The narrative remains intimate throughout, swinging between neuroses and hilarity to create an empathetic depiction of masculinity. Biloxi is everything I want in a story: a man with an affinity for leftover Chili’s, an antisocial dog with digestive challenges, and a bunch of truly dislikable people I love regardless.
As disagreeable and contrary as they come, Louis is a narrator readers will want to hug and throttle with equal urgency, sometimes simultaneously. Delightful at sentence-level, this is foremost the story of his sluggish-but-sure metamorphosis. Even Layla gets a second act readers won’t see coming. Miller, an absolute master of minutiae, relates Louis’ innermost self with poignancy and humor that never sacrifice an ounce of realism.
Here’s my advice: Don’t think too much about this book — just enjoy it ... an entertaining, endearing story about a late-middle-aged, morose divorced guy who accidentally acquires a dog ... Miller’s charming and funny novel grows complicated in a hilarious sort of way, a way that you don’t want to examine too closely, with con men and drunkards, minor story lines that go nowhere, and all kinds of implausible twists and turns ... the ride is so much fun that you’d be a spoilsport for demanding that it all add up ... In the blurbs, critics compare Miller’s work to Lorrie Moore, early Ann Beattie and (oddly) Ernest Hemingway. I’d tuck Biloxi somewhere between Stewart O’Nan, who writes so knowingly about the small details of a quiet life, and the comic novels of Jonathan Evison. But why compare it to anyone? Miller’s good all on her own.
Louis is Miller’s tart retort to the priapic, casually misogynistic heroes of Philip Roth and John Updike ... Miller adeptly keeps the reader’s feelings toward him at that place just before compassion degrades into pity ... memories fire off in the narrative like bottle rockets, brief but attention-grabbing ... a Southern version of '80s minimalists like Ann Beattie and Raymond Carver. Her prose is clear and resonant as a church bell, and her critique of blinkered men like Louis is natural and collected ... a candid, wryly comic story.
Be warned: while the writing is equally outstanding and the plot’s as quirky as a bachelorette party in a convent, that’s where the similarity [to The Last Days of California] ends ... Louis’s late-life story makes for an often-frustrating read, particularly in the book’s early chapters. It’s hard to empathize with such a deliberately obnoxious protagonist. Occasionally, it’s impossible ... in the skillful hands and off-kilter imagination of the talented Mary Miller, this quirky read steers clear of sentimental mawkishness.
Writing with insight and wit, Miller is both unsparing and sympathetic as she captures the perspective of a character who, initially at least, comes off as not terribly appealing. But at a slow, deliberate pace befitting the story’s Southern setting, she reveals Louis to be something more than the emotionally limited sad sack he may initially be taken for—an irascible old coot, sure, but a lovable one you can’t help but root for ... Miller’s deliciously engaging, gently quirky, surprisingly hopeful novel seals her spot in the pantheon of Southern fiction writers.
... excellent ... A witty, insightful exploration of masculinity and self-worth ... In Louis, Miller captures the insecurities of an imperfect man beyond his prime as he tries to find his purpose in the world, and the result is a charming and terrific novel.
