D*u*c*k

This might be my favorite Rickey and G-man adventure. The somewhat wistful nature of the narrative is similar in tone to a Bradbury story. D*U*CK* is a moving, amusing and honest character study built around a truly marvelous foodie & football conceit: the Liquor crew is hired to cater an out-of-town banquet and the guest of honor is none other than the gridiron savior of the New Orleans Saints, Bobby Hebert. Hebert, aka the "Cajun Cannon", is Rickey's boyhood hero and the opportunity to deliver a delicious duck-themed meal to his idol is a dream-come-true irresistible challenge. I purchased D*U*C*K* when it was first published and deliberately held off reading the novella because, well, I have come to love the Liquor characters and I knew that this could be the last we see of them for awhile. Recently, I had to endure a five hour gastric emptying study and I thought "what better, ironic way of passing the time" than by finally immersing myself into the succulent, juicy, often turbulent world of Rickey, G-man and D*U*CK*. The chapter where Rickey reminisces about how Hebert's performance on the football field inspired him to find his talent nearly left me in tears. I think we can all identify with that sentiment. Excellent book, highly recommended, in my opinion, one of Brite's best. (I also like the nod to the original film version of M*A*S*H* on the cover).

I have always loved her work and might even be a little obsessed with her mind. She takes you from delicious horror to the smells and spells of glorious food. The love that drives these two men to create a new take on the old lies very close to my heart and being! I lived in America for about 6 months and this novel took me back instantly, thank you!

It is understandable that Poppy Z. Brite has been affected by Hurricane Katrina, by what it did to her beloved city of New Orleans, and by the inept, botched response by all levels of leadership -- local, state and national. (George Bush's legacy will not be the war in Iraq or 9/11; it will be that he is the only president who has lost a major American city AND DONE NOTHING ABOUT IT!) So we cut Poppy some slack. It is not that she has lost her outstanding ability to write about loveable characters; she hasn't. In D*U*C*K, however, it seems that she has lost her energy and that everything that has happened to New Orleans has sapped her strength. She gives us a paltry 132 pages in this latest entry in the Liquor series. I finished it in 2 1/2 hours and was left craving for more, as if one of Rickey's and G-man's exquisite tasting menus was minus several major courses. The first chapter shouldn't even count as it has nothing to do with the rest of the story and seems to be included only to pay off a charitable auction donation on eBay. Poppy promises us that we'll get our post-Katrina report on the boys and their restaurants. Meanwhile, we will have to nourish ourselves with this small appetizer. (Most fine restaurants provide the amuse bouche with the compliments of the Chef. This one is $35.00.)

One of the poignant scenes repeated after any great natural or manmade disaster is that of the survivor picking through the wreckage, rejoicing at the discovery of old family photos, a piece of Grandma's silver, or a damaged childhood toy. In D*U*C*K, Poppy Z. Brite offers such a rescued treasure, this one dredged from the ruins of memory, purified through the fire of exile and burnished to luminosity by the passion of loss and heartache. Her post-Katrina novels will come, Brite tells us in her introduction to the book, but this is a last desperate memory of the time Before, of a past that never was. Writers about New Orleans have always turned to the past, of course, but where George W. Cable would perfume an air of jadis, of once-upon-a-time, with the smell of orange blossoms in spring, Brite in the very first scene rubs our nose gleefully in the glorious rot of a dumpster on a hot summer night: these are not your grandfather's Creoles. Along the way, the slight plot offers glimpses into the past of Brite's chef couple, Rickey and G-Man, the exhilaration of a pass completed, whether in the Superdome or a bed. The narrative builds to a wonderful meal (as we have come to expect in the Liquor series) and a includes a generous helping of restaurant gossip and local detail. The book is larded with the memory of places become familiar to the nation from cable news: the Superdome, the Lower Ninth Ward, Mid-City, City Park: places that will never be the same. But through sheer willpower, Brite offers them up to us again: places which once comforted and inspired, places that now haunt and fester, places that nurture the spirit of rebirth. For those who already know and love Rickey and G-Man, this book offers one more precious slice of their life in New Orleans, as if everything had not changed. New readers will find this an easy introduction to a city where, in Paul Soniat's haunting words, "life ain't easy in the Big Easy any more." If you love New Orleans, the closing pages of the book will break your heart. (And it's damn sexy too!)