Mike Andrelczyk’s novel Submarines takes place during the summer of 2011, told to us by a nameless narrator. The narrator isn’t trying to be coy or mysterious and the namelessness is not a literary device—it’s likely we don’t get his name because his brain has been warped by the enormous amounts of dope and booze he consumes. He’s unemployed and loafing in Los Angeles, and he has an ailing grandmother who lives alone in Delaware. She could use someone to help her with her day-to-day activities and since he’s the only aimless drifter in the family, they ask him if he’d like to move in with her. He’s just completed his probation sentence for drug offenses so he’s free to go. He arrives in Delaware with nothing but a $10k balance he owes to Bank of America and $283.76 in his bank account.

Gustave Flaubert’s 1869 novel Sentimental Education: History of a Young Man featured a protagonist, Frédéric Moreau, who spent much of his time wandering Paris aimlessly, sitting in cafes and observing the world around him with a detached disinterest. The French have a term for men such as Moreau:  flâneur. A slacker, so to speak. When our nameless narrator in Submarines moves in with his grandmother he has no job and spends quite a bit of time biking around, sitting on the beach, staring up at the sky. It is, however, impossible for him to observe with detached disinterest—everywhere he looks he sees submarines. The clouds above? Shaped like submarines. The people he meets? Heads shaped like submarines. Submarines rising up out of his bowl of Cheerios. He begins applying for jobs but doesn’t have much luck at first: “Maybe they didn’t think it was funny how I listed ‘embezzlement’ under the skills section of my resume. Whatever. In my opinion boosting employee morale with humor is absolutely vital to any workplace.”

Andrelczyk is a quick wit. In a 2021 interview with Benjamin Niespodziany of Neon Pajamas, Niespodziany asked him, “A chainsaw walks into a bar. A Gateway computer follows closely behind. Finish the rest.” Andrelczyk improvises, “The chainsaw says to the computer, ‘Hey buddy, sit down and have a drink. You look like you’ve had a hard drive.’ The computer says, ‘Haha buddy, you’re a real cutup.’” Sometimes he’s morbidly funny, like a stand-up vampire:

I was tired of LA. Some kids doused a homeless man with gasoline and set him on fire the week before I left. I heard the screams from outside the Little Canada Market on the corner where I was drinking a Coke. A guy burst out of the store and ripped his shirt off as he ran toward the flames to help. I went back in for some chips.

Right after that he realized, “I needed to do something good with my life.”

It isn’t just images of submarines that he keeps hallucinating; often when he’s loafing on the beach he sees British warships off the Delaware coast, a Commodore out on deck peering at him through a telescope. One time he returned home to find a note taped to his door demanding provisions for the British fleet—meat, vegetables, etc. History buffs will recognize the note as the one that was sent to the Magistrate of Lewes, Delaware from Commodore John P. Beresford during the War of 1812 (Andrelczyk has a little fun with the Commodore’s name, signing the note “Commodore J.M. Barriefield-Merrifield”). The people of Lewes did not hand over any supplies to the British fleet and in return the Brits fired their cannons at the town, doing almost no damage before sailing away. One of the cannon balls did, however, lodge in the foundation of a building. The building (and cannon ball!) is still there today and is now a War of 1812 museum, somewhat unimaginatively named Cannon Ball House.

Our narrator eventually finds a job as a bellhop and puts his wages to work at his true passion: sports betting. (Andrelczyk has in fact been employed as a bellhop making one wonder how much of Submarines is taken from real life.) His gambling goes well at first, then he hits a slump and changes up his betting methods:

I was in a betting slump so I abandoned the stats and matchups and employed a new omen-based betting style. If I noticed a cardinal in a holly tree, I’d bet $50 on the Cardinals. If I saw an oriole perched on the marsh grass, I’d bet on Baltimore. If a fisherman reeled in a fish as I walked on the beach, I’d bet on the Mariners. A submarine rose up out of the water and telepathically instructed me to bet $100 on the Twins.

It’s no spoiler alert to say that he lost every bet using his new “method.” However, he is a serious gambler and when he sees how stupid he was using his “omen-based” style, he gets back to the basics. He does so well that his bookie, Christopher, starts piggybacking his bets. This is fairly common among gamblers, the serious ones anyway. Poet Charles Bukowski was a horseplayer who would sometimes have such winning streaks that he would be able to take trips from his home in LA down the coast to Del Mar and get a hotel room for a week betting at the track every day and screwing and drinking every night. Those that work hard and prodigiously at gambling are rewarded like anybody who works hard at any worthwhile endeavor.

Our narrator meets a seasonal worker, Olivia, at the hotel and they fall for each other. They sometimes use an empty room at work for trysts and since neither of them are well-off financially, their dates are simple things like bike rides and strolls on the beach. One night they decide to hit up the casino and they head to the roulette wheel. They’re both having good luck and Olivia thinks they should take the money and run. He says he wants just a few more plays and she says she will wait for him in his car in the parking lot. He continues playing for so long Olivia texts him to ask how much longer he’ll be. He keeps on playing until she sends him this text: “What the fuck is wrong with you? I wanted to have fun tonight and be with you. All you care about is money. You’re an asshole with no fucking future. I can’t wait to go home. I left your stupid keys under the passenger side mat and your car is open, asshole.” What Olivia meant by “go home” was returning to Puerto Rico at the end of the summer season. There had always been the possibility of them staying together somehow after her temporary job was done, but it looks like his compulsive gambling may have ruined it. Olivia has a going-away party planned with all the employees at the hotel and he doesn’t even know if he should go anymore, but he wants desperately to patch things up with her.

Submarines is Andrelczyk’s debut novel and he’s got five poetry collections under his belt (one of which is titled !!!). He’s a reporter for LancasterOnline.com with his byline on stories about novelist Louise Penny and musician/activist Daryl Davis. In an interview at Icebreakers Lit he was asked if he had any advice for writers: “Keep the juices in the brats and buy Stanley brand tools.”

Submarines
by Mike Andrelczyk, 200 pages
Malarkey Books, $18.00

Hugh Blanton's latest book is The Pudneys. He can be reached on X @HughBlanton5.