Wild Turkey

Michael Hemmingson

I'm still not exactly sure what to make of Wild Turkey. It's a thriller, but one that shimmers with an air of defeatism; it's noir through the eyes of someone who is slowly sliding into unrecoverable depression. The result is certainly interesting, but I haven't quite figured out how effective it is.

Phil Lansdale is a disbarred lawyer, rich enough to not need to go out and work immediately, who quickly learns to adapt to a life of sitting on the front porch drinking entirely too many beers with Brian, the retired cop next door, and watching his across-the-street neighbor, young and succulent Cassandra Payne. To top it all off, Phil's son is a budding pyromaniac, and the spark has gone out of his marriage. Cassandra's husband is gunned down on his way home from the airport one day, and from there, the stage is set.

As the story is, in fact, told from the point of view of someone sliding ever deeper into alcoholism, depression, and a serious sense of unreality, the tone of the novel makes perfect sense; he's calling it as he sees it. The air of detachment applied to horrific events has a long tradition of effectiveness in literature (consider the continuing popularity of Elie Wiesel, a mediocre writer at best, but a pony whose one trick is a very, very effective one); what puts it on the edge of not working here is unclear. Perhaps the events aren't quite horrific enough, or perhaps Phil has already slid too far down that slope. Perhaps there's too much foreshadowing-- or, worse, we're so used to the conventions of noir that we know what's going to happen long before Phil does. The end result is the same, however-- predictability with a sheen of ennui.

It's fun, in a mindless-action-movie sort of way, though whether you'll find it a Schwarzenegger flick or a Jean-Claude Van Damme flick I have no idea. Turn your brain off and have a good time watching things blow up.