For a long time I was scared to read Motorman . It had come recommended to me in such hushed tones that it sounded disruptively incendiary and illegal. Not only would the reader of this crazed novel burn to ashes, apparently, but he might be posthumously imprisoned for reading the book—a jar of cinder resting in a jail cell. Books were not often spoken of so potently to me, as contraband, as narcotic, as ordnance. There was the whispered promise that my mind would be blown after reading Motorman. There was the assurance that once I read it I would drool with awe, writerly awe, the awe of watching a madman master at work, David Ohle, awesomely carving deep, black holes into the edifice of the English language. —from the introduction by Ben Marcus This dystopia is a tour de force of scabrous invention. It is also uncomfortably real. As a kid I flipped through Science News and got an unpleasant shock when I inadvertently put my finger on a close-up of a spider's mandibles. Similarly, something about Ohle's prose closes the gap between the representation of a disturbing thing and the thing itself. You feel you ought to wash your hands after touching the page. But if you think that wiping will remove the stain, consider Doing time in the French Sewers (don't ask), Moldenke learns that they supply the bakery where edible paper—"for money, for waivers, for wiping, for books"—is made. Shit is books, books are food, food is shit. The conclusion? We're in it. Deep. —Shelley Jackson, from a review in BookForum

After the most recent Forgetting, Ohle's luckless protagonist Moldenke is in possession of only his name and the bare facts of his former life. He finds himself cruising on the Titanic through a bizarre alternate reality where elective deformation is a fashion trend, neuts and human settlers do their best to live together in relative harmony, and the only available sustenance is stomach-churning fare. Everyone agrees the Stinkers are troublesome and something must be done. President Ratt not only fails to control the Stinker problem, but he also has a penchant for decreeing absurd laws and issuing random vouchers of innocence. Violators with valid vouchers defer their punishments to guiltless bystanders—regulations that land Moldenke and his fellows in prison more than once. Rumours are circulating that another Forgetting is imminent, and that the Forgettings are induced by Ratt's radio broadcasts. The prison guard Montfaucon emerges as Ratt's political rival, and Moldenke, ever the yes-man, finds himself inadvertently involved in a plot to assassinate the president. The rebels hope to return to the Age of Sinatra, "when happiness was not only considered achievable, but hailed as the ideal state of being."

The Pisstown Chaos is the story of a family’s dislocation in the midst of chaos, disease, and forced-relocation. Political power seems to be solely in the hands of one Reverend Herman Hooker, an “American Divine,” who revels in the sufferings of others as he spouts platitudes to the ever-on-the-move masses. As chaos rages on and parasitic infestations spread, the Reverend rules with an iron fist from his Templex headquarters, utterly without mercy. This is the final book in the cult trilogy.

Moldenke is sent to the "free" prison town at Altobello with an indeterminate sentence. He has a rare bowel condition. Altobello is full of "Jellyheads" and features an old nuclear reactor on the edge of town. No one seems to remember what the reactor really is, until it's almost too late.