So much better when he is writing about the Texas-Mexico border, James Carlos Blake produces some of the starkest, most brutal imagery I've read in contemporary fiction. But there is a bit of a quandary. Why does he do it? The characters of his fiction are almost all lowlifes. Never a redeeming one in the bunch of them. Even in his Wolfe family novels, the upper crusters he depicts are just as quick to anger, launch into violence, and kill as those on the very edge of society. All his characters have simple motivations. For his male characters, it's quite simply their penis. Anything they do is either about getting money to get into a whore house and get an erection, or taking violent revenge on someone who has interrupted their erection. Sure, there is family loyalty and trust in friendship, but the core of a Blake novel never gets too far away from his obsession with penises. In his better works, that is not so apparent. So, this is one of those semi-better works, and Blake builds a tale like he always does: fast paced, addictive, and marvelously efficient. His storytelling is second to none.
But one thing, too, about his storytelling. After reading most of his novels, I can see not only the same themes recur but the very same events. Yet it works. Blake never seems stale. And what was centered in one novel, may only lay at the rim in another, or may just flash as a momentary reminder of earlier (and, in the case of those who have read the Wolfe family saga, later) places, people, and events.