James Lee Burke's Eulogy for New Orleans: The Tin Roof Blowdown
In the weeks and months after Katrina wreaked unimaginable devastation on the Gulf Coast and the Crescent City, Louisiana musicians like Harry Connick, Jr., and the Marsalis and Neville families gathered to raise their voices in mourning. They mourned the passing not only of those souls who perished, but also lamented what might well have been a mortal wound to a unique and treasured culture. Turnaround in the world of print, however, always takes longer than arranging an emergency TV special. Just as the first mentions of 9/11 began appearing in fiction in late 2003, so too has mention of the awful events of 2005 just now begun to creep into the literature. As the tragedy seemed most immediate to the New Orleans music community; likewise it struck at the heart of the Louisiana literary community. One such fictional take on the events of late summer, 2005, that has been eagerly awaited is that of renowned mystery writer James Lee Burke, whose signature character is the Cajun cop and former NOPD homicide detective Dave Robicheaux. It's finally here – and The Tin Roof Blowdown does not disappoint.
Like the flood waters that inexorably rolled over New Orleans' Ninth Ward, the tides of the human spirit also washed over the drowning city. In the aftermath of Katrina's cruel visit to the Crescent City, the most base of human emotions held sway. Four young men surrendered to greed and temptation, stealing a boat to loot the homes of the well-to-do who'd fled ahead of the storm. They chose well – and they chose poorly. At one house they found a veritable treasure trove: money, drugs, jewels; but a bullet fired from a neighboring house left one of the four dead and a second crippled for life. And things got worse from there – the house they'd looted belonged to one of New Orleans' most feared "godfathers."
What might just have been one more chapter in the post-Katrina horror story became part of Dave Robicheaux's life when refugees from the Big Easy began to filter into the Cajun Country town of New Iberia, where Robicheaux now hangs his badge. Among the refugees were the man who might have fired that shot and one of the four young men who'd been in that boat. As federal authorities scrambled to make an example of someone, anyone to take the public's mind off of FEMA's ineptitude, the heat settled on one Otis Baylor like the funk of a rotting marsh. Young Bertrand Melancon had problems of his own: Sidney Kovic wanted his blood diamonds back, and Dave Robicheaux somehow got caught in the middle; this dark and troubled man, a man of whom his boss once said, "If you hadn't become a cop you'd probably be wearing a Roman collar..."
In the pantheon of fictional cops, few are so troubled as Dave Robicheaux. An alcoholic son of an alcoholic father, veteran of a forgotten war, twice widowed, and many times over the instrument of another man's death; Robicheaux suffers from flashbacks, nightmares, and the occasional visitation from the spirits of the uneasy dead. Three days spent wading through the flooded streets of New Orleans certainly did little to soothe his weary soul. Neither did the appearance of a sociopath bent on recovering the goods stolen from Kovic; a sociopath who interjects himself into Robicheaux's home and family – not a wise move…
Those who religiously read Burke's offerings, whether a continuation of the Robicheaux saga or tales of Texan Billy Bob Holland, will recognize much of the plot of The Tin Roof Blowdown: a stranger appearing in town to threaten the home and family that give Robicheaux his only semblance of peace seems pretty much a given in recent installments in the series. That Dave's bosom buddy Clete Purcell, drummed out of the NOPD for violence and corruption, will appear and wreak violence on the men and seduce the women is also a given. So many of the characters (or their doubles) have appeared in previous Robicheaux novels that it is almost as if Burke decided to write a family reunion for his "offspring." There is little here that is new to readers of the series, even down to strange glowing emanations from the flood waters, which are not unlike the shades of In the Electric Mist with Confederate Dead. A lot of The Tin Roof Blowdown seems to be retreaded.
James Lee Burke can be forgiven any such "sins" as reusing old plot lines and resurrecting old characters, however: he had a different tale to tell, a tale that those who've read him over the years know he had to write while suffering a broken heart for the country and the city he loves. His sorrow for the Big Easy and his anger at those who deserted her in her hour of need are palpable – and his writing has taken on a new cast for The Tin Roof Blowdown. Ever a writer of exquisite power, Burke comes alive in his descriptions of the devastation viewed through Robicheaux's eyes:
"…From a boat or any other elevated position, as far as the eye could see, New Orleans looked like a Caribbean city that had collapsed beneath the waves. The sun was merciless in the sky, the humidity like a line of ants crawling inside your clothes. The linear structure of a neighborhood could be recognized only by the green smudge of yard trees that cut the waterline and row upon row of rooftops dotted with people perched on sloped shingles that scalded their hands.
The smell was like none I ever experienced. The water was chocolate-brown, the surface glistening with a blue-green sheen of oil and industrial chemicals. Raw feces and used toilet paper issued from broken sewer lines. The gray, throat-gagging odor of decomposition permeated not only the air but everything we touched. The bodies of dead animals, including deer, rolled in the wake of our rescue boats. And so did those of human beings, sometimes just a shoulder or an arm or the back of a head, suddenly surfacing, then sinking under the froth…"
Burke has weighed in on the aftermath of Katrina, and of Rita as well. Yet more than a mere murder mystery, more than some inane whodunit, The Tin Roof Blowdown is James Lee Burke's personal lament for New Orleans, its people, and its spirit. But finally in his resolution of the mysteries – ostensibly the reason for publishing this tale – Burke does something that he has rarely done in his writing career: he leaves his readers on a hopeful note. Hope for a troubled man who tried to do the right thing after all, yes; but ultimately hope for that ravaged city. Good night, New Orleans...