Everything about Dol McQueen, the rowdy broad tramping through Missy, is vaguely onomatopoetic. Her name: she's both a doll and a tough cookie. Her occupation: she's a flash-girl, which is Old West slang for hooker. And her addiction to "missy," the liquid opium upon which she's habitually "gonged."
In fact, almost every word of Chris Hannan's debut novel is a toothy treat — understandably so, given he's a playwright and a Scot. Dol's rollicking tale is so festooned with 1862-era Wildly Western jargon, it's tempting to read the whole thing aloud — in a brogue.
Missy is primarily a road saga — a real wagon-burner crossed with a good ol' fashioned shoot 'em up. Dol, heading to Virginia City, Nev., to ply her trade to freshly moneyed miners and to chase down her unscrupulous gin-soaked mother, has the mixed fortune to stumble onto the malevolent pimp Pontius and his crate of stolen opium. The ensuing heist-jinks involve a one-armed police chief with a love for the ladies, a gang of possibly sociopathic children and, of course, a Colt pistol with a mighty kick.
Sure, Dol is outrageous, but despite her occupation and her heart of gold, she never becomes a caricature, and it's easy to root for her even as she drags her cohorts (and the reader) from California to Utah. But it's hard to watch her continually shoot herself in the foot — and come close to nailing her loved ones, too.
It's a lot of riotous fun (a "jollification," as Dol would put it) that's also about addiction, codependency and, ultimately, Dol's confrontation with her own extraordinary selfishness. No matter how much mud she's got on her face, she's always willing to look in the mirror. Even at her worst, that's what makes her such an irresistible bedtime companion.
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