Jamestown, a novel by Matthew Sharpe, is a mess, but only in the way a lumberjack breakfast is a mess. Eggs, bacon, ham, pancakes, toast, jam, syrup, coffee, and juice? I say, if it fits on the table, bring it on.

Sharpe's story, which reimagines the Jamestown settlement in a post-apocalyptic U.S. in the not-too-distant future, is built to be a love-or-hate affair. Needless to say, I loved it. For one thing, it's laugh-out-loud funny (I'm going to see how many hyphens I can use in this post), and that's rare. For another, it presents Pocahontas as a nineteen-year-old who occasionally addresses the reader as "y'all," and says things like, "Pocahontas is my nickname, it means 'person who cannot be controlled by her dad.' "

The audacity of the concept pays off in jokes, but also in the ability to cloak profound statements about American history (and our current-day messes) in absurdity, without sounding preachy. Wildly creative, cynical and somehow hopeful at once, Jamestown might not be for everyone, but everyone should give it a chance.