The Marauders: A Novel
2 journalers for this copy...
There are seven men, all raised in the Barataria region of Louisiana, who have prominent roles in this book. Are they all marauders? I would say that all but one are and that one comes out the best. There are the Toup brothers, Reginald and Victor, identical twins who are famous for the marijuana they raise out in the swamp. There's Lindquist, a fisherman who lost one arm while trawling for shrimp. He still trawls but his obsession is finding the treasure of Jean Lafitte, the pirate who held sway in the area in the early 19th century. There is Wes Trench, son, grandson and greatgrandson of fishermen, who envisions spending his life on the water just as his forebears did. Since the BP oil spill in 2010 the fishing has been poor and the market even worse. Cosgrove and Hanson are two drifters who have been in many of the contiguous states but are back in LA and meet while doing community service work. Finally, Brady Grimes thought he had gotten away from the Barataria by going to work for BP in New York City. Now he is back on behalf of BP trying to get signatures on releases for damages sustained as a result of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.
These seven men interact for several months out among the small islands and waterways of the Barataria. When that time is over some are dead and some are changed but all still have the Barataria in their blood.
There is a love-hate relationship that plays out in this book and here are two passages that exemplify that:
From p 289
The state of Louisiana, Wes's father often remarked, would forever have egg on its face. Always had, always would. No place in the country crookeder, according to him. What else could you expect, an outpost improvised and jury-rigged by outlaws and gypsies out of the swamp? A place which, in its fledgling years, was tossed back and forth between countries like a bastard child? Look at the evidence. State representatives caught with federal money in their freezers and prostitutes in their beds. Gubernatorial candidates ending up in prison. Federal Emergency money spent on swimming pools and sports cars and palomino ponies. And the oil companies: God, the fucking oil companies.
From p. 299
For better or worse, the Barataria was his home. Whatever that meant. Home was the peaty odor of Spanish moss in the first spring rain. Home was the briny sweetness of fresh oysters thirty seconds out of the water. The termite swarms of early May. The cacophony of swamp frogs in the summer. The locusts in the day. The crickets at night. The lashing five-minute thunderstorms of late July. The sugarcane trucks rumbling through town in the autumn. The carnival giddiness of Mardi Gras. The blessing of the fleet. The petit bateaux clustered in the bay. The pinprick points of their pilot lamps like yuletide lights on the horizon. The strange green glow, supernaturally vivid, of cypress trees in spring gloaming. The earthy smell of crawfish boils. The pecan pralines and boudin and gumbo. The alligators and herons and redfish and shrimp. The Cajun voices, briny and gnarled. The old wrinkled faces as strange as thumbprints.
Can't you just feel and smell and taste that? Great writing.
52 Towns in 52 Weeks release challenge - Town #7.
When you find a BookCrossing book it is yours to do with what you like. You can read it and keep it or pass it on or if you don't think it is your kind of book pass it on to someone who might like it or release it in a spot for someone else to find like you just did. Whatever you choose it would be great if you could write a short note letting us know what new adventures the book is on.
WILD RELEASE NOTES: