NIGHTSTANDS & COFFEE TABLES

Alligator Zoo-Park Magic by C.H. Hooks

REVIEW BY MEREDITH MCKINNIE

“The carelessness of belief in magic was much at odds with the precision of an illusion…Jeffers was making something. He built something big where nothing much was.”

Hooks’ debut novel is a carnival ride of sorts through a southern town saturated in poverty and unapologetic about its willingness to settle in to its make-believe version of reality. The characters are animated, validated by each other, uninhibited by pretense, social standards, or judgment. As in any microcosm, they are all searching for something, though seemingly unaware of their desires beyond the attainable high, greasy food fix, or confrontation. Jeffers is the often physically absent focus of the novel, told through his best friend Judd’s perspective. The opening scene is Jeffers hanging by a rope above the swamp before being willingly lowered into the congregation of alligators below, creating a feeding frenzy and presumed dead by the townspeople who have come to admire the local “magician.”

The town experiences a great loss, and the second part of the book is Judd and his friends grieving someone they admired. Biblical elements littered throughout the text raise Jeffers to a Messiah of sorts, one who’s legend becomes more exalted after his sacrifice. Jeffers had also promised his friends he would return, as he did after most of his death-defying tricks, so they’re hopeful. Judd particularly struggles, seeking solace in Miriam, Jeffer’s girlfriend, for lack of a better word. The two are desperately searching for reasons to continue hoping, their world only making sense with Jeffers in it.

For me, reading this book is like glimpsing a different world, one I’m aware exists, but a reality hand I wasn’t dealt. I imagine others might recognize family members, friends, even themselves in these characters. Judd’s description of a jaunt into town mirrors how one might feel ankle-deep in this book: “My white socks had turned green from a swamp puddle or something I’d managed to trounce through and I lost my left house shoe.” While there’s a realness to their everyday existence, the characters are just living, the only way they know how. Some semblance of wanting more is evident in their adoration of Jeffers, the one who’s smarter and more talented, and seems to be staying by choice.

The humor balances out the tragic loss. Miriam has a pet alligator named Chewey, a gift from Jeffers when she had asked for a baby. Miriam’s trailer serves as a meeting place, where Jeffers would most likely turn up. The air conditioning is always broken, the people so accustomed to the insufferable heat that only a few even notice. Judd describes it: “Miriam’s place was a turd in a tuxedo. She had new siding and a roof that leaked.” The absurdities forced on these characters manifest into unexplainable, yet predictable behavior. They find beauty in the ugly: “There was something downright beautiful about a cup of coffee tasting like a cigarette.” Hooks paints a colorful moving picture of wanting, loss, and the depths of human emotion in a satirical, gritty package.