D*U*C*K by Poppy Z. Brite
An easily devoured read, D*U*C*K by cult author Poppy Z. Brite leaves readers wanting more. First things first, while this is just one book in a series Brite dubs her “Liquorverse,” dealing with characters Rickey and G-man throughout novels from The Value of X to Soul Kitchen and beyond, the novella stands alone as a glimpse into the lives of New Orleans chefs and offers an “alternate universe” where Hurricane Katrina never damaged the city she so clearly loves.
As a former Montrealer, I found Brite’s descriptions of New Orleans oddly familiar; strangers in a strange land, the excommunicated Frenchmen that populate New Orleans are precisely what the Frenchmen of Montreal hope to avoid becoming (downtrodden, stripped of their language and culture, and—presumably—black), and whom they fear, despite holding a virtual vigil in remembrance of their Cajun ancestors’ suffering with their license plate motto, Je me souviens. What do you remember, mes amis? English oppressors, being looked down upon for your accent, and other pettiness—all of which is currently perpetrated by francophones on their English-speaking counterparts, though god forbid one should ever point out this blatant hypocrisy!
Montreal, je t’aime, but you’re bringing me down.
But back to Brite, this book’s got bite. Gay protagonists Rickey and G-man ring relatively true, eschewing the typically flaming stereotypes of many gay fictional characters, making their relationship a simple fact without constructing a federal case on the rights of homosexuals. Refreshing and unique to see gay characters protrayed in such a straightforward (no pun intended) and honest way, with nary a mention of Madonna or club music in sight. The only potential loop-thrower (SPOILER ALERT!) is the way they’re revealed as also being black, towards the end of the book, when race had never previously been a factor.
“You know what?” [Rickey] said. “Except for the band, we’re the only black people here.
“I hate to tell you this,” said Terrance, “but y’all ain’t black.”
[...] “It’s kinda weird, though, huh?” Rickey said. “Opelousas seems like a pretty black town, but we got an all-white crowd in here.”
“Are Cajuns white?” Terrance asked. “I thought they got themselves declared a separate race or something.”
“Look like a buncha crackers to me,” Marquis volunteered.
Is there any relevance to this revelation? Not particularly, though acknowledging that the main characters of the book are not white, as many people may presume, is certainly an interesting wrench thrown into the works.
As a novella, the action mostly works, though I was led to believe by the jacket copy that there would be slightly more at stake. A “nutcase waiting in the wings” seems to imply that the action will be derailed by said nutjob, at some point, though this never happens. Sure, the mayor of Opelousas may be a deranged asshole who thinks random war games are just peachy, but there’s never any real threat that Rickey will be unable to cook for his childhood hero, Bobby Hebert, much less knock his socks off. Where’s the tension in that? Have the psychotic mayor kidnap Bobby Hebert and then you’ve got a story, but anything less is fairly anti-climactic.
Still, I can’t say Brite isn’t a talented writer with a knack for keeping readers involved. A kind of female Anthony Bourdain (if Anthony Bourdain wrote fiction…. which, technically, he did at some point), Brite describes life in professional kitchens with skill and ease, perhaps the product of having married a professional chef. Still, the idea of an all-duck menu is intriguing, particularly with reference to Chef Rickey’s liquor-soaked restaurant menu, and the rough-and-tumble nights in the kitchens, backstabbing former co-workers and need to constantly re-invent oneself ring true. I simply would’ve liked more of these scenes, as the story felt truncated somehow.
All in all, D*U*C*K hits the right notes, and leaves readers hungry for foie gras, as well as plenty more of Brite’s take on New Orleans, chefdom, and the concept of “right purpose” in life.
For more of Poppy Z. Brite, check out her blog, Dispatches from Tanganyika, or follow her on Twitter @docbrite.
