Border songs /

WHEN most of us think about problems along the United States border, we think about the one down south, where we're building the fence, where citizens join militias to keep illegal immigrants out. Jim Lynch has written a novel about our northern border, the one we tend to forget about, though it's twice as long and its boundaries are even more vague. "Border Songs" is set in and around Blaine, Wash., a town where next-door neighbors can live in different countries - both spiritually and legally. Brandon Vanderkool, the novel's central character, is a dyslexic giant, a man destined to "never learn how to spell or read better than the average fourth grader," a man so socially awkward that he flaps his arms uncontrollably in public and can't stop himself from babbling when he speaks more than a few words. Brandon connects more easily with birds than with people; he feels truly comfortable only while alone in the woods. Yet it's precisely this love of the natural world that makes him such an effective, though bumbling, agent for the Border Patrol. In sleepy, Mayberry-like Blaine, Brandon's fellow agents fall into two categories: first there are the "roadies" (short for "retired on active duty"), who rarely get out of their cars, avoid making arrests and do very little to upset the status quo; and then there are the handful of die-hards who wait for hours to ambush smugglers and illegals and rack up most of the department's collars. Brandon is the most unlikely of these trouble magnets, simply because he can't bear sitting in his truck when he could be sitting in the forest. The narrative viewpoint alternates between Brandon and several other characters, including his father, Norm, an incompetent dairy farmer who has squandered the family savings building a sailboat that will never see water; Madeline, a Canadian pothead and smuggler with whom Brandon is in love; Madeline's father, Wayne, a dope-smoking retired professor who spends his days railing against the Americans' drug war; and Dionne, Brandon's overbearing mentor at the Border Patrol, who grows increasingly attracted to him as he makes more and more arrests. This sudden spike in activity - nabbing marijuana smugglers, suspected terrorists, vanloads of foreign prostitutes - gives the plot its momentum. Once the F.B.I gets involved, a media frenzy ensues: "Reporters scrambled over one another for fresh angles, casting the western end of the border as a farmer's, retiree's and outlaw's paradise." A group of congressmen descend for a briefing. Eventually, unmanned drones and camera towers are deployed to monitor the streets of this quiet town, in which nothing much has ever really happened. The novel's appeal is in the characters and in Lynch's obvious love for them. Like Annie Proulx, he conveys a strong sense that we are Reading a Novel, that Lynch the writer, armed with his smart metaphors, is lurking right under the surface of his characters. Although its storytelling meanders a bit, "Border Songs" charms you into following along, rather than yanking you in. The quirkiness of the characters can be a little overwhelming, and it's occasionally difficult to tell how seriously we're meant to take them, but they remain engaging. In the end, they're what makes Lynch's novel such an enjoyable portrait of life along our northern edge. Philipp Meyer's first novel, "American Rust," was published last spring.

Lynch's second novel (following The Highest Tide, 2005) returns to the Pacific Northwest for another engaging, even heartwarming, encounter with the quirky individualists populating the nation's upper-left-hand corner. Brandon Vanderkool is a severely dyslexic, six-foot-eight-inch border-patrol officer charged with guarding the nearly invisible line between Washington State and British Columbia. An obsessive bird-watcher, Brandon has often jumped over the ditch dividing the countries in search of avian adventures, but today that porous border has become a throughway for pot smugglers and, potentially, terrorists. Lynch focuses not on the global implications of the border traffic but, instead, on the effect it has on the sleepy communities lining the ditch. Brandon turns out to be an idiot savant when it comes to catching smugglers, but his reluctantly cast net is sweeping ever closer to Madeline Rousseau, who grew up right across the ditch and now has turned her green thumb into a lucrative marijuana-harvesting gig. Every character in Lynch's tale is memorable, each etched with distinctive lines and endearing idiosyncrasies. If the ending seems a bit too Capraesque, it's well worth it for the chance to hang out with Brandon, whose appeal is much like that of Odell Deefus in Torsten Krol's Callisto (2009).--Ott, Bill Copyright 2009 Booklist

Lynch digs into the strange culture of a U.S.-Canada border town in his lush second novel (after The Highest Tide). Brandon Vanderkool, the town freak people talk about "the way they discuss earthquakes, eclipses and other phenomena," is pushed into joining the Border Patrol by his dairy-farmer father. Though the dyslexic, six-foot-eight Brandon prefers to bird-watch and tend to the cows on his father's farm, he proves to be surprisingly adept at spotting drug smugglers and illegal immigrants, which brings a wave of attention to both him and the town. The illegal goings-on provide excellent plot fodder, though the novel is equally concerned with smalltown life: Brandon's mother is noticing the first sign of Alzheimer's; his father's struggling dairy farm hits a low point when his herd becomes diseased; a local masseuse records the town's activities with her camera; and the beautiful, enigmatic Madeline provides an object of affection for Brandon. Lynch's depiction of the natural world and his deep sympathy for his characters carry the book, and while it's a bit quiet, there are majestic moments. (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

At 6'8", with dyslexia and a touch of autism, Brandon Vanderkool sees things differently than most. When he joins the Border Patrol on the Pacific Northwest's Canadian border, his different perspective leads to a series of high-profile busts of illegal aliens and pot smugglers. Problem is, the area is so economically depressed that the money to be made breaking these laws is all but irresistible to the local community. In his second novel-following The Highest Tide (2005), available from BBC Audiobooks America-Lynch portrays a community in transition and creates wonderful characters like Brandon's father, Norm, whose dairy farm is failing, and Brandon's crush, Madeline, who's in over her head with pot growers. Richard Poe's folksy reading gives this the feel of a Richard Russo novel. Recommended. ["Most readers should love," read the review of the Knopf hc, LJ 4/15/09.-Ed.]-John Hiett, Iowa City P.L. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Tensions on the U.S.-Canadian border disrupt a neighborhood in Lynch's entertaining second novel (The Highest Tide, 2005). Only a ditch separates one part of British Columbia from Washington State; it's narrow enough for prickly, left-wing Canadian Wayne Rousseau to exchange insults with his American neighbor, Norm Vanderkool. A retired professor with MS, Wayne makes use of a legal remedy: smoking cannabis. The more conventional Norm is a dairy farmer with sick cows and a wife losing her memory. Both men have interesting children. Madeline Rousseau, running wild since her mother's death, has started growing bud indoors for Canadian kingpin Toby, but it's her erstwhile school friend Brandon Vanderkool who's the star of the show, towering over the other characters literally (he's 6'8") and figuratively. Dyslexic 23-year-old Brandon has a hard time with people but an amazing affinity for animals and birds, his passion. Pushed into joining the Border Patrol by Norm, he barely passed the test (he's a lousy shot), but once on the job he's a sensation. Starting with a spectacular flying tackle of two hapless border-crossers, Brandon makes bust after bust of illegals and drug smugglers, seemingly without effort. Lynch presents a three-ring circus. In ring number one, the BP agents. Number two, the Canadian growers and smugglers. In the third ring, the Americans on the border, mostly dairy farmers tempted by easy money for letting smugglers cross their property. The action (there's plenty of it) is shot through with wry humor and intermittent suspense. Brandon remains an innocent, albeit "an innocent who's bad for business," as Toby says darkly. Guns are in evidence. Maddy deceives the trusting, lovestruck Brandon about her involvement. We seem headed for a major, possibly tragic confrontation, but it doesn't happen, and the story slowly deflates. Forget the shaky plot. What's memorable is the masterful use of Brandon as a bridge between the human world, foolish and chaotic, and the more ordered universe of birds. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.