Ken Wells’s highly acclaimed picaresque Catahoula Bayou novels introduced “one of the most compelling voices in fiction of the last decade” ( Los Angeles Times ). Now Wells is back, writing about his favorite subject–the exotic, beleaguered Louisiana wetlands–in a sharp, rollicking tale of corporate corruption and political shenanigans. The fight over one man’s tract of sacred marsh fronts a deeper story of our place in the environment and our obligations to it.
Justin Pitre’s marsh island, a legacy of his trapper grandfather, is a scenic rival to anything in the Everglades, and he has promised to protect it from all harm. But he hasn’t counted on oil bigwig Tom Huff’s plans to wreck his bayou paradise by ramming a pipeline through it. When cajolery doesn’t sway Justin to sign the land over, Huff turns to darker methods. But Justin and his spirited wife, Grace, prove to be formidable adversaries–and the game is on.
Into the fray comes the charismatic Cajun governor Joe T. Evangeline, who seems more interested in chasing skirts than saving Louisiana’s eroding coast. The Guv, though, is a man on the edge, upended by a midlife crisis and torn between a secret political obligation to Big Oil and the persuasive powers of Julie Galjour, a feisty environmentalist. Julie is clearly out to reform more than the Guv’s ecopolitics, but will his tragicomic Big Oil deals wreck both his career and his chances with the brash and beautiful activist?
As Justin and Grace battle to stop this Big Oil assault, the plot thickens–and the Guv becomes snared in the web. Featuring a gumbo of eccentrics and lowlifes, a kidnapping, a sexy snitch, a toxic-waste-dumping scheme, a boat chase, and a fishing trip gone horribly awry, Crawfish Mountain , spiced with Ken Wells’s keen eye for locale, showcases his adventurous storytelling.
From the Hardcover edition.
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|Title of eBook: Crawfish Mountain|
|Release Date: 12-18-2008|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House|
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The Origins of Paradise a hand-scrawled letter dated october 4, 1990
To my Grandson Justin Pitre,
I’m sory that I don’t write or spell so good but this is something I wanted to put down on paper. Yor PawPaw is getting to old to fish but I appreciate how you still try to get me to the camp. I still like to go out there and sit in my rocking chair on my front porch. I guess I don’t mind my beer neither. You know that porch got to have the pertiest view in South Louisiana. We’ve had us some good times out there and caught us some fish. You keep on catching them because yor Daddy and Momma like them redfish and speckle trouts. Me to. Can you believe I will be 89? When I was 79 I didn’t feel like an old man. But now I feel old as the swamp and I don’t remember everything good as I used to. So before I get to old to write clear I wanted to let you know I’m giving you the camp and all the land around it. I’ve talked it over with yor Daddy and he thinks this is right. He likes going to the camp ever so often but he wulnd’t know what to do with it. Nobody loves the place more than you and me. You were perty much raised out there. You know when I bought the place 62 years ago from the sugar company I gave pennies an acre for it because people then didn’t think the marsh and swamp was worth nothing. But swamp rats like us know that’s not true. That cypress grove we got on the north side got trees older than me and you put together. You ever seen more spider lilies in the spring than what we got out there? That bird fellow who come out long ago told me that he went all over the country down in Florda to that place called the E...