As a story about morals and identity, desire and destiny, The Knockout Artist (not Chris Hero, unfortunately) almost has all the right pieces. But, holy shit, some drastic editing would have helped.
In a way, I feel like this is what Barry Hannah's classic novella Ray would have been like had Gordon Lish not chopped it almost in half. Crews goes on for a hundred pages to set up a story that ends just as the characters start to turn a corner. Maybe that's what he was going for--a journey and a dark-yet-upward hook at the end--but it's mostly an unenjoyable read.
This gimmick of Eugene being a fighter who can knock himself out is the entire basis of the first half of the book. How he resents himself and his lost ways hit hard against the money and staying afloat in the struggling part of New Orleans. Then, it's all but dropped in the second half so Eugene can focus on finding and mentoring a young boxer for a man who is a looming dark, force in Eugene (and the city's) life. Both have the possibility of being interesting stories, but neither are fully told. It appears one way on the surface and another in the guts, but it feels more like two surfaces.
After reading Body and enjoying it, I knew there would be detours and tangents and misshapen poetic ramblings that hold bits of charm, but this book comes off much more stylistically flat. I wasn't necessarily going into this expecting a super strong plot, either. Why Body at least makes full use of the competition aspect of the story to simulate, if not enhance, the rising action feel of a plot and The Knockout Artist doesn't, I'll never know.
Crews is a good enough writer that, should I have liked the book more, I could easily draw the lines of justification and say why some of his decisions work on another level or two above the text. As it is, though, the supporting characters are thin, Eugene's desires are foggy (just move back home if you miss it so much, you fuck!), and Crews just isn't funny enough here to justify this not being a quirky, mysterious novella.