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A Little Blood and Dancing
It’s a tale as old as doomed romance, bloody revenge, fast food, and the voice of God. Welcome to Tyler Parker’s Oklahoma, and one of the most anticipated debut novels of the year from one of our best, funniest new writers.
Check out Sylvia he drives a seafoam-green 1968 Ranchero, owns a badass sword, and is one dead uncle away from an inheritance that should set him and the love of his life, Lady Sixkiller, on the road to easy living and the family she’s always wanted. Sure, he may not be cut out for any kind of conventional job, but as long as Lady can hold things down as a waitress until rich old Methuselah shuffles off this mortal coil, what’s the big deal? Yes, things are looking good for Sylvia Table, aka Big Noise, aka Grandest Poobah, aka Big Quiche.
But uncles don’t always die on schedule, maternal clocks keep ticking with increasing urgency, doing crimes beats working for a living, and the past refuses to stay buried. In this case, the past takes the form of Priscilla Blackwood, a woman locked in an eternal one-sided conversation with Jesus Christ Himself, and dead set on enacting vengeance for the murder of her father, which she witnessed as a little girl. Whether Table knows it or not, he’s on a collision course with an avenging angel who believes she’s got the Lord on her side.
Combining the linguistic punch of Elmore Leonard, the living landscapes of Cormac McCarthy, and the comic soul of Charles Portis, A Little Blood and Dancing announces Tyler Parker as one of our most extraordinary new voices.
Check out Sylvia he drives a seafoam-green 1968 Ranchero, owns a badass sword, and is one dead uncle away from an inheritance that should set him and the love of his life, Lady Sixkiller, on the road to easy living and the family she’s always wanted. Sure, he may not be cut out for any kind of conventional job, but as long as Lady can hold things down as a waitress until rich old Methuselah shuffles off this mortal coil, what’s the big deal? Yes, things are looking good for Sylvia Table, aka Big Noise, aka Grandest Poobah, aka Big Quiche.
But uncles don’t always die on schedule, maternal clocks keep ticking with increasing urgency, doing crimes beats working for a living, and the past refuses to stay buried. In this case, the past takes the form of Priscilla Blackwood, a woman locked in an eternal one-sided conversation with Jesus Christ Himself, and dead set on enacting vengeance for the murder of her father, which she witnessed as a little girl. Whether Table knows it or not, he’s on a collision course with an avenging angel who believes she’s got the Lord on her side.
Combining the linguistic punch of Elmore Leonard, the living landscapes of Cormac McCarthy, and the comic soul of Charles Portis, A Little Blood and Dancing announces Tyler Parker as one of our most extraordinary new voices.
400 pages, Hardcover
First published June 13, 2023
74 people are currently reading
4643 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 101 reviews
June 28, 2023
Tyler Parker writes firecracker sentences. That alone is worth the read. I can't say the story in total really moved me, but when a writer is as good as this, you turn the page anyway.
August 10, 2023
I'm going to settle for a middle of the road rating. The writing is great. It's funny sometimes, interesting in others. It's not what I was expecting but that shouldn't take away from it. My main problem with the book was that the main characters were too unlikable to root for and too pathetic to root against. It's like rooting for the Terminator but the Terminator is being played by Paul Giamatti. Just Paul though. No costume. No Special Effects.
May 9, 2024
Ooooooo I’m so cool and smart, I don’t use quotation marks.
DNF. Stfu.
DNF. Stfu.
January 13, 2024
5 stars for the sheer audacity of this book. What a wild ride. It’s been a whole minute since I’ve read something this entertaining. What’s going on in Oklahoma yall?
May 5, 2024
God, was that my sign? Is this my sign? Oh that was definitely THE SIGN… right?
July 26, 2023
A southern-fried tone poem dressed up as a crime novel, Ringer NBA writer Tyler Parker’s A Little Blood and Dancing takes nearly four hundred pages to tell a story you could cover in one, but that feels more like a generosity than a threat once you’re acquainted with his beautifully rambling, flavorful words.
In fact, the book begins and ends with a plot but essentially just vibes out in between, preferring to build a neon collage out of impressionistic blasts of color and image. It works, and while the crime narrative isn’t going to dazzle any genre diehards, the pure electricity of Parker’s language should do enough dazzling for anybody. It’s a little bit like a Coen Bros film and a little bit like nothing else I’ve read, but anyone with any affection for the American South—or for complex, salty characters of all stripes—will no doubt find some beauty in Parker’s plaintive, dustbitten poetry.
In fact, the book begins and ends with a plot but essentially just vibes out in between, preferring to build a neon collage out of impressionistic blasts of color and image. It works, and while the crime narrative isn’t going to dazzle any genre diehards, the pure electricity of Parker’s language should do enough dazzling for anybody. It’s a little bit like a Coen Bros film and a little bit like nothing else I’ve read, but anyone with any affection for the American South—or for complex, salty characters of all stripes—will no doubt find some beauty in Parker’s plaintive, dustbitten poetry.
August 27, 2023
The publishers sold this as Elmore Leonard meets Charles Portis — I laughed as much as I do with those guys, but felt a whole lot more.
Beautifully written. As true in its sense of place as anything I’ve read, from Jeff Gordon cutouts to Broadcast News discussion.
Beautifully written. As true in its sense of place as anything I’ve read, from Jeff Gordon cutouts to Broadcast News discussion.
July 31, 2023
incredible characterizations and dialogue; probably better if you are familiar with tyler parker’s podcast and other work, but either way so very distinct and fun. Table is an icon
favorite lines:
“Table stood and screamed This is my wife and she is perfect. He held her cheeks in his hands, kissed her lips. She tasted the Cheetos. Babe, he said. Best performance ever. You acted the shit out of that. I about called the cops. Swear to God. Thought I had an intruder.”
“You should get to call kids names, he said. That should be totally fine.”
“She went outside and smoked beside the lawn mower. Rags and tatters of violets at the rim of the western sky. Her shoulders were tight. Fuzz in her head. She did not feel known.”
“I lead worship for the youth group Wednesday nights and some people get mad because I’m not afraid to take a song up an octave or two. I’ll play in the clouds, you know? Among the birds. Obviously, precious few in the congregation have the kind of range I do and I get that that’s frustrating for them—if I were in their shoes I’d be pissed too, I’d kill myself if I sang like them—but in order for me to sound my best it’s just got to be done at that higher octave. If worship’s about praising God with our voice, then I’m going to make sure mine sounds as good as possible. He’s given me so much. I owe Him my maximum.”
“The only unadulterated positives during my visit were the three churros I ate while waiting in line for the Dumbos. But even then I dealt with stares. Judgmental ogles. How dare an adult enjoy themselves! How dare an adult have fun! What a freak! Let’s all make him feel less than. Come now, everyone, let’s all stare at him. I paid to get into the park same as them. And I’ll remember the experience. Their children won’t. Their children are stupid. And ugly. And weak. The vast majority are gutless and start crying in the middle of the rides anyways. Why are we catering to them? My good time matters more than theirs. I’m much closer to death.”
“Pau Gasol fell. Table laughed and said Fuck Italy.”
“I’m the America that was promised. My pockets are fat as hell. They need to eat some green vegetables and go for a jog. You know how blessed I am? Fans on the ready. He took wads of hundreds from his pockets, spread the bills in his hands, and fanned himself. Pandemonium inside Priscilla’s body. Cyclones of fire and gasoline. The sun in her chest. Twisting in her face. Her face was wet. She started to sweat. She tasted blood. Her head was boiling. Her body was cold. Her teeth bit her cheek and it was like she was inside a comet. Table smiled. His teeth were little moons. Her father’s jeans appeared beside the television. Glass shards on the back pockets like bejeweled Astroturf. Her fingers burned. Her eyes stung. She sneezed thrice. There were sirens. Another cop rolled up. The awning was red. The awning was yellow. She smelled chicken. Her head felt full. She looked back at the television. Table flexed. The jeans were gone. Championship mettle, he screamed. Championship mettle. I’m not a star. I’m a galaxy. Drops threw it back to the studio. Priscilla’s mouth moved to scream. No sound came. She put her hands on the seat of the booth. A boundless ache in her stomach, a ripping. The carpet stabbed her knees. She heard elephants. Her eyes were like saucers and they roiled. Her pulse knocked in her temples. She walked to the window, put her forehead against it. The glass was cold. She looked at the road. The road fuzzed. The men were smudges. She wiped her eyes. She threw up everywhere.”
“When she woke, there was a cup of coffee on the bedside table and she smelled breakfast. Viv had made biscuits and gravy. They ate on the back porch off plates with turtles on them. And Tucson woke and hugged her and sat with her and Priscilla had forgotten how funny he was and the three of them played Trouble and Pretty, Pretty Princess and Monopoly and it was this way for years and she was their found child and her eyes were back. Then her hair was silver and they were dead and she was slow and sat under the oaks in their backyard with her Bible and coffee and the ground screamed and shook and the shaking made slits in the earth. An ocean of mouths singing Yes. The yard opened. The earth chewed her. Speckles of glass fell like death confetti. Operatic streams of silver. Crimson girders. Mangled steel fell. Dark and wooden halos. Crystal knives. The Devil painted a brick wall blue. Seventy-four televisions. On every one: flamingos flying.”
“Lady wiped Table’s face. Again he tried to sit up. He couldn’t. Her eyes were brighter than usual, caramel now, and he saw for the first time flecks of hickory and penny and sandstone and it was like there were threads of green in the irises. Blood on him like spilled paint. Blood in his dimples. Blood on her hands. He tried to sit up again, even harder now. She touched softly his chest. He was laboring. She kissed his neck. She kissed his cheek. She kissed his lips. They looked at each other. The sky was in his eyes. Red crystals at the edge of the white. He blinked. The creek bed on her face. She watched him sink. Her face dropped. He shook his head.”
favorite lines:
“Table stood and screamed This is my wife and she is perfect. He held her cheeks in his hands, kissed her lips. She tasted the Cheetos. Babe, he said. Best performance ever. You acted the shit out of that. I about called the cops. Swear to God. Thought I had an intruder.”
“You should get to call kids names, he said. That should be totally fine.”
“She went outside and smoked beside the lawn mower. Rags and tatters of violets at the rim of the western sky. Her shoulders were tight. Fuzz in her head. She did not feel known.”
“I lead worship for the youth group Wednesday nights and some people get mad because I’m not afraid to take a song up an octave or two. I’ll play in the clouds, you know? Among the birds. Obviously, precious few in the congregation have the kind of range I do and I get that that’s frustrating for them—if I were in their shoes I’d be pissed too, I’d kill myself if I sang like them—but in order for me to sound my best it’s just got to be done at that higher octave. If worship’s about praising God with our voice, then I’m going to make sure mine sounds as good as possible. He’s given me so much. I owe Him my maximum.”
“The only unadulterated positives during my visit were the three churros I ate while waiting in line for the Dumbos. But even then I dealt with stares. Judgmental ogles. How dare an adult enjoy themselves! How dare an adult have fun! What a freak! Let’s all make him feel less than. Come now, everyone, let’s all stare at him. I paid to get into the park same as them. And I’ll remember the experience. Their children won’t. Their children are stupid. And ugly. And weak. The vast majority are gutless and start crying in the middle of the rides anyways. Why are we catering to them? My good time matters more than theirs. I’m much closer to death.”
“Pau Gasol fell. Table laughed and said Fuck Italy.”
“I’m the America that was promised. My pockets are fat as hell. They need to eat some green vegetables and go for a jog. You know how blessed I am? Fans on the ready. He took wads of hundreds from his pockets, spread the bills in his hands, and fanned himself. Pandemonium inside Priscilla’s body. Cyclones of fire and gasoline. The sun in her chest. Twisting in her face. Her face was wet. She started to sweat. She tasted blood. Her head was boiling. Her body was cold. Her teeth bit her cheek and it was like she was inside a comet. Table smiled. His teeth were little moons. Her father’s jeans appeared beside the television. Glass shards on the back pockets like bejeweled Astroturf. Her fingers burned. Her eyes stung. She sneezed thrice. There were sirens. Another cop rolled up. The awning was red. The awning was yellow. She smelled chicken. Her head felt full. She looked back at the television. Table flexed. The jeans were gone. Championship mettle, he screamed. Championship mettle. I’m not a star. I’m a galaxy. Drops threw it back to the studio. Priscilla’s mouth moved to scream. No sound came. She put her hands on the seat of the booth. A boundless ache in her stomach, a ripping. The carpet stabbed her knees. She heard elephants. Her eyes were like saucers and they roiled. Her pulse knocked in her temples. She walked to the window, put her forehead against it. The glass was cold. She looked at the road. The road fuzzed. The men were smudges. She wiped her eyes. She threw up everywhere.”
“When she woke, there was a cup of coffee on the bedside table and she smelled breakfast. Viv had made biscuits and gravy. They ate on the back porch off plates with turtles on them. And Tucson woke and hugged her and sat with her and Priscilla had forgotten how funny he was and the three of them played Trouble and Pretty, Pretty Princess and Monopoly and it was this way for years and she was their found child and her eyes were back. Then her hair was silver and they were dead and she was slow and sat under the oaks in their backyard with her Bible and coffee and the ground screamed and shook and the shaking made slits in the earth. An ocean of mouths singing Yes. The yard opened. The earth chewed her. Speckles of glass fell like death confetti. Operatic streams of silver. Crimson girders. Mangled steel fell. Dark and wooden halos. Crystal knives. The Devil painted a brick wall blue. Seventy-four televisions. On every one: flamingos flying.”
“Lady wiped Table’s face. Again he tried to sit up. He couldn’t. Her eyes were brighter than usual, caramel now, and he saw for the first time flecks of hickory and penny and sandstone and it was like there were threads of green in the irises. Blood on him like spilled paint. Blood in his dimples. Blood on her hands. He tried to sit up again, even harder now. She touched softly his chest. He was laboring. She kissed his neck. She kissed his cheek. She kissed his lips. They looked at each other. The sky was in his eyes. Red crystals at the edge of the white. He blinked. The creek bed on her face. She watched him sink. Her face dropped. He shook his head.”
May 3, 2024
Are you there God? It’s me Priscilla
October 4, 2023
I liked this a lot but would have a hard time telling you why lol. went really quick, thought the style was very engaging. the whole time I was like okay so WHEN is this collision course going to come to fruition and when it did it was good so that’s all I feel I can ask for as a reader
December 5, 2023
Pretty solidly unenjoyable and hard to listen to. Way too many words, good characters that were not in anyway captivating or making one care about them.
Overall a painful experience in listening. Did have an accurate spin on religion.
Overall a painful experience in listening. Did have an accurate spin on religion.
January 11, 2024
Characters are weird and great, writing is smart and funny. Hard to put down, but took a long time getting where it was going.
February 19, 2024
A lot of bit of humor and heartbreak.
Wow. It's been a while since a book affected me this emotionally. I actually met the author at a book signing where we watched Raising Arizona by the Coen Brothers, who seem to be an obvious influence to Parker. He read a very witty and entertaining passage of one of the main character's uncles, Meth, short for Methusaleh, who got fiery diarrhea from churros consumed at Disneyland. Early on in the reading you could tell the talent Parker has for prose that is equal parts clever and expressive. He constructs characters of consequence that feel lived-in and familiar. I left that reading excited to read what I expected to be a Coen Bros style romp ala "Raising Arizona (Oklahoma?)".
What I read certainly felt like a Coen Bros. movie (and I mean that in the best sense). This movie however, didn't just have Raising Arizona DNA, but Fargo's as well (with just a dash of Miller's Crossing and Blood Simple). Splashed throughout the book is a distinct and uncanny sense of tragedy that I only remember feeling in Fargo. A tragedy that is both inevitable and apathetic to karma or justice. The romance of Lady and Table leaves you both hopeful and heartsick. And this is where Parker really shines- his characterization. I knew how Lady felt every time Table disappointed her. I felt how frustrated she was that she was in love with him and couldn't find a way to leave him. I laughed with her at every dumb thing Table did in public. We all know a Table- a man oozing with Charisma, energy, and humor, but also laziness, low self esteem, and cowardice. You can't help but like him, but you wish you didn't. I know Lady felt the same way. This is not to mention the tale of Priscilla, the daughter of a man Table killed "in self-defense". She has desperately tried to form a deep connection to God in order to make sense of the world, but keeps coming up empty. In my life I've tried to do that myself. The injustice the world tends to heap on those that don't deserve it will always be impossible to reconcile. Coming to peace with that is key to surviving this world.
Seeing someone as smart and clever as Priscilla rationalize herself into oblivion in order to avoid accepting the universal truth of inequity feels like such a perfect encapsulation of Bible belt philosophy played out to its most tragic end. What are Priscilla's actions if not her way of reconciling a glaring hole in the theory of prosperity gospel? This story could have only played out in the bible belt, where the Joel Osteens and Jerry Falwells of the world promise both worldly and heavenly justice to your enemies and happiness and good fortune for yourself if you but give yourself to God. With such reasoning this story could only end in tragedy. It says so on the title. The power of Parker's writing is that you hope with the same fervor that Priscilla hopes with that somehow tragedy may spare the blood of these characters, so you can spend even a few more pages with them. But that hope is as fleeting as a Dream Shake. At least this life has Hakeem Olajuwon and dancing to take a bit of the edge off.
Wow. It's been a while since a book affected me this emotionally. I actually met the author at a book signing where we watched Raising Arizona by the Coen Brothers, who seem to be an obvious influence to Parker. He read a very witty and entertaining passage of one of the main character's uncles, Meth, short for Methusaleh, who got fiery diarrhea from churros consumed at Disneyland. Early on in the reading you could tell the talent Parker has for prose that is equal parts clever and expressive. He constructs characters of consequence that feel lived-in and familiar. I left that reading excited to read what I expected to be a Coen Bros style romp ala "Raising Arizona (Oklahoma?)".
What I read certainly felt like a Coen Bros. movie (and I mean that in the best sense). This movie however, didn't just have Raising Arizona DNA, but Fargo's as well (with just a dash of Miller's Crossing and Blood Simple). Splashed throughout the book is a distinct and uncanny sense of tragedy that I only remember feeling in Fargo. A tragedy that is both inevitable and apathetic to karma or justice. The romance of Lady and Table leaves you both hopeful and heartsick. And this is where Parker really shines- his characterization. I knew how Lady felt every time Table disappointed her. I felt how frustrated she was that she was in love with him and couldn't find a way to leave him. I laughed with her at every dumb thing Table did in public. We all know a Table- a man oozing with Charisma, energy, and humor, but also laziness, low self esteem, and cowardice. You can't help but like him, but you wish you didn't. I know Lady felt the same way. This is not to mention the tale of Priscilla, the daughter of a man Table killed "in self-defense". She has desperately tried to form a deep connection to God in order to make sense of the world, but keeps coming up empty. In my life I've tried to do that myself. The injustice the world tends to heap on those that don't deserve it will always be impossible to reconcile. Coming to peace with that is key to surviving this world.
Seeing someone as smart and clever as Priscilla rationalize herself into oblivion in order to avoid accepting the universal truth of inequity feels like such a perfect encapsulation of Bible belt philosophy played out to its most tragic end. What are Priscilla's actions if not her way of reconciling a glaring hole in the theory of prosperity gospel? This story could have only played out in the bible belt, where the Joel Osteens and Jerry Falwells of the world promise both worldly and heavenly justice to your enemies and happiness and good fortune for yourself if you but give yourself to God. With such reasoning this story could only end in tragedy. It says so on the title. The power of Parker's writing is that you hope with the same fervor that Priscilla hopes with that somehow tragedy may spare the blood of these characters, so you can spend even a few more pages with them. But that hope is as fleeting as a Dream Shake. At least this life has Hakeem Olajuwon and dancing to take a bit of the edge off.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 5, 2023
Don’t be fooled by the cool title like I was! Not one single likable character in this story. The beginning was interesting, but it plateaued so hard after that. The characters struggled with the same problems and didn’t do anything different to solve them, until the very very end. I’m talking the last 30 mins of the book. It was redundant, annoying, and just maddening. There’s only so long I can read about the same problems, with the same unlikeable characters. Nextttttt.
March 14, 2024
I just felt icky the whole time I was reading this and even 30 minutes after finishing. The main characters all had the same manic, sarcastic way of talking, minimal redeeming qualities and I didn’t connect with them at all. I pretty much knew how it was going to end, didn’t really have any twists or anything that grabbed me, I just am physically incapable of DNF.
October 3, 2024
Like if Portis wrote a season of Fargo.
It moves a little slow but you wouldn’t be able to tell with Parker at the wheel. His words pop like a round of Black Cats; his characters have the heartbeats of your neighbors and your enemies and your best friends and your ex-lovers.
Bummed this book from the library but wish I hadn’t. I want it on my shelf.
It moves a little slow but you wouldn’t be able to tell with Parker at the wheel. His words pop like a round of Black Cats; his characters have the heartbeats of your neighbors and your enemies and your best friends and your ex-lovers.
Bummed this book from the library but wish I hadn’t. I want it on my shelf.
October 28, 2023
First book I’ve finished in a while. I have lots of thoughts but I need some time to process. Rare to vibe with a book so hard and not rly understand why
April 29, 2024
unfortunately i found the story kinda meh and boring. i caught myself only turning pages to find all the oklahoma references (my favorite being braums and mathis brothers furniture.)
July 22, 2024
Can you paint a masterpiece of something that is ugly?
July 6, 2023
A fun and unique read that was enjoyable all the way through, despite some rough edges.
June 18, 2023
Couldn't stop reading it but I don't think I will remember it.
July 26, 2024
There are like a hundred reviews about how this is like half cormac McCarthy novel and half coen brothers movie and they are all correct cause it is.
September 12, 2023
So very strange. If it didn’t include flamingos, in the writing and on the cover, I probably wouldn’t have read it. Could have been a short story, without some of the nonsensical sentences, and would have been the same outcome. Maybe it’s deep?? If so I missed it.
September 13, 2023
One-of-a-kind book from a one-of-a-kind writer. Tyler is truly one of the funniest guys out there, and when I saw that one of my favorite hoops writers was putting out his first novel I just had to have it, sight unseen. Is this the most straightforward novel? Nope. Does the narrative always make sense? Not really. Can the prose and hyper-specific references sometimes leave the reader feeling dazed and confused? Sure. But it's exactly these things that make Tyler and this book so special and gripping.
The obscure references to Oklahoma sports legends and pop cultural touchstones from a bygone era only elevate his unique voice and draw the reader into the world of the novel. As with any good book, the more specific the writing is, the more universal the story and characters become. There's plenty of room for improvement, but Tyler could make paint drying on a wall sound interesting. I'll be first in line for the next one.
"God is not your puppet you get to make say and do what you want, and having Bible verses memorized don't make a person right."
"He would change subjects quickly, without warning. Her days were monotonous, filled sameness. Apartment, work. Apartment, work. Apartment, work. It was exciting to not know what was coming."
The obscure references to Oklahoma sports legends and pop cultural touchstones from a bygone era only elevate his unique voice and draw the reader into the world of the novel. As with any good book, the more specific the writing is, the more universal the story and characters become. There's plenty of room for improvement, but Tyler could make paint drying on a wall sound interesting. I'll be first in line for the next one.
"God is not your puppet you get to make say and do what you want, and having Bible verses memorized don't make a person right."
"He would change subjects quickly, without warning. Her days were monotonous, filled sameness. Apartment, work. Apartment, work. Apartment, work. It was exciting to not know what was coming."
November 30, 2023
I thought about DNFing this book after the first couple of chapters, but it was a selection for a book club I'm in, so I slogged on with my reading. It was after about half the book before I realized that even though all the characters seemed so unlikeable that I found myself starting to care about what was coming next, and how the characters would fare. The last third of the novel became very interesting and gripping.
For Tyler Parker's first novel, I found it to be original, entertaining, and a bit difficult to stick with in places, but I will probably read the next novel from this author.
For Tyler Parker's first novel, I found it to be original, entertaining, and a bit difficult to stick with in places, but I will probably read the next novel from this author.
June 7, 2024
I love Tyler Parker, his stuff on the Ringer is the best. On this one you could tell he was getting characters to places as an excuse to write about that setting, and the characters themselves were all just too extra, to the point of taking you out of the story. It’s not an absurdist tale but it ends up coming off that way.
I will say that the chapter over the phone on from jail was inspired. And I’m still extremely excited about what he will write next. On his second round he can be freed from trying to cram every idea and line he has thought of into his book and let it breathe. Will be a banger.
I will say that the chapter over the phone on from jail was inspired. And I’m still extremely excited about what he will write next. On his second round he can be freed from trying to cram every idea and line he has thought of into his book and let it breathe. Will be a banger.
July 8, 2023
Pass. Kinda bland. Not gonna remember this one. Wasn't a big fan of the writing style.
November 8, 2023
All hat and no cattle
June 17, 2023
Everyone usually just says the same stuff about Oklahoma. It’s windy. It’s the bible belt. It’s former “Indian” country but now closer to Diet Texas. Meteorologists are functionally religious leaders. College football players are local gods. Author Tyler Parker is from Fort Gibson, OK, about an hour SE of Tulsa. In A Little Blood and Dancing, Parker nods at Oklahoma’s stereotypes while giving the reader a tour of richer life in the Sooner State. Which is to say A Little Blood and Dancing is an Oklahoma ass book.
ALBaD serves as a personal introduction to the state most know little about. It’s also full of inside-jokes seasoned Okies will recognize: specific OU football re-airings, Sonic Drive-In ice, Nick Collison’s handsomeness, Mathis Brothers Furniture commercials to name a few. Parker’s debut novel highlights the ostentatious tendencies of a rambling state. It kicks off its shoes and lets the toesies breathe, as one character would say. Oklahoma’s virtues are important and vices doubly so.
Fictional representations of Oklahoma are usually the Grapes of Wrath-style exodus from a one-stoplight town for better things in a big city far away. Makes sense when you consider the stars who have done so: Woody Guthrie, Garth Brooks, Carrie Underwood, Ron Howard, Bill Hader, Ralph Ellison, Leon Russell, Reba McEntire, James Marsden, Kristin Chenowith, Sterlin Harjo, on and on. Parker avoids the get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge trope by focusing on characters who thrive and struggle within Oklahoma. The hilarity and horrors, the angst and reckless optimism.
ALBaD is more than an introduction, it’s a love letter to Oklahoma and its people. One specific passage describes the interior of a barbeque restaurant; it’s a modern spiritual relative of the Grapes of Wrath chapter about a used car lot. The decor, the waitstaff, the flamboyant selection of menu items. This is only barely fiction. The author knows these spaces personally and it shows. Even if Parker hadn’t dedicated it to his wife and daughters, ALBaD makes clear his love for them. Without spoiling any plot points, familial love and longing for relationships are poignant and inspiring. You’ll cry and laugh a ton.
The book’s cover’s neon flamingos reflect the vibrancy of the book’s prose. An alternate cover might showcase a sunset’s exploding reds and oranges, thematic colors throughout (another OK reference (IYKYK)). A criticism: Parker only describes Oklahoma sunsets a handful of times. I would read volumes of Parker waxing poetic about the sun sinking behind the horizon.
In the end, ALBaD takes it to the maximum. It never chills about anything ever. The heartbreak is crushing. The humor is a riot. It’s sincere to the brink of cheesy. It’s hopeful to the edge of delusion. And it’s all Oklahoma, for better and worse. They’re mingling, the feelings, and they get along very well.
A Little Blood and Dancing joins the pantheon of Oklahoma-related literature. Its characters nuanced and conflicted. Its setting wild and stormy. It’s Oklahoma, and even if you’re ugly–even though you’re ugly–you should still dance.
ALBaD serves as a personal introduction to the state most know little about. It’s also full of inside-jokes seasoned Okies will recognize: specific OU football re-airings, Sonic Drive-In ice, Nick Collison’s handsomeness, Mathis Brothers Furniture commercials to name a few. Parker’s debut novel highlights the ostentatious tendencies of a rambling state. It kicks off its shoes and lets the toesies breathe, as one character would say. Oklahoma’s virtues are important and vices doubly so.
Fictional representations of Oklahoma are usually the Grapes of Wrath-style exodus from a one-stoplight town for better things in a big city far away. Makes sense when you consider the stars who have done so: Woody Guthrie, Garth Brooks, Carrie Underwood, Ron Howard, Bill Hader, Ralph Ellison, Leon Russell, Reba McEntire, James Marsden, Kristin Chenowith, Sterlin Harjo, on and on. Parker avoids the get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge trope by focusing on characters who thrive and struggle within Oklahoma. The hilarity and horrors, the angst and reckless optimism.
ALBaD is more than an introduction, it’s a love letter to Oklahoma and its people. One specific passage describes the interior of a barbeque restaurant; it’s a modern spiritual relative of the Grapes of Wrath chapter about a used car lot. The decor, the waitstaff, the flamboyant selection of menu items. This is only barely fiction. The author knows these spaces personally and it shows. Even if Parker hadn’t dedicated it to his wife and daughters, ALBaD makes clear his love for them. Without spoiling any plot points, familial love and longing for relationships are poignant and inspiring. You’ll cry and laugh a ton.
The book’s cover’s neon flamingos reflect the vibrancy of the book’s prose. An alternate cover might showcase a sunset’s exploding reds and oranges, thematic colors throughout (another OK reference (IYKYK)). A criticism: Parker only describes Oklahoma sunsets a handful of times. I would read volumes of Parker waxing poetic about the sun sinking behind the horizon.
In the end, ALBaD takes it to the maximum. It never chills about anything ever. The heartbreak is crushing. The humor is a riot. It’s sincere to the brink of cheesy. It’s hopeful to the edge of delusion. And it’s all Oklahoma, for better and worse. They’re mingling, the feelings, and they get along very well.
A Little Blood and Dancing joins the pantheon of Oklahoma-related literature. Its characters nuanced and conflicted. Its setting wild and stormy. It’s Oklahoma, and even if you’re ugly–even though you’re ugly–you should still dance.
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