I’m actually in the process of reading another book, but last week I read on Wil Wheaton’s blog (and you didn’t think I was serious about actually reading his blog regularly) about an offer that I simply couldn’t refuse.

For one day only, author Jeff Burk was giving away electronic copies of his kooky, crazy tome to the toupee-tasty greatness that is William Shatner, Shatnerquake. All he asked was that those who accepted his 24-hour bout of generosity, read and review his book…on Amazon, on GoodReads, on our own blogs, with friends, wherever. Just that we get word out about this story.

So here I am, living up to my end of this bargain. Overall, this was a delightfully twisted premise. What would happen if a fiction bomb planted by Campbellians (worshippers of the Chin Known As Bruce) at ShatnerCon backfired, and instead of obliterating the existence of Shatner’s contributions to television and film, it brought them all to life? And the real William Shatner was the only man able to fight back against the rise of the real Captain Kirk, TJ Hooker, Denny Crane, Rescue 911 Shatner, the SNL “Get a Life” Shatner, and the rest of the Shat-tastic army?

Throw in a look-a-like Shatner fan, the intimate details of convention life, and a whole passel of stereotypical sci-fi conventioneers, and you’ve got yourself one freakin’ bizarro tale, which, at fewer than 100 pages, zips by at a crazy-fast and oftentimes furiously funny pace. Burk has a very strange sense of humor, but it is rooted in a seemingly intimate knowledge of just what goes down at these crazy things called sci-fi conventions. Perfect example comes from this line, which appeared during a fight scene between Captain Kirk and William Shatner, inside the dealers’ room:

Kirk moved toward Shatner twirling the lightsaber from side to side, the blade instantly devaluing collectibles and severing limbs.

Know what I love most about that line? That mention of the collectible damage came before the corporeal damage. Collectibles first, my friends. Each and every time. That’s how we roll in the dealers’ room, byatches.

The downside of this story is that it is in severe need of clean-up. I stand by my life mantra, “Everybody needs an editor.” Burk definitely needed one for this story. Misspellings abound. Turborlift? Dr. McKoy? WTF, man. WTF. Plus, a substantive edit would really help sharpen its satirical blade and tighten up the story to raise it from the appearance of being nothing more than hastily penned fan fiction.

Final score: 2.5/5. Yeah, this gets the same score as a Pulitzer winner. See, when I rate these books, I rate them based on the context of their existence. My last read, for example, tries to exist on a plane higher than it deserves, and thus should be rated accordingly. This, however, was a surprisingly enjoyable find from a literary arena that I have come to accept as producing severely hit-or-miss stories. This was a hit that has the potential of becoming even better with the right treatment. Of course, however, it runs the risk of losing its rough-edged whimsy if it is polished up for public consumption. So maybe it’s better to leave it just as it is, McKoy and all.