The Bluesiana Snake Festival

Written in a thick, at times impenetrable, bayou patois, this debut novel from a former blue-collar New Orleanian is more about evoking the lived-in experience of French Quarter inhabitants than pursuing a dramatic narrative. Covering a single (pre-Katrina) night, Bart's story finds a full moon rising over a population busting at the seams; colorful characters such as Hidden Davey Crossway, Shushubaby, and Big Jim Bullshit, all city street sweepers, act as lenses through which readers explore the Big Easy's late-night backstreets in vivid, urine-stained detail. Bart's familiarity with the quarter shines despite challenging prose, a mix of New Orleans jive and a peculiar, poetic sensibility: “Place called Myrti's, St. Louis upto Burgundy: battened creole in spanish stucco, cornerfront french doors; red light outside, lowlight inside. Drag scene. Soul.” Matters of clarity aren't helped by characters like Leo Dazzolini, “the fastfood of lifestory”: “Ahm twenny yeath dithablt 'coun' ah almoth died. Ah tolya bot dat feeba ah caught dat time?” Those with the patience to decipher Bart's prose should find this an absorbing tour. (May)