Campy gore, stoner noir provide guilty pleasure

That doesn’t mean this is high art. In fact, it barely qualifies as an airport audio, being that it is derivative, overwrought, and overwritten. It is also a guilty pleasure. The two authors inconsistently muddle vampire myth with biology, and unfortunately leave lots of plot holes. As cheesy as this gets, it is also fun in a gruesome, creepy, hide under the covers sort of way.

When an airplane full of the dead and nearly dead lands in New York City, the Centers for Disease Control arrives with theories about viral infections and pandemic outbreaks. When these corpses start shambling about much like angry zombies, at least one member of the CDC realizes that everything he thought he knew about medicine was wrong. These nascent vampires are hungry, angry, confused, and monster-like. They become more refined over time, so we can only hope that the next installment is a little brainier and less obvious, as the older, more developed vampires wage war with the human race.

Hogan is known for his thrillers, which explained the structure of this novel, and del Toro is a film director. So what we hear sounds more like a made-for-cable, post-apocalyptic thriller than a typical horror tale. With that in mind, narrator Ron Perlman was an excellent choice. His voice is deep and memorable, his manner dramatic and fast-paced.

The production is top-notch, and Perlman’s voice is easy on the ears. He skillfully extracts the horror from the text, though he should have avoided channeling Bela Lugosi for the “master’’ vampire. Other than that misstep, he conjures up different accents and voices, adding to the eerie fun in this flawed, but entertaining audiobook. Odd music reminiscent of old horror movies breaks up the sections and adds to the general weirdness. Just don’t expect an ending, because this is a cliffhanger.

Think of “Inherent Vice’’ as Thomas Pynchon Lite. It is fun, fast moving, smart, sexy, and nothing you would expect from the author of “Gravity’s Rainbow.’’ As it is a detective novel, of sorts, it may best be described at Surfer Noir.

The plot, nominal that it is, begins in early-1970s Los Angeles and concerns one Larry “Doc’’ Sportello, a hippie private eye who could be the poster child for the LA stoner beach crowd. Doc becomes involved in a case when his version of a femme fatale, and an old flame at that, comes looking for help.

This comes at you quickly, and sometimes is a bit hard to follow, thanks to the many digressions, commentaries, and barely hidden analogies to the current political system. But it works precisely because of all that, along with Pynchon’s knack for great dialogue, jokingly bad names, clever humor, movie references, and an insightful commentary wrapped up in colorful vulgarity. This doesn’t always work, but it is very entertaining and even the occasional misses are clever.

Ron McLarty is a favorite narrator. He is known as a character actor for his TV and film work and if one can call a reader a “character narrator,’’ McCarty would fill the bill. His voice is a little gravelly, on the deep side, and most important, it is interesting. He does a great “stoner dude’’ accent. Think Jeff Spicoli meets Bogart in a Raymond Chandler film set in the era of hippies and sexual revolution. Than add humor. McLarty captures all that atmosphere and does so without going overboard. However, he really should stop singing, even if called to do so as part of the dialogue. To say he is out of tune and flat would be too kind.

American magical realism always seems more whimsical and contrived than (often) more masterful European counterparts, and “Hothouse Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire: A Novel’’ is no exception.

When divorcée Lila becomes caught up in the mystical properties of exotic plants, she ends up on a grueling journey into Mexico and a metaphysical journey through her own psyche. Each of the plants has a myth associated with it and author Margot Berwin uses them to teach Lila a life lesson. She relies on supernatural influences, coincidence, and insipid emotion wrapped in a veneer of philosophy to hammer home sappy sentiment.

Most maddening is that Berwin never digs deep enough. Had this plot been at all convincing, or had she constructed a magical world we could believe, a la Laura Esquivel (“Like Water for Chocolate’’) then this fluff and nonsense may have actually been literature. She had the makings of a fine novel and instead gave us yet more forgettable pop culture.

Thankfully, Cassandra Campbell narrates with a bright energy and crisp style. She sounds realistic throughout, capturing the protagonist’s agonies, revelations, panic, and joy. The novel may be disappointing, but Campbell, a seasoned narrator, is always a pleasure to hear.

Rochelle O’Gorman is a syndicated audiobook reviewer.