A Feast of Snakes: A Novel (urspr publ 1976; utgåvan 1998)

“White people were dangerous and snakes were dangerous and now the two were working together, each doing what the other told it to. “

“I don’t like snakes,” she said.
“You’re in a hell of a place if you don’t like snakes.”

“He did not know what love was. And he did not know what good it was. But he knew he carried with him, a scabrous spot of rot, of contagion, for which there was no cure. Rage would not cure it. Indulgence made it worse, flamed it, made it grow like cancer. “

Welcome to Mystic Georgia, circa 1970. Now, turn back and run like hell. This is a mean, gritty tale, bordering on the grotesque and certainly not for the faint of heart. It takes place around an annual Rattlesnake Round up, populated with mostly unlikable characters. It ain't pretty. It also includes a horrific dog-fight, so be forewarned. This was my introduction to Crews. I like dark, literary explorations and this delivered it, in spades. I found much of it fascinating. I am not sure, I will run out right away and find more of his work but I am glad I finally read it. McCullers may have set the "hillbilly noir" table but Crews has sure found a comfortable spot, at the head of it. ( )

Written in 1976, A Feast of Snakes is a whiskey fueled frustration of violence, of the knowledge and acceptance that things won't be different tomorrow. Harry Crews is fast becoming my new literary hero. The language is fantastic, the characters are incredible, the plot is over the top. Crews writes so much beauty into so much ugliness and brutality. And his ear for dialect blows me away.

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In Masters of Atlantis, one character tells another, "I wouldn't have that book in my house. I wouldn't have that book in my truck." That's my reaction to A Feast of Snakes. There's not a redeeming thing about this and I'd be embarrassed to recommend it on moral or aesthetic grounds. (And yes, I read every word.) I can already imagine the fan base invoking the alibi of art to justify the depravities detailed in its pages.

Norman Mailer and Joseph Heller must have been as drunk as the characters when they agreed to write blurbs for the dust jacket. ( )

Oh wow.

A super messed-up, southern gross-out story of a town hanging what little pride it has on its wealth of snakes. But of course, the snakes are the least awful creatures in town—and I don't mean that in some roundabout, metaphorical way. This is one mean, dark novel.

That said, Crews' writing is to-the-point, but he cuts it with a lot of raw poetry. He doesn't need to spend a lot of time gilding his words when his setting and characters are this colorful. Reminiscent of Kem Nunn at his most psychedelic. Unforgettable stuff. ( )

Raw -- rattlesnake hunting, dog fighting, Louisiana bootlegging, male bonding/dominance confusion, brutal relationships, small-town football culture, heroes and cheerleaders, crazy people, depression, alcoholism, racism--all in a few hundred pages. And yet, it's a well-written, character-driven novel. Definitely worth the time. ( )