In a vein you could call regional grotesque, this is about a lumpish auto upholsterer, George Gattlin, obsessed with the idea of manning a hawk -- in falconer talk that means starving the thing into submission -- because he hasn't been able to man much of anything else. His sister Precious (who lives in house slippers and a state of glazed low-intensity hysteria since big Alonzo deserted her and the kid) complains of having dead birds around all the time; and it throws everyone to see George walking around with a big bird hanging strapped to his wrist -- at the funeral home or into bed with a catatonic coed. But they're just as strange, and whatever distinction Crews meant to make between the general insanity and George's mad dream dissolves in sadistic slapstick and uncaringly facile writing (e.g., endless fortuitous hawk jokes). The symbolism of freedom or mastery or whatever it is, hunkers pregnantly but never comes to term; but it centers somehow on George's relationship to Precious' enigmatic, whiskey-drinking retarded son, the most interesting character here, who unfortunately drowns in his water bed about a third of the way into the book. Typically hapless.