A Fatal Shooting in Augusta

In The Poacher's Son I do my best to write about the dangers Maine game wardens face on a daily basis. One of the points I try to make in the book is that wardens are de facto police officers, and the threat of violence hangs over their heads in ways most people don't appreciate. Sadly, today was one of those days all wardens dread:

AUGUSTA, Maine — Maine law enforcement officers shot and killed an armed man within sight of the entrance of the Department of Veterans Affairs Medical Center at Togus this morning.

The Attorney General’s Office identified the victim as James F. Popkowski, 37, of Medway.

Popkowski, a patient at the medical center, was fatally injured during an armed confrontation with Togus police officer Thomas Park and two game wardens, Sgt. Ron Dunham and Warden Joey Lefebrve, according to a press release from Attorney General Janet Mills. Police said Popkowski had carried a gun “in a threatening manner.” Seeing the confrontation, the game wardens came to the aid of the Togus officer.

Popkowski was killed in the confrontation that occurred shortly after 9 a.m.. Mills said Dunham and Park fired at Popkowski and that preliminary evidence indicates that officers shot in defense of themselves.

Because I am not covering this story as a reporter, interviewing the principles and witnesses, it would be inappropriate for me to speculate on the sequence of events that led to the shooting until the attorney general has finished her inquiry. 

Dinner with Doiron

Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance, the awesome non-profit writing center where I was once executive director, is celebrating its thirty-fifth anniversary on August 12 with the birthday party to end all birthday parties. For a mere $200 you can dine at one of Portland's best restaurants with the likes of Richard Russo, Richard Ford, Ann Beattie, Ann Hood, Lily King, Phillip Hoose, Joyce Maynard, Jennifer Finney Boylan, James Hayman, Betsy Sholl, or...me.

You're guaranteed to eat well. Last year, Bon Appetit named Portland "America's Foodiest Small Town." My dinner is at the Salt Exchange.

I Stand Corrected

One of the things I've learned in my magazine work is that it's nearly impossible to write for publication without making errors. Even The New Yorker with its stable of top-notch fact-checkers is forced to print corrections. While no one likes to make a mistake, the best journalists of my acquaintance appreciate having their errors identified. Better to set the record straight. 

Today I heard from a reader who noticed a couple of inaccuracies in The Poacher's Son:

At one point in "The Poacher's Son" you used the phrase "smell of gunpowder'" and I thought 'this is a writer who knows what he is writing about,' but then, when Mike shoots Truman Dellis with the shotgun, you write "The smell of cordite hung in the air."

Cordite is an obsolete British propellant and has not been manufactured since WWII.  I see this reference all the time in books, and even a CSI episode.  The only way one could smell it would be if very old ammunition was being used.  Look it up on Wikipedia.

You write that Mike ejected the magazine from Truman's bolt-action Remington 30-06.  Most Remington bolt-action rifles have either a box magazine that does not extend through the bottom of the stock (it is built-in) or a floorplate magazine where the floorplate, magazine spring, and follower plate swing down on a hinge, like a Winchester or a Mauser.  Very few Remington hunting rifles have a removable, ejectable magazine, although it is possible, and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

It is too bad Truman didn't have an Enfield .303, which does have a removable magzine and conceivably might be loaded with old cordite-filled cartridges.  But, it was the shotgun that killed him.

I hereby vow to stop watching CSI.

YouTube Book Review

Browsing the Internet is like being swept away by a current. You start in one place, and the next thing you know you've been pulled along by the tide and find yourself God-only-knows-where. That's how I happened to find the YouTube video below. To my knowledge it's the only video review of The Poacher's Son in existence thus far, and it's a good one!

I'm not sure why, but I think it's really cool that the Capital Area District Library in East Lansing, Michigan, does video book reviews. There's something subversive about exploiting YouTube to get people to read.

Rave Review from the Maine Sunday Telegram

The Maine Sunday Telegram is the largest newspaper in the state of Maine, and I'll admit that I've been awaiting its review of The Poacher's Son with some trepidation. Today, on the Fourth of July, I finally received a review, and it was fantastic. Lloyd Ferris's assessment of my book is one of the best yet, made sweeter by the fact that Ferris really knows Maine. Here's his take on my novel:

For one of the 10 least populated states, Maine has a surprising number of nationally known writers: Tess Gerritsen, Monica Wood and the ever-productive Stephen King among them. Paul Doiron may soon join that impressive field with his first novel, The Poacher's Son.

It's the story of a young Maine game warden trying to save his brawling, hard-drinking father who's accused of murdering two men. Fast-paced and believable, Doiron's book explores the murky depths of a father-son relationship played out in northern Maine's vanishing wilderness.

The Poacher's Son is refreshingly different. Written in the first person, the novel is narrated by its main character, persistent game warden Mike Bowditch. He's an argumentative man stubborn enough to drive off his [girlfriend] and try the patience of his warden supervisor, Kathy Frost. At the same time, readers know from the author's wonderfully stitched-together flashbacks that Mike's shortcomings come from a rough childhood spent in part with his angry, law-breaking father.

Instantly mesmerized, I was convinced (before encountering some unfamiliar place names) that the book was a nonfiction memoir of a Maine game warden with a most unusual life. It was that convincing.

A master of description, Doiron shines even in depicting minor characters. Early in the novel, for instance, he zeroes in on the Square Deal Diner "owned by a plump and hyperactive widow named Dot Libby who also ran a motel and gift shop out on the highway, served as chair of the school board, organized the municipal Fourth of July picnic, and played the organ every Sunday morning at the Congregational Church."

***

The Poacher's Son is a mystery in that it deals with murder and has a twisty plot leading to an unexpected end. But Doiron's book offers more than one finds in a typical mystery. The author's examination of traits passed from father to son is grist for thought, and his depiction of characters nothing less than terrific. You'll like this fine novel.

Winning the praise of the local critics is no small thing. I say that as someone who has written his share of tough-minded book reviews about novels that get Maine horribly wrong. I'm grateful that the Telegram believes I got Maine—and its people—right.