THE SAVAGE, NOBLE DEATH OF BABS DIONNE

A matriarch struggles to keep her family alive and well in a drug-sick patch of Maine.

Babs Dionne, the hero of Currie’s bracing fourth novel, has a chip on her shoulder, and who can blame her? In 1968, when she was 14, she was raped by a policeman in her hometown; after she killed him, she was sent to a convent that helped her evade punishment, but that also separated her from her Francophone upbringing. (Her town, Waterville, has a neighborhood named Little Canada in tribute to its Quebecois roots.) Fast-forward to 2016, and Babs’ role as the town’s doyenne—achieved by running the community’s opioid trade, passively supported by police and religious leaders looking the other way—is starting to collapse. One of her daughters, Sis, is a meth addict who’s gone missing; her grandson needs rescuing from an abusive father; another daughter, Lori, is an Afghan war vet who’s shuffling between heroin and oxy. (We first meet her overdosing in a bar bathroom before a dose of Narcan saves her.) Meanwhile, a hitman for a rival dealer has arrived in town, ready to kill anybody standing in his way. The setting is almost relentlessly tragic and violent—oh, and there’s a meth-dealing serial killer on the loose—but Currie’s focus on Babs’ intense care for her family gives the novel an almost cozy temperament. "If you loved like Babs does, it would break you," a friend says, and Babs exemplifies a family that loves deeply if not always wisely. The plot turns on Babs’ efforts during a summer week to resolve a death in the family, protect who’s left, and start a school that’ll support the community’s dying Francophone culture. Nobody will confuse this for an Anne Tyler novel, but Currie has created a charming community to root for, even if, as the title suggests, all victories here are pyrrhic.

A hyperviolent family saga with surprising amounts of humor and empathy.