Today, Monday 10 June 2013, Kent Wascom will be here at Lemuria to sign and read from his debut novel Blood of Heaven.
The title of this book tells of what you should expect. There is equal parts blood and heaven both in this book – and plenty to spare. I was talking with a fellow coworker the other day (Adie Smith) and she said something to the effect: Mix in a bunch of old religion/religious rites/customs into a good story and I’m sold. I’ve thought about that, and I find I’m the same way. When you bring those, in the case of Wascoms book, old Christian ways into a story that is both unrelenting in its violence, wildness of character, and a truly compelling story, it somehow begins to touch on the real in a way that without those religious elements it could not. Kent with his first novel reminds me of the kind of story you find in Barry Hannah. He doesn’t much write like Hannah but his spirit is found in this novel. Kent’s writing can be a bit difficult at times, though I believe most of it is due to the period, preLouisianapurchase/civilwar, and a little bit to do with the archaic quality he tries to cultivate to assemble a biblical language face, which I believe he does quite spectacularly.
The narrative follows an Angel Woolsack and is set primarily in New Orleans/West Florida. There are plenty of preachers, politicians, whores, slaves, and grotesqueries that keep the heart of this book pumping and in like the reader’s heart as well. Frankly it’s an exciting read and I’m sold on it. It’s the best book I’ve read this year.
I would say that by reading the first paragraph of Blood of Heaven you will know if you’re going to love or hate this book:
Tonight I went from my wife’s bed to the open window and pissed down blood on Royal Street. She shrieked for me to stop and use the pot, but below I swear the secession revelers, packed to the streetcorners, were giving up their voices, cheering me on. They’re still out there, flying high on nationhood. Suddenly gifted with a new country, they are like children at Christmas. I saw their numbers swelling all the way to Canal, and in this corner of the crammed streets the celebrants were caught and couldn’t escape my red blessing. A herd of broadcloth boys passed under my stream while a whore howled as I further wilted the flowers in her hair and drove her customers off; and yawping stevedores, too drunk to mind, were themselves bloodied even as they tried to shove others in. And if I could I would’ve written out a blessing on all their faces, anointed them with the red, red water from my Holy Sprinkler, and had them pray with me.
If that didn’t convince you, come out tonight @5 for 1dollar beers and a free author reading, can’t beat that.
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