His name is Driver, and what he does is drive. That’s it. Stunts for Hollywood, getaways for crooks — that’s his business, and he’s pretty damn good at it, and all he wants is a paycheck and no complications. So when he finds himself in a motel room with three dead bodies, you betcha heads will roll. That’s how Drive starts, and it’s full throttle from there. James Sallis’ riveting novella reads the way a Tarantino or Soderbergh neo-noir plays, artfully weaving through Driver’s haunted memory and fueled by confident storytelling and keen observations about moviemaking, low-life living, and, yes, driving. Short and not so sweet, Drive is one lean, mean, masterful machine.