THE HOLLOW BEAST

From rural Quebec, a sprawling, antic, alcohol-soaked family saga centered on a feud with the postman.

In the early 20th century, the final of a hockey tournament is tied in the waning moments when Billy Joe Pictou bears down on goalie Honoré Bouge (known to all as Monti). Monti stops the shot with his face—his teeth, actually—but Pictou, tripped, slides into the crease and knocks the goalie (and the puck clamped between his teeth) across the line and into the net. The referee, a local named Victor Bradley, signals that the goal counts, an injustice that will spur Monti through life and shape his family for generations. Soon the town's new postman—Bradley, his hand mangled by a bear trap sent by a politician he ridiculed—shows up at the tavern where Monti is helping out to slake his lunchtime thirst. Monti begins a campaign of harassment, first by ordering various heavy items (a set of encyclopedias, to start) to be delivered to his remote cabin, and later with more diabolical measures (he moves—hides—the cabin; he constructs a mailbox 30 feet high; he tricks Bradley out of his horse). The novel also follows Monti's grandson, François, a graduate student in Montreal whose work of towering genius (he says), a family history, is foundering on the rocks of chronic alcoholism. He takes a harrowing taxicab ride back home and—pursued by the beast of the title—tries to make sense of the family "curse" of drink, which he thinks must owe to some dark deed of Monti's. Bernard's novel is a shambling, shaggy-dog picaresque, full of slapstick and fresh, lively language and outlandishness.

Less a book than a blitzkrieg—the reader gets routed. But it's rollicking, inventive fun.