As poetic and low-key as Felice's songwriting, Black Jesus is a brief visit with a handful of intriguing characters in small-town America - a blind ex-Marine, a former stripper and aspiring ballerina, a psychotic music critic, and an old woman in a nursing home - each coming to terms with a difficult past or an awful secret. Despite its interesting themes and some shining moments of lyrical writing, the novel never quite delivers on its promise.

The Black Jesus of the title is an American soldier returning from Iraq after having been blinded in an explosion, having earned the nickname from his fellow soldiers "'cause I'm so white. And 'cause my last name's White. And 'cause I was born on Christmas Day." He comes to live with his overbearing mother, Debbie, in an old building that used to house a Dairy Queen. Faced with a lifetime of isolation, and traumatized by the atrocities he witnessed in the war, Black Jesus retreats within himself and becomes addicted to painkillers. Along comes Gloria, a former stripper travelling cross-country on her motorbike, running away from an abusive boyfriend. When Gloria and Black Jesus meet, the experience changes both of their lives.

A story like this hinges on emotional moments and connections between characters, so it's unfortunate that the characters here are fairly two-dimensional. One character who could have used more development is Black Jesus's mother; Debbie: she's an overweight woman whose primary joy in life is running a perpetual yard sale made up of donations coerced from her neighbours. This sad, petty character is afforded no dignity; you can't help but cringe when you read of Debbie wiggling her "gigantic ass" in the air as she listens to Phil Collins, fussing over her flea market treasures. She's a collage of American white-trash stereotypes; laughing at her feels uncomfortable, but the author doesn't give you a way to sympathise with her. One of the reasons I enjoy fiction is for a chance to get inside the head of an initially unsympathetic character and understand the way they work. It takes a skilled author to pull this off, and Felice doesn't quite get there with most of these characters. It is a very short, fast-paced novel, which I enjoyed, but an extra two hundred pages or so might have allowed for more satisfying, well-rounded characters to emerge.

There's certainly the bones of an interesting story within Black Jesus. Profound issues like racism, domestic violence, poverty, and morality in war arise in every chapter, only to be skimmed over quickly. Instead of delving more deeply into these themes, as I would've liked, the novel focuses much more on the characters and their interactions. For some readers that may be a good thing, though - it certainly never feels as though political issues are being shoved down your throat. Felice's strength is in his poetic language - he has also published a volume of poetry - and perhaps the best way to approach this novel is to focus on the quality of the language. There are many beautiful passages with arresting, poignant language that wouldn't be out of place in poetry or song lyrics.

"Because thin white birch trees stand naked down the path they walk. Because their pale branches grope for something beyond themselves. Because the sun just came up and the pastel glow it casts paints all things rare, their faces, the rusted-out truck they pass, the boots they wear, their fingers laced together, that vodka bottle in the leaves. Because November is a dying time. Because the pond she's led him to is so still. Because life is so strange, so real. Because we all got holes to fill. That's why we stick around."

Any fan of the Duke and the King and the Felice Brothers will be interested to see what happens when Simone Felice turns his hand to fiction. If you appreciate the way those bands evoke small-town America with their lyrical, melancholy songwriting, Black Jesus is a worthwhile companion to their albums - a narrative approach to the same territory.

- Grace Nye