Michelle Newby is contributing editor at Lone Star Literary Life, reviewer for Kirkus, freelance writer, member of the National Book Critics Circle, blogger at www.TexasBookLover.com, and a moderator at the 20th annual Texas Book Festival. Her reviews appear in Pleiades Magazine, Rain Taxi, World Literature Today, High Country News, South85 Journal, The Review Review, Concho River Review, Monkeybicycle, Mosaic Literary Magazine, Atticus Review, and The Collagist.
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MYSTERY / TEXAS
J. Todd Scott
G.P. Putnam’s Sons
Hardcover, 978-0-399-17634-0 (also available as an ebook, and on Audible), 448 pgs., $26.00
June 7, 2016
“The Far Empty is a work of fiction, more or less.”
Fictional Murfee, Texas, is the seat of fictional Big Bend County (“where there’s more blood in the ground than water”), situated on the very real border with Mexico, where desperation and ambition meet avarice, hubris, and drug-fueled insanity. Seventeen-year-old Caleb Ross desperately wants to escape no-account little Murfee, not least because he believes his father is responsible for his mother’s disappearance. Quiet and perceptive, Caleb feels guilty and cowardly because he hasn’t confronted his father, and he’s wound tight from living with a human rattlesnake.
Caleb’s father is Sheriff Stanford “Judge” Ross, a hard, arrogant, murderous man who rules Big Bend County like a feudal estate. People in his orbit have a habit of disappearing and/or dying. Rookie deputy Chris Cherry is a former high school football star, reluctantly returned to Murfee after a devastating knee injury. When Chris discovers a body on a remote ranch, he and Caleb eventually join forces, and as the Sheriff’s secrets emerge, the whole Walking Tall scenario in Big Bend County begins to disintegrate.
The Far Empty is the debut novel of J. Todd Scott, a veteran DEA agent who logged time on the southwest border and knows whereof he writes. The combination of virulent racism, the threat of violence a permanent condition simmering just under the surface (when it’s not breaking out in plain view), illegal immigration, cartel money, and corrupt law enforcement is familiar to Texans. The physical book is a joy: the interior is handsomely designed, and the gorgeously funky jacket features Dia-de-los-Muertos-style Mexican folk art.
There’s no better setting for this brutal story. “It was the sharp curve where the Rockies met the northern Chihuahuan Desert, tough and beautiful and unforgiving,” Scott writes. “It was so bad, so rugged, so broken that it had been used to train astronauts for lunar walks.” Escape from Murfee seems to more often result in getting lost, not saved.
Alternating points of view, Scott’s complicated plot incorporates numerous subplots and a large cast of characters, most of whose souls are emptier than the land they call home. Detailed backstories afford depth and motivation to the characters but are unnecessarily extensive. The Far Empty is a mystery, but it’s not a thriller; Scott skillfully conjures a spooky, pervasively ominous atmosphere, but too little action and too many pages between clues allows this atmosphere to dissipate. The suspense picks up toward an unexpected conclusion, delivering a series of satisfying twists and opening a myriad of possibilities for future stories.
The Far Empty, a border noir, is a promising first effort. I’m reminded of James Lee Burke, not Robicheaux of New Iberia, but Holland of West Texas. Like Holland, Sheriff Ross is a throwback, out of his element in the modern world, but lacking Holland’s efforts toward goodness and sense of justice. Also as in JLB’s work, the setting is necessary to the story, functioning as a character in itself. While The Far Empty doesn’t rise to its full potential, Scott has plenty of talent and material, and I await his sophomore effort with anticipation. Better editing to tighten the focus would make all the difference. Scott could be great.
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