editor wouldn't have gone amiss, but Emmins' aims are both subtle and effective. Soon, you're willing another tragedy (the messier, the better) to occur, and it's only when you reach the end of this peculiar and compelling read that you realise how much death really does occupy and intrigue us. Moreover, this book is not just about death, but death in it's bloodiest glory - seeing the reality behind all the Hollywood mock ups we've become so accustomed to is deeply unsettling, and worryingly fascinating.

’Mop Men’ is so thoroughly bizarre, it reads like a chapter from Palahniuk's ‘Non-Fiction’ (and one can only imagine Palahniuk's consternation that he didn't get to this guy first). The way the book manages to destroy your preconceptions and genuinely shock is a serious eye-opener. The atmosphere is so tangible, your own personal level of involvement as a reader is disturbing - as much as you try and stay distanced, the increasingly evocative nature of Emmins' experience is purely engrossing, and captivates from start to finish. Above all, it is the sheer originality of the subject matter, and of Emmins' approach, that make ‘Mop Men’ a highly unique experience but perhaps not one for the faint-hearted.

Rachel Evans is a drama graduate who works in publishing in Bournemouth. She is an avid film junkie and cult fiction obsessive, placing Palahniuk, Fincher and Aronofsky at the top of her list of heroes.

© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.