From Publishers Weekly
Krol's bizarre novel mires a big dumb hick in a small town, where he is targeted for aiding and abetting terrorists. Gentle giant Odell Deefus is driving to an army recruitment center when his car breaks down along a country road. But he gets much more than he bargained for with his rescuer, Dean Mowry. Turns out that Dean has been studying Islam, had more than a little to do with his aunt's recent disappearance and is somehow involved with a shady character who goes by Donnie Darko. Soon enough, Odell accidentally kills Dean and becomes a surveillance magnet after he reports the discovery of a body (not Dean's) in the house. Meanwhile, Odell's story is so preposterous that it has the FBI thinking he is a member of a terrorist cell who can lead them to Dean. Though Odell is initially difficult to connect with, his naïveté becomes a sharpened satirical tool as he confronts the flaws in the institutions he treasures. The plot has its patently absurd moments, but readers of a certain demographic (hint: they're not driving to the recruiter's office) will enjoy the romp.
(Mar.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
*Starred Review* Pseudonymous New Zealander Krol lands on U.S. shores with a rambunctious debut starring a rum-swilling version of Forrest Gump called Odell Deefus, who hails from Yoder, Wyoming. Yoder wasn’t kind to Odell, either in school; at home, where his drunken father favored him, not with chocolates, but with beatings; or with girls (“Me, I have to think before I talk, but in the meantime the conversation has moved on . . . so forget that”)—all of which prompts the 22-year-old Odell to leave town in his ’78 Chevy and drive to Callisto, Kansas, where he plans to enlist in the army. (Odell has a serious crush on Condie Rice and believes his chances with her will improve if he serves in Iraq.) Things go badly awry in Callisto, too, and soon enough Odell is burying and reburying a dead body, finding another in a freezer (along with a scrumptious cache of Sarah Lee products), and single-handedly sending the terrorist-alert gauge zooming from orange to red. Does Krol lose control of his wildly careening plot? Sure, he does, especially on a side trip to Guantánamo Bay, but by that time, we hardly care. Odell has one of those narrative voices that grabs you out of the gate (“My name is Odell Deefus. I am a white person, not black like you might think from hearing the name and not seeing me”) and never lets go. Every war needs its absurd antiwar hero; Vietnam had Tim O’Brien’s Cacciato, and now Iraq has Odell. There are other echoes, too. Think The Good Soldier Schweik with a touch of Confederacy of Dunces and maybe even a little Catcher in the Rye. --Bill Ott