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5.0étoiles sur 5
A Breathtaking Love-Hate Novel About New Orleans, Sep 4 2000
I seem to be in the minority here, not being a relative of David Lozell Martin's. For the record, I am sceptical of writers whose review pages are salted liberally with glowing reviews written by relatives, their publishers and/or a huge number of reviews written by "A Reader" (these are often written by the author himself, in the hope of bolstering sales or acceptance. I don't necessarily think that is the case here (since the positive reviews are so...oddly...written), but I thought I would let you know where I was coming from, since two of the reviews here were written by Martin's sister and niece. Now, on with the real review. "Pelikan" is a novel about a man named Charlie Curtis who has been poisoned by his own lack of ambition, which he blames on a betrayal by his uncle. No, wait. "Pelikan" is a novel about James Joseph Pelikan, an evil, violent pimp and junkie who sleeps with his nephew's girlfriend, breaks his nephew's finger and ties birds to a christmas tree and refuses to allow anyone to help them as they flutter madly, trying to escape, breaking wings and legs. Um, wait. "Pelikan" is a novel about James Joseph Pelikan, the self-styled "King of the French Quarter", who takes the wounded under his wing, rights wrongs and settles disputes, undertakes a dangerous mission on behalf of a distant religious order, and physically washes and purifies an old bum as Christ might have done, all without thought of his own reward. Um, no. It's about clowns. I mean, nuns who plan a heist. Aw, hell. It's about all these things, but really it's about a ragged old gal called the vieux carre who has seen better days, but still paints herself up for the tourists and makes a go of it. This is the first novel I have read by David Lozell Martin and I confess to being confounded and amazed. His prose seems effortless, oddly beautiful, even when describing horrible realities like death, homelessness, betrayal and cruelty. Perhaps his most amazing feat is his description of Hurricane Emily as almost human, flinging herself across hundreds of miles to die in the arms of the French Quarter, like a tragic lover. I was spellbound through the entire novel, but the last hundred pages kept me rooted to my chair, turning pages automatically. This is also a novel of comic madness, reminiscent of Carl Hiassen's Floridian cycle, easily as insane as Toole's "Confederacy of Dunces". I laughed at least every other page, and I am not someone who laughs out loud at books. The city of New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, makes a grand showing here; Martin describes her in brutally honest terms that may frighten those who have never visited or cause those of us who love her wince. But it is obvious that Martin, too, is in love with her, just not too blind to see her as she truly is. The "Felony Theft" of the subtitle seems thrown in almost as an afterthought - the book would have been just as good without it. I wish I could give this book higher marks, but "Five Stars" is all they'll allow. Pity.
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