Mr Ants wrote a novel, and so I had to read it. It was extensively reviewed a few months ago, most memorably by Margaret Atwood, who showed not only the requisite respect for the author but a beautifully sensitive contextualisation of the work itself. Read what she wrote, it is spot-on.
I will simply add that the central novella is worth the price of admission, as is Wilson's keen observation of the South's proclivities.
The New Yorker has a taster of the novella.