Acclaimed for his idiosyncratic prose and picaresque colloquialisms—and his irreverent but brilliantly insightful portrayals of the smalltown denizens of backwater North Carolina and Virginia—Pearson revisits sad but savvy deputy sheriff Ray Tatum and Kit Carson, his off-again, on-again African-American park ranger girlfriend from his seventh novel, Blue Ridge. Wildly and delightfully digressive, the yarn is narrated in the omniscient voice of the collective townsfolk in Pearson's signature run-on gnarly sentences. Possessing the annoying habit of regaling locals and strangers alike with the plots of the latest porno flicks beamed in on his TV satellite dish, Clayton, the town recluse, undergoes a sudden personality change at the checkout counter of the local grocery mart and adopts the name Titus. Retiring to his rundown residence, he begins to sketch an outline of Antarctica on his fireplace chimney and demonstrates surprising abilities as a seer after ostensibly foretelling the death of a pet pooch. After the toddler daughter of a transplanted Ohio lawyer vanishes into thin air, the citizenry seek the help of the newfound prophet, but to no avail. A veterinarian couple who like to indulge in sex smeared with wallpaper paste, a llama crossbred with wild deer, a slicker running a septic-tank scam, a clan of ne'er-do-wells operating a produce stand with fruit stolen from nearby orchards, and enough oddballs to cast a Coen brothers' film enliven the road to denouement. Aptly compared to Faulkner and Mark Twain, Pearson always focuses his satire on some aspect of our national character; here, it's what he sees as our hypocritical attitude toward porn. As usual, a subtle sadness counterpoints his marvelously whimsical meanderings, giving substance to this wholly enjoyable tale. 5-city author tour. (Jan. 14)
