A perfect distillation of time, place and culture — in this case, early 1980 in Clark County, Washington state, in the shadow of streaming, ash-spewing Mount St. Helens — through the eyes of a sheriff’s deputy who’s wise but constantly bumping up against situations so strange and awful that they test the limits of that wisdom. Including murder.
Not a crime novel per se, with genre constructs, but a well-told window into the worlds of the desperate, the hungry, the poor, the poisonous and the eccentric folks who populate the county’s most rural folds and draws. One with the same pull of pleasurable uncertainty found in a crime novel confidently striding into known-but-unknown territory at every turn. One of which setting is as much a co-starting character as the overwhelmed but mostly centered Deputy Tom Wilson:
““Even with his eyes closed Wilson would have known he was approaching Longview. Most days the sulfuric funk of the pulp and paper mills was as foul as though he’d messed himself. Sad as it was, it smelled like home. He entered the city as a long, graffitied train clacked along the lumber yards and log ponds and landfill. Beyond this the mills glowed with innumerable orange lights like some sleepless festival while plumes of chemicals billowed from the smokestacks toward a bright, bronze moon. It was the only home he’d ever known, and God willing, he hoped to keep it that way until the day he died.”
DEEP FIRE RISE is a small-press literary gem, accessible and propulsive, shot through with low-key pleasurable uncertainty on every page and a beating, bleeding heart for people and place. It’s like a rich rural
Southern gothic story set in the Pacific Northwest. It deserves a wider audience and regional acclaim — at the very least.