By Todd Dills
[Featherproof, 2006. 183 pages, $12.95 paperback]
Reviewed by Kristin Scott

Todd Dills’s first novel, Sons of the Rapture, defies any attempt at concrete categorization or plot summary, which is refreshing. Successfully straddling the line (or bridging the gap) between traditional and experimental fiction, the novel is ripe with subversive political pundits in the guise of apathetic drunkards who are on a sort of Dionysian adventure.

Upholding all the Southern stereotypes and clichés and invoking anecdotes of religious revelations, the novel is an allegory for living life with great élan, without remorse or nostalgia. Center stage is Billy Jones, a roaming Southern vagabond-like character who drifts about the streets of Chicago in his ripped, stitched, and stained gray confederate topcoat, damning the world, swimming in shots of whiskey, and telling stories with dramatic flair.

The remaining cast of feral characters includes Billy’s father, Johnny Jones, a wealthy Marlboro-man-meets-Jack Nicholson type who comes barreling into Chicago with a herd of cattle, a flask of whiskey, and the news of an old enemy’s death. There’s also brother Bobby, who, shortly after being released from prison for murdering his mother, ends up dying of pneumonia; U.S. Senator Thorpe Storm, the kind of racist son of a bitch who conjures up the likes of Strom Thurmond; and Artichoke Heart, a tiara-wearing hit man/bartender/performer and pseudo-prophesier.

While none of the characters are entirely believable, they are all authentically real. And though some have compared Dills’s prose to that of William Faulkner, Sons of the Rapture is also reminiscent of Dorothy Allison, who often inscribes her fiction with an abrasive yet unabashed deliverance of gut-wrenching truisms.