The Baileys Harbor Bird and Booyah Club

Like Garrison Keillor's quaint tales of the town of Lake Wobegon, Crehore's fiction debut (after the memoir Sweet and Sour Pie: A Wisconsin Boyhood) is a delightful meditation on small-town life in Northern Door, Wisconsin, an odd community peopled by a unique cast of characters. The titular booyah%E2%80%94which is both the name of a hearty stew made in massive quantities, as well as the communal event surrounding its cooking and eating%E2%80%94is an apt metaphor for this maundering tale: the narrative revolves around George and Helen O'Malley, a couple "growing old as gracefully as possible," and the many adventures of them and their friends. After a Herculean effort, George lands a stubborn bass named Marilyn with a fly made out of "polar bear hair and marabou plumes;" local septic tank pumper Bump Olson saves George from a black bear by charging it with his truck; and George finally tries marijuana at his 50th high school reunion, only to discover the next morning that it was just a bunch of oregano. Though the book lacks any narrative arc, as George points out, "there's a lot to be said for the dull moments." Indeed, the charmingly peculiar folks of Northern Door and Crehore's facility with language (which he chalks up to a familial penchant for storytelling) more than make up for the absence of rising action, a climax, and denouement. (May)