It is a significant day for Michael. He is sojourning on a Mississippi River plantation with Laurie, his new girlfriend, young enough to be his daughter. Michael expects to consummate the relationship tonight, after his lawyer calls to confirm that his divorce has been finalized.
But when Michael’s phone rings, his lawyer has upsetting news. Michael’s wife of twenty-five years never showed up at the courtroom in Pensacola. Kelly is not at home and not answering her phone. She is nowhere to be found.
And that is because Kelly does not want to be found. She has retreated to a hotel in New Orleans. Room 303 is filled with memories of her marriage to Michael, and it is here that Kelly sequesters herself with a bottle of Scotch and a bottle of pills.
This is a portrait of a marriage that crumbles because the two partners cannot communicate with one another; as we discovered in Butler’s previous novel, not being able to say “I love you” is the very definition of hell. But just below the surface story of the failed marriage is a love story struggling to shine through. It is a grim love story, much darker than what you find in a traditional romance novel, but it prevents the book from being an unmitigated tragedy.
Butler’s prose is about two millimeters shy of poetry. He does not suffer from an excess of words–this book can be read in two or three hours– but neither is he terse. His words are fluid and fast and filled with meaning. His books deserve to be read and read widely, just for the grace of the writing style.
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