Kenneth Weene's "Tales from the Dew Drop Inne" tells of the Runyonesque regulars at an Albuquerque, New Mexico, bar called the Dew Drop Inne, ala Cheers, but more gritty than glitzy. The Dew Drop Inne is more "an island of floating debris" where people go to drink because there's nobody at home, or too many people, or disagreeable people. Weene immediately apologizes for the book's title: "There must be one of those pun-named bars in every town." Even if the characters do not think of themselves as "the dew drops," that name is at least as appropriate as "the sand pebbles," another lusty crew.

Taverns and bar rooms have been scenes for drama and comedy at least since Shakespeare, and "Tales from the Dew Drop Inne" is akin to Saroyan's "The Time of Your Life" (rather than O'Neill's much darker "The Iceman Cometh"), and to the affable bums of Steinbeck's "Cannery Row" and "Sweet Thursday." Saroyan made his start with "colorful characters" like those found in this book, which reads like "The Time of Your Life" updated from the thirties.

Weene's smooth style in this, his third novel, moves right along in measured cadences in what seem at first like vignettes (numbering on average 1500-3000 words but occasionally filling out to 6000 words) but shortly begin to read like chapters, drawn together with purse-string sutures by the narrator Calvin. At this late date, it is not easy for an author to create singular characters in an ensemble production, as so many already have been created, but the author here has a poker player's keen eye for the "tell" of his characters - the quirks of their behavior - so that each stands out as an individual.

In a fashion not unlike his first novel, "Memoirs from the Asylum," this novel treats with characters who are imprisoned, here just as effectively by alcohol, within the invisible walls of heart and mind, as by the cement and barbed wire of a state institution. In the early chapters, one by one Weene introduces us to a new character, and the character's foibles, gradually weaving the members of the troupe into the tapestry of the tale. The narrative related by Calvin then proceeds episode by detailed episode, patiently layering the reader's understanding of the Dew Drops, their co-dependence, and their skirmishes with the community. At the risk of being trite, I shall say that the Dew Drops are really a community within a community, a small clan that does not hesitate to reach out to others, or to join in defense of one another when threatened from the outside.

When a terrible pile-up happens nearby on the interstate, the Dew Drops rally to give blood, even if first they debate the character of blood. Chan the Chinaman, owner of Chan's Delight restaurant where Cal does clean up, jokes with Cal that they won't take his Chinese blood, then asks Cal if he is going to sell his blood.

"They pay for pint. Just like sell wonton soup."

Over at the Dew Drop Inne, Al wants to know if there were any Mexicans involved in the crash.

"I don't want to give none of my blood to no Mexicans. You give them American blood and they'll think they're as good as us."

In response to Al's barefaced racism, Cal decides he will go and donate his blood - not sell it - and regulars Ephraim and Ginny decide to return the $15 they each received for their blood.

Greg's friend Riley is a big black man whose "infectious laughter and resonant voice" buoys the spirits of the little troupe, and who wins acceptance at the Dew Drop by singing together with Cal's buddy Ephraim, in spite of Al's racist grumbling. When Riley is jailed as the Box Cutter Bandit, his friends at the Dew Drop, themselves not unfamiliar with the local cops and their attitudes and methods, debate if they should go talk with Riley and find out what happened. The rescue party returns looking like Riley had already been hung - the cops seem to have him dead to rights. When the bandit turns up in Santa Fe, however, Greg and Cal go down to talk with Riley's Legal Aid lawyer, Sawyer. They show him the Santa Fe newspaper story. Sawyer takes a moment to read the story and another to think about

"Well, that doesn't prove he's innocent," he finally commented. "This may be another guy, a second perpetrator."

Greg slapped himself in the forehead. "Yeah, another big Black guy using a box cutter and going after women who are alone." He shook his head in disgust. "And cutting their dresses." Another shake. "Obviously two different men."

"There are copycats you know."

"You don't think maybe you should go and ask a judge?"

"Ask a judge what?"

"To let Riley out of jail," I suggested not too helpfully.

Before we are through with the calamities that beset these folks, even Calvin finds himself in a tangle that threatens to see him imprisoned for murder, and desperate for help from his friends. The quarter from which the help comes, however, is one of the more ironic twists in the story. And "Chapter 25 ‑ Wanted" will hit you like a gut punch and leave you gasping.

For the first time in a long while, I have wondered, briefly, if I'd like to stop by a local Dew Drop, if I could find one with a snoot-full of characters as interesting as those in Weene's book, instead of the silence of a mortuary. However, I did my time on the nickel, paid my nickel dues, and no longer have the reluctant generosity of spirit that sparks the Dew Drops, if I ever did. They probably would sense that and find a way to suggest I look elsewhere. But it seems to me that Kenneth Weene knows these people very well and that the sensibility he shows in this novel would always make him welcome at any Dew Drop Inne.

Kenneth has captured the comradeship, laughter, and heartbreak of those souls teetering on the edge who call places like the Dew Drop Inne home. Each chapter is a short story unto itself, but weaves a complete tale of the two main characters as they encounter friends, adversaries, and the long arm of the law.

The character study of Cal and Ephriam build in each chapter throughout the book, and culminates in an unexpected ending. Readers are introduced to the regulars who often occupy the same tables, booths, or bar stools at local watering holes. Each resident of the Dew Drop has his or her unique story, and reason for drinking to excess.

Ephriam and Calvin are friends, neighbors, and more like close brothers; both are alcoholics and religious renegades of different stripes. It is unlikely outside of the Dew Drop that the two would have ever met; their backgrounds were worlds apart.

I had some difficulty getting into this book. As a child and teenager I was exposed to many of these characters; of course they had different names, but they were the same. Kenneth brought back many memories of wasted lives that I had long ago filed at the far recesses of my mind. That said, I highly recommend this book. It smacks of realism, but has a lot of humor dispersed among the bizarre antics of those who have immense difficulty walking the proverbial straight line.

Pick up a copy of Tales From The Dew Drop Inne, and meet the veterans, drifters, musicians, over the hill cheerleaders, and grandmothers who wander through the doors.

Review by Jackie Anton ( )