Two years after his 2004 death, I was surprised with a galley of Larry Brown's wonderful, nearly finished novel A Miracle of Catfish [Algonquin/ Ravenel, Mar.]. Catfish relies upon fascinating characters; a simple, compelling plot; and dark, uncomfortable humor. It is superbly written, funny and malicious (with a definite move toward redemption). Catfish defines Brown's South and chronicles the fascinating and the debased in Southern literature. Four men trouble the heart in this hardscrabble tale: Little Jimmy's daddy is an impoverished drunk who unwinds by taking long drives; Cleve has a daughter worth killing for; Tommy is an addicted and skill-less gambler; and Cortez quietly rejoices at his wife's death and relives a darker secret. Together, they define failure as fathers, as husbands and as men—and it may fall to a single monstrous catfish named Ursula to provide some reason for hope. This is for those who live for the next dark and humorous novel trumpeting the various gradations of evil (like Tom Franklin's Smonk).