Alam's writing is lyrical, shot through with sly humor and affection for the denizens of the swamp. Bilge Water Bones begins: "The waters of the South are like its people, strong with underlying evils and a beauty that lasts forever. And like the people they hide ghosts that ride the surface in the early morning mists when the water is warmer than the air. Sometimes the mists sweep through the palmetto bushes on shore and creep between the heavy oaks like a grand lady's white handkerchief, folding in and out, rising from the forest floor now, crawling back into the bottom scrub, only to reappear on the front porch and lie in wait for the blistering sun to evaporate all but the memory…"
