| Yesterday the rain came down all day here, the wind blew and the temperatures hovered lower than normal, raising the specter of winter in the Northeast. But I was very far away from New England, transported to the humidity, heat, and heavy atmosphere of the Louisiana bayous and its tidal flats, the decaying plantations of the Old South and the slow bustle of its towns with magnolia-lined streets, camellias fronting nineteenth-century wooden houses, and for at least one resident, a three-legged raccoon in the back yard.
Fans will know I must be talking about one of James Lee Burke’s books featuring Dave Robicheaux. Yesterday I read Crusader’s Crossing with Robicheaux as the alcoholic, strong-souled, big-hearted, foolish but lucky, persistent, romantic, baiter-of-anything-the-Devil-can- ring-on, and philosophizing homicide detective. He has been there, done that, but keeps on right on going, with all of Burke’s readers urging him on. Go, Robicheaux, go! Crusader’s Cross was my first Robicheaux mystery novel but it will not be my last. I am certain to join the hordes calling for more and more: give us more Robicheaux! The writing of Burke is strong and true, just like his hero: we are pulled in by Burke’s love affair with Louisiana and never turned away by his harsh assessment of the state of her soul. Corrupt, twisted, and riding rough over a man’s dreams, nevertheless Louisiana is a queen of enchantment. Just reading descriptions like “a rough kind of subtropical Edenic beauty, threaded with snakes and thorned plants that had no names…magnolia trees grew to a huge size, dripping with flowers…grapefruit tress bursting with golden orbs, without sunlight ever directly touching the leaves” placed me smack square in the midst of a place and an attitude that enthralled, as much as it threatened. Burke reminds me a bit of Carl Hiaasen, with Louisiana as his muse while Hiaasen thrives on Broward County, Florida. The two places are similar in terms of corruption and filth (moral, political, and sexual), and feature tough guys with hearts of gold but fists of iron, tempers quick to boil, and intellects to be reckoned with. In Crusader’s Cross, Robicheaux is haunted by a missing woman from long ago in his past: “over the years I had seen the file drawer slammed on too many unsolved disappearances. These cases almost always involved people who had no voice and whose families had no power. Sometimes a determined cop would try to keep the investigation alive, revisiting his files and chasing leads on his own time, but ultimately he, too, would make his separate peace and try not to think, as I was now, about voices that can cry out for help in our sleep.” Robicheaux is the crusader and with Burke’s prose backing him up, I was willing to cross any number of pages to follow him in his quest. |
