The Demise of a Dynasty : BODY OF KNOWLEDGE, <i> By Carol Dawson (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill: $22.95; 480 pp.)</i>

“First I cite physical conditions,” begins this saga of a tragedy-stricken Texas dynasty, thereby setting a wryly comic tone that immediately distinguishes “Body of Knowledge” from its numerous Southern Gothic predecessors. The narrator happens to be 500-pound-plus Victoria Grace Ransom, a reclusive soul who dwindles her days in a metal-reinforced chair and ponders the demise of her once-great family within the confines of its seedy mansion. Victoria is both the Ransom’s final progeny and its grotesque culmination--”the end result of a pattern of habits,” as he puts it. Yet even as she spins the doomful family tale for the readers benefit, our oversized heroine struggles to remove herself from her psychologically and physically burdensome legacy. Credit author Carol Dawson with the revelation that all Southern dynastic epics are, finally, about weight problems.

Lest anyone think that “Body of Knowledge” amount to a Faulkner-meets-Susan Powter satirical yarn, it should be made clear that Dawson’s novel is a gorgeously crafted, intelligent and wholly original work that only gains power from its absence of solemnity. This is the Mt. Calm, Texas, author’s second novel. Her first effort, “The Waking Spell” (another Southern multi-generational saga), was published in 1992 to rave reviews. “Body of Knowledge” confirms that Dawson is a storyteller of astonishing talent, one who is able to combine graceful imagery with wicked characterizations while never losing her grip on a complex narrative.

The tale of the Fanbsoms, set in the fictitious central Texas town of Bernice, unwinds at a leisurely pace, but proceeds along story lines that are taut with conflict. In 1908, Barner Ransom teams with his neighbor, Archibald Mcafee, to build the area’s first ice-making factory. Fortune comes to both, but in their ensuing partnership, the Ransoms and Mcafees suffer from the entwinement. Young Grant Mcafee falls hard for Garner Ransom’s beautiful daughter, Sarah. She refuses to marry; Grant impregnates her; she flees Bernice for good. Seething with anguish, Grant marries another woman, who in turn becomes pregnant after an affair with Sarah’s older brother, William Ransom. Twice humiliated by Ransoms, Grant Mcafee vows revenge on the entire family--a task he carries out with the insidious diligence of a slow-acting toxin. One by one, generation after generation, the Ransoms topple. Gunshot. Bludgeoning. Alcohol poisoning. More often than not, the act is accomplished simply by throwing the Mcafee shadow on the rival family, and letting the paranoia work its awful magic. It falls ultimately to Victoria, the novel’s bloated “Body of Knowledge,” to battle back the demons unleashed by her forefathers.

Dawson lets the tragedies veer toward the preposterous, then tightens her rein. While writing unobtrusively, the author is clearly having fun, and her playfulness is infectious. Now and again the drama is interrupted by a word from our fleshy narrator, Victoria: “I sat, at the age of sixteen, in my special steel-reinforced chair in the conservatory, eating a tubful of cheese scuffle beneath the wisteria while Viola described my grandfather William’s amusement.” “Body of Knowledge” is rich with humor, but also with lyricism: a black band marching through the “Saturday-Quiet Bernice like a Testament illusion,” a woman’s old yellow eyes with the red scrollwork of veins, “the quarter tones of Mother wails,” “the musty aisles of oak.”

Despite having only two published novels to her credit, Dawson writes with a remarkably confident hand, and reaches deep to gather the essence of her may vivid characters--among them the haplessly good-hearted William Ransom, his spiteful busybody of a sister Mavis, and their mother Arliss, the haughty Ransom matriarch.

“Body of Knowledge” avoids the lumbering qualities of so-called “historical novels” while at the same time being entirely faithful to its time period. Dawson skillfully renders a Texas altogether different from the saddle-sore grittiness one has come to expect after a steady diet of Larry McMurty and Cormac McCarthy. Bernice embodies small-town Texas living, not the frontier ethic; here the issues pertain to good manners, good gossip and long-standing grudges the origins of which are long forgotten. Because Texas is still a relatively young state, hamlets like Bernice are not dominated by blue bloods--a family such as the Ransoms can evolve from nouveau riche to old money in a matter of two decades. Dawson is especially adept in her depictions of the town’s blacks, who endure discrimination but do not suffer the heritage of plantation slavery. Perhaps the novel’s must fully realized character is Viola, the Ransom’s long-time servant who sits nightly in the kitchen with Victoria, simultaneously feeding her the family history and biscuits by the dozen. Far from being a simple-minded, stoop-shouldered mammy, Viola is a regal and thoughtful presence, “with fine proud legs” according to one admirer, and given to observations such as, “That boy’s a real nexus.” The sassy give-and-take between Viola and the Mcafee’s servant, Dandy, are replete with crucial gossip and delicious put-downs. (Viola to Dandy: “I know you. Your tongue is loose as your leg used to be.” But these scenes also provide the most penetrating insights into the two warring families as observed from the trenches of their respective kitchens. Dawson joins Nanci Kincaid (“Crossing Blood”) as the only contemporary white novelist working today whose Southern black characters seem absolutely authentic.

Indeed, within the novel’s prodigious cast one finds very few lifeless creations. Unfortunately, they appear all at the same time, as the tale moves on to the third Ransom generation, which consists of twins Bert and Willie (the former a reckless heathen, the latter a tentative bumbler), their do-gooding half-brother Baby Boy, and a mysterious fourth offspring whose identity, when revealed, surprises everyone but the reader. Not by coincidence, the story slackens noticeably when these characters take the stage. Only when the spotlight throws itself unsparingly on the last Ransom, Victoria, does the narrative crackle again and the novel reach its heroic conclusion.

Laced with fanciful humor that recalls the best of John Irving and anchored by a sense of place in the best Southern tradition, “Body of Knowledge” is nonetheless the work of Carol Dawson’s distinctive imagination. Her story, which ends with the mention of fire as it began with ice, is a more like a literary whirlwind from which one takes leave with sudden regret and longing for her next no doubt sprawling endeavor.