![]() The game drips with a backwoods atmosphere ripped straight from a riverside campfire tale. I don’t know if the river that drives the action of The Flame in the Flood is supposed to be the Mississippi, but I’m hard pressed to see it as anything else. But there is a mythic current that carries the stories from Minnesota all the way down to New Orleans before spilling out into the Gulf of Mexico, leaving traces of untold tales like so much flotsam and jetsam scattered along its banks. ![]() Perhaps my own Southern heritage has colored my perception of the river to an overly-romantic degree. The Mississippi carries with it the stories of Mark Twain and William Faulkner, the verse of Langston Hughes, the sounds of the Delta blues, the steady rhythms of riverboat paddle wheels, and the ghosts of those claimed by its waters. It carves a slow, muddy path through the states, branching out as various smaller systems and tributaries that form the vessels of the country. I can think of few landmarks more American than the Mississippi River. ![]()
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