The Charlotte Observer has a brief review of The Poacher's Son that I appreciate:
Paul Doiron's debut novel explores the strange territory between fathers and sons with this tale of a game warden who refuses to believe that his ne'er-do-well father is guilty of a double murder. Doiron also paints an all-too-familiar picture of corporations profiting from destroying a way of life—this time, in the wilds of Maine. It's an engaging story, with a flawed hero whose childhood issues overwhelm his good judgment over and over again.
I've gotten a kick out of how many reviews have described Jack Bowditch (the poacher of my title) as a ne'er-do-well or a no-account. It must be a regional thing. In Maine we don't use those expressions. We just call people sons of bitches. You might also hear sons of whores on occasion.