Rating: 
Summary: Moody, compelling. Serpentine twists.
Review: _________________________________________________________________Three men on a quest for the surfers' Holy Grail. Through a Wasteland darkened by evil. If they survive the journey, whose blood will spill into the chalice? Written by the author of cult favorite TAPPING THE SOURCE, Kem Nunn's THE DOGS OF WINTER is a moody, compelling novel about surfing and the lightless depths of the human heart. The story centers on three surfers' adventurous trip through the wilderness to surf and photograph Heart Attacks, "California's premier mysto wave, the last secret spot." Unfortunately for them (but not for us), these are strange bed-fellows. Legendary Drew Harmon is as menacing as the shark that ripped out pieces of his flesh and as elemental as the 30 foot waves he rides. Robbie Jones, cresting the wave of surfing stardom, loves Jesus and fires a mean wrist rocket. And Jack Fletcher takes stunning photographs of waves and surfers but can't seem to get a clear focus on his own life. Then there are the Indians who stand in their way. The Moke, a septuagenarian shaman who likes to party hearty. And an unholy trinity of up-river bad guys who seem to have sprung from some artesian well of pure evil. Further complications arise when the Indians take captive Drew's land-locked wife, Kendra, who empowers herself by performing magic rituals and wearing the clothes of a murdered girl. Also stumbling into the picture is Travis McCade, half Hupa Indian and half "wagay" (non-Indian), a romantic trouble-shooter whose attempts at heroism usually end by shooting himself in the foot. Refreshingly, these characters are all "off-beat" in fascinating ways. If they're marching to a different drummer, evidently he's from some other planet. Nunn's writing style is engaging. At times it feels like the dark, brooding atmosphere just before a tropical storm. Then we're swept completely away by the storm's fury when it hits. And in its flashes of lightning, we catch dim glimpses of serpentine twists and turns that never take us remotely where we expect to go. It's an unsettling effect -- like looking at a collection of photographs taken by some omniscient and slightly mad photographer. And yes, we caught Nunn's wave, and we're riding it in. But where is it taking us -- to the sun-lit shore, or deeper into the heart of darkness?
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