Synopsis
Return to the mushroom metropolis of Neo Kinoko, immerse yourself in a sinister world of gangsters, blackmail, and fungal cuisine, and prepare for a Michelin-star tragedy in six courses.
The knives are out in this fast-paced, standalone Fungalverse novel. Set several months after the events of the award-winning Mushroom Blues, this side story combines the culinary wonder of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the kitchen chaos of The Bear, and the explosive tension of Hong Kong crime thrillers.
In the aftermath of the “Fuyu Massacre,” riots and whispers of revolution continue to plague the Hōpponese capital of Neo Kinoko. As a result, the iron grip of a foreign military occupation tightens day by day. Amidst this, Pocho Jiro, a once-renowned makizushi chef, has chosen to cook for Duncan MacArthur—the Coprinian Military Governor in Hōppon—as his personal chef… and indentured servant.
A run-in with dangerous fungal gangsters sets off a chain of events that Pocho cannot escape from. He’s left with two choices: Assassinate MacArthur, or watch his beloved sister die in front of his eyes. Will Pocho take up his knife and prepare MacArthur’s final meal?
Review
The weight of consequences are at the heart of Adrian M. Gibson’s A Murder Most Fungal, a stand-alone entry in his Fungalverse series that picks up a short time after the conclusion of his debut novel, Mushroom Blues. Although Mushroom Blues is not required reading, I would high recommend it as it provides plenty of important context and world building for the events that unfold here. Plus, it’s just a damn good book and you should read it anyway, if you haven’t already.
Gibson introduces us to chef Pocho Jiro, who lost his highly celebrated restaurant when the human Coprinians attacked the fungal Hōpponese. In the wake of Coprinian occupation, Pocho and his team have been pressed into serving as the personal chefs for Coprinian Military Governor Duncan MacArthur. Pocho views the job as a way to help save his cooks and allow them to earn their livelihoods, but many view his working for the leader of the fascist army that attacked their world as treason. Pocho is a turncoat and a traitor to some, but to others, like the Kinoko Rose mobsters who want MacArthur dead, he has the potential to be a useful resource… particularly with the right amount of pressure. He can either serve MacArthur his last meal, or he can watch his sister die.
As a fan of Mushroom Blues, I was eager to see what Gibson cooked up for his sophomore effort, and I wasn’t the least bit disappointed. A Murder Most Fungal immediately put me at ease with its opening epigraph quoting Anthony Bourdain, of whom I am a fan. It’s clear throughout A Murder Most Fungal that Gibson is a fan, too, of both Bourdain and chefs in general, exhibiting attention to and an appreciation for culinary arts. Our protagonist is even named after famed sushi chef, Jiro Ono, whose life and work was documented in the 2011 film, Jiro Dreams of Sushi. This documentary no doubt also influenced Bourdain, who wrote two volumes about a sushi chef, named Jiro of course, in a futuristic, and very bloody, Los Angeles. Bourdain also penned a trio of crime novels set at the intersection of food and crime. He left us much too early in 2018, at the age of 61, but his outsized influence lives on and clearly made an impression on Gibson.
While there are occasional spurts of violence throughout A Murder Most Fungal – this a crime noir book, after all – much of the action takes place in the kitchen. The cinematic flair Gibson exhibits when staging and writing about food prep as seen through Pocho’s eyes, one might think they were reading scenes from an extraterrestrial episode of Chef’s Table. It’s easy to visualize the dark interior of Pocho’s kitchen and the frantic bustling of fungoid chefs as they break down and filet fish and meat and mushrooms, lit by the sudden, explosive rise of a grill’s flame as hot oils splash against open fire.
You can feel the twisting threads of inspiration that make up Gibson’s latest, and the author lives up to the long and rich legacies of those that preceded him. A Murder Most Fungal is built on a strong pedigree of celebrity chefs, as well as noir fiction. What makes it most compelling are the ways people’s choices resonate across time. Actions have consequences and choices can be downright damning.
Gibson’s world-building is on point, just as it was in Mushroom Blues, which established a world built very much on the model of recognizably familiar colonial empires, primarily the British occupation of Hong Kong and other territories. The Coprinians rule with racist savagery, convinced of their superiority over the fungal humanoids they war against. Under its layers of decadent food displays and threats of violence, A Murder Most Fungal explores the nature of oppression through military, political, and class warfare, and the ways underground rebellions must function in opposition to fascism. At its most fundamental levels, it’s very much about nature versus industry and the war the rich wage against the world itself. The historical parallels propping up Gibson’s world-building are apparent, but if you look just right you can see more modern crises at its core, like the wealthy techbros and their imperialistic demands to build expansive (and expensive) data centers at the cost of, well, everything.
An inherent, and necessary, darkness exists at the core of A Murder Most Fungal. So, too, does hope and an appreciation for art. Hand-crafted, man- (or in this case, fungal-) made art is celebrated. In the realm of culinary arts, it may not always look pleasing or taste good, but it’s still made with love and can tell a story, about a person, about a culture, of an empire or a world, and that’s still worth respecting and remembering. It’s worth more than we can ever adequately say. And yes, sometimes, it has to be fought for and blood must be spilt in order to exist.
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