Vulgarity, violence, copious amounts of alcohol, drugs, teenage sex. Clear, crisp writing. Compelling characters. Short chapters. A sensitive, youthful, artistic-type protagonist, who also knows how to use his fists and hold his liquor. Cape Breton. A mother called Ma. A father called Da. A dog called Fat Elvis. Eyes that burn.

It's Roddy Doyle of the Barrytown Trilogy meets ... Alden Nowlan? Ashley MacIsaac? Rick Mercer? The protagonist is a painter, but I don't think Alex Colville ever bloodied anyone's face. Could be wrong about that, though, bye.

As previous reviews of this novel have noted:

• Big White Knuckles is another entry in the hardscrabble-realist tradition of Maritime writing (Quill & Quire)
• There's something very genuine about his fictionalized version of growing up in the Maritimes (herenb.com).

While herenb's Melani Taylor seems to have forgotten that literature can only offer the "illusion of the genuine" (it's about the art of the novel, not reportage), Q&Q's Shane Neilson is quite right to begin his review by placing Tucker's novel within its literary-historical context. He goes too far though when he finds little in the novel but cliché:

Richards, Nowlan, and Coady have been here already; we’ve seen these clans talk and tussle before. The challenge is to do something new with the language you have, but the language Tucker employs can’t transcend its limitations.

Many books for review come through my mailbox. Most seem duller than sludge. This one begins with clarity: "Here they come, the four of them." Yes, the novel leans heavily on its influences. It is derivative, sure. At the same time, we could use more derivative novels like this one. Here at least is a tradition worth mining. No more lyrical realism, please!

Sue Carter Flinn, writing in thecoast.ca, found Big White Knuckles:

Less a novel than a series of linked short stories, Big White Knuckles is a familiar tale, but one that’s well-told and with heart.

She also found the protagonist too, um, self-sufficient? -- "he really doesn't need me." Neilson says something similar, though more intelligently, as usual: 

The issue of self-awareness is never really in doubt: Dagan is introduced in the novel as already self-aware. Does he let go, does he acquire, both in the material and spiritual sense? Yes, yes. The novel has its moments, but it comes out of a tradition by now so well established and barnacled with convention that more is expected.

I too found the ending something of a disappointment. I won't say it was bad, but it could have been better. I won't give it away. Instead, I will stand up for the novel, with one trifling qualification. For a first novel, it exceeded expectations. It sets a high bar for first novels and more should meet it.

Tucker, too, should listen to his critics, particularly Neilson's gist. No tradition exists to be emulated. It exists to be challenged. I for one hope for more "hardscrabble-realist" fiction from this author. I hope for writing that gets better and better.

michaelbryson.com