THE HOUSEBOAT

Summoned from Minneapolis to take over a murder investigation in an Iowa river town—the year is 1960—federal agent Edward Ness must contend with his own inescapable violent past.

The murder, of a teenage boy during a campground tryst with his now-traumatized girlfriend, was committed by an extreme lowlife named Rigby Sellers, a jailbird who lives on a dilapidated houseboat with stolen mannequins dressed in women's garments. His mother, a prostitute, abandoned him when he was young to raise two children from another father. Seven years ago, agent Ness' wife and 4-year-old son were shot to death by a purse-snatcher. A habitual drinker ever since, he has been disciplined on the job for serious indiscretions, but he can be a real charmer. He effortlessly attracts an innocent young female hotel worker, raising eyebrows around town. She drops out of the story without comment, one of the unusual strokes in a novel filled with them. After introducing Ness at the start and filling in his tale of woe, Bahr pushes him aside for a long section detailing Rigby's peccadillos and sociopathic origins. When Ness finally returns to the narrative to go after the killer, the dark clouds of his existence reflected by the dank landscape and ominously flooding Mississippi, it is clear that this bleak tale is not going to end predictably. Told in colorful dialect ("Yeh always been this morose?") with collectible small-town–isms, the novel combines poetry (a dying star reflected on the water "blinked away forever") and unsettling horror (there's never been a graveyard scene quite like the one here). An impressive debut.

A hypnotic blend of noir and goth.