something to entertain himself while reflecting on what was going on in the world outside—ravaged cities, contentious politics, uncertainty. King’s yarn begins in a world that’s recognizably ours, and with a familiar trope: A young woman, out to buy fried chicken, is mashed by a runaway plumber’s van, sending her husband into an alcoholic tailspin and her son into a preadolescent funk, driven “bugfuck” by a father who “was always trying to apologize.” The son makes good by rescuing an elderly neighbor who’s fallen off a ladder, though he protests that the man’s equally elderly German shepherd, Radar, was the true hero. Whatever the case, Mr. Bowditch has an improbable trove of gold in his Bates Motel of a home, and its origin seems to lie in a shed behind the house, one that Mr. Bowditch warns the boy away from: “ ‘Don’t go in there,’ he said. ‘You may in time, but for now don’t even think of it.’ ” It’s not Pennywise who awaits in the underworld behind the shed door, but there’s plenty that’s weird and unexpected, including a woman, Dora, whose “skin was slate gray and her face was cruelly deformed,” and a whole bunch of people—well, sort of people, anyway— who’d like nothing better than to bring their special brand of evil up to our world’s surface. King’s young protagonist, Charlie Reade, is resourceful beyond his years, but it helps that the old dog gains some of its youthful vigor in the depths below. King delivers a more or less traditional fable that includes a knowing nod: “I think I know what you want,” Charlie tells the reader, “and now you have it”—namely, a happy ending but with a suitably sardonic wink. A tale that’s at once familiar and full of odd and unexpected twists—vintage King, in other words.
FOX CREEK
Krueger, William Kent Atria (400 pp.) $28.00 | Aug. 23, 2022 978-1-9821-2871-5 Cork O’Connor’s latest case is a search through the Minnesota wilderness for a missing person. But that’s the only thing that’s straightforward about it. Edina real estate attorney Louis Morriseau’s pitch couldn’t be simpler. His wife has gone AWOL with her lover, and Lou wants Cork to step away from the grill at Sam’s Place and look for her. Cork’s not interested until he hears the identity of Dolores Morriseau’s alleged lover: Henry Meloux, the ancient healer at Crow Point reservation, who must be close to 100. Certain that this disappearance isn’t what it seems, he agrees to take a look. Shortly thereafter he gets a second surprise: The missing Dolores turns up and indicates that the man who hired Cork doesn’t look a bit like her husband. As if that weren’t confusing enough, the false Lou Morriseau has vanished himself. Soon enough Dolores disappears again. So do Henry and his great-niece, Rainy, who’s married to Cork. Naturally, Cork broadens his search. So do a whole lot of other people, including Stephen O’Connor, Cork and Rainy’s son; and law student Belle Morriseau, Lou’s sister. 20
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15 july 2022
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fiction
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kirkus.com
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The Minnesota woods would probably be crawling with searchers even without the presence of LeLoup, an Ojibwe tracker who works for a hard-nosed man named Kimball, whose other hirelings seem to be lurking, fully armed, behind every tree as they look for Lou Morriseau themselves. Constantly cutting back and forth among the different searchers and their prey, Krueger gradually teases out Indigenous fables, myths, and wisdom that Cork will have to draw on if he’s to emerge from this free-for-all with his franchise intact. For fans only, and they’re well advised to take notes reminding them who’s on first.
MOUNT CHICAGO
Levin, Adam Doubleday (592 pp.) $30.00 | Aug. 9, 2022 978-0-385-54824-3
After a huge swath of downtown Chicago is swallowed up by a freakish sinkhole, an acclaimed Jewish novelist who had a brief run as a stand-up comic and an obsessive fan who becomes a mayoral aide confront their losses. The novelist, Solomon Gladman, lost his entire family to the “terrestrial anomaly” (as city officials insist it be called), leaving him to obsess over the intensely neurotic behavior of his parrot, Gogol. Having become a clinical social worker, he is attuned to that task. The fan is Apter Schutz, who by the age of 21 made millions marketing a subversive desk calendar aimed at “real Americans,” followed his hero into psychotherapy, and then went to work for a hapless mayor determined to build Mount Chicago, a memorial to the disaster victims that is “as moving as Auschwitz” but “less depressing.” At the core of the novel—which, at almost 600 pages, is a walk in the park compared to Levin’s 1,000-page opus, The Instructions (2010)—is an epic discussion of the meaning of survival that culminates in the soft, made-for-2022 notion that anyone who is even aware of a death “survives” it. Seemingly by design, the novel tests the reader’s patience with long streams of obsessive musings on subjects ranging from pizza preferences to the films of Steven Spielberg (whom David Mamet, one of the real-life figures in the book, calls a “pretentious schlockmeister”). In his opening disclaimer, Levin says that “ ‘ideas’ get in the way of art,” but his art is all about how affirming it can be, during these times of Covid-narrowed lives, to dose on ideas. “I digress, therefore I’m alive” might be his theme—a deeply affecting one when all is said and redone. A sometimes wearying but boldly rewarding work of metafiction.
