A Choir of Ill Children

The town of Kingdom Come is located in Potts County. I don't think a state is ever mentioned, but I believe then whole territory exists somewhere in the swampy backwaters of Tom Piccirilli's brain. Reviewer's mention Southern Gothic and Flannery O'Connor. This could be a lost O'Connor work assuming she one day found psilocybin mushrooms growing in the peacock shit on the farm, and developed a taste for them.

Tom is the scion of the family that founded Kingdom Come. His family history includes murder, suicide, disappearances, and a gradual loss of fortune that has still left him with an enormous Southern mansion; the operation of the mill, Kingdom Come's only industry: and, apparently no shortage of cash. He can drink with the locals at Leadbetters, but they don't really trust him. He is friends with the conjure women who live deep in the swamp, but he can also chat with the NYU film students down to make a documentary.

The documentary is to be about Tom's brothers, triplets conjoined at the frontal lobe, stunted by fully matured, three boys who have spent their lives sharing one brain and staring constantly into one another's eyes. They have a girlfriend named Dodie. She cleans them, sleeps with them, and smells of bourbon and chocolate. Tom's best friend is Drabs, son of a local African American preacher, who speaks in tongues and wanders the county naked. There is the Monastery of Flying Walendas; a dead boy who wanders the property, his mouth filled with worms; and there is Maggie, Tom's true love whom he married when he was eight, and may be either a fantasy, a ghost, and just Maggie.

There is a lot more in Piccirilli's novel, but what there is not much if any of is a plot. Which is fine, because he is all about atmosphere and piling up of incident. The Deceased, his most plot-driven horror novel, is also his most mechanical. With Piccirilli it is best to just settle back, to the extent that is possible, and see what happens next. Some things to keep in mind --

The carnival is coming.

The ham is in the house.

And you might want to think twice before ordering oil and vinegar dressing ever again.