WHAT WE RECKON is somewhat unusual; in substance, it is two short novels separated into interrelated parts. I have really said too much already, particularly because one of the book’s major strengths is that it’s almost impossible to determine what’s going to happen next. It’s similar to driving at cruising speed on an interstate highway when that distributor you were told to replace 6,000 miles ago suddenly gives up the ghost just as a semi-tractor trailer pulls up behind you. You know something is going to happen, and it can’t be good.

This book is full of lost souls. Chief among them are a young man and woman named...well, when we meet them, they have just changed their names once again to Jack Jordan and Summer Ashton, courtesy of a couple of identification sets expertly provided by a longtime friend who attempts to give some well-intended advice that goes unheeded. Of course it does. Jack and Summer, as they slip into and out of the narrative, spend as much time ignoring obvious chances to get off the one-way road to oblivion they are on, instead taking the bad road more frequently traveled.

"Pruitt’s unflinching narrative and unpredictable plot are as close to a perfect cautionary tale as you are likely to read this year."

Most of WHAT WE RECKON takes place in East Texas, around but rarely in Houston, as Jack attempts to sell a kilo of cocaine --- hidden in a hollowed-out Bible --- before he and Summer sniff it all themselves and move on to the next step down. Both of them are overburdened with emotional baggage, and they haven’t noticed it is dragging their lives down as they unite, separate and cling to each other for emotional support that is rotting at its foundations.

Jack is a conman with similarities to a beagle --- he is clever but not smart --- yet without the endearing qualities of that breed or, for that matter, any other. He has no trouble swerving when he needs to in his own self-interest, or throwing ballast over the side, even when that ballast is Summer. Summer isn’t quite as nihilistic as Jack, but she is so far around the bend that she is meeting herself. Her most serious problem would be the conversations she has in her head with an extraterrestrial named “Luther,” who in a way actually turns out to be her saving grace...if, in fact, she can be saved.

There is a depressing symmetry to WHAT WE RECKON that is hinted at throughout author Eryk Pruitt’s fine, descriptive prose. Anyone who has dealt with substance addiction of any sort, or with a loved one so afflicted, will identify not only with the characters who are peppered throughout the narrative but also with the bleak tone that is pitch-perfect from the novel’s first sentence to its last paragraph.

This isn’t a comfortable book to read, and becomes more twitchy as one realizes that the people and situations described here aren’t limited to the rural south by any means. They are probably as close as your local high school, drive-thru window or shopping center. It’s not a pleasant revelation, but it’s real, and Pruitt’s unflinching narrative and unpredictable plot are as close to a perfect cautionary tale as you are likely to read this year.