While I admire the range of Walter Mosley’s imagination, given his forays not only into the mystery/detective genre via the Easy Rawlins series, but also his efforts in science fiction and explorations of the nature of good and evil (The Man in My Basement) I cannot say that I enjoyed his latest work which can’t be labeled anything other than pornographic. While I am no prude, I really didn’t think the novel’s graphic nature was justified by what I took to be its theme.
The novel revolves around Cordell Carmel, a middle-aged black New Yorker who one day discovers his long-time girlfriend having torrid sex in her apartment with a white man, Johnny Fry. Unseen, Cordell leaves, but the impact of this experience is life-changing. Not only does the formerly mild Cordell want to kill Johnny, but the realization of his own ignorance and inadequacies leads him into a series of sexual escapade with numerous women, to what ultimate end I really don’t know.
Perhaps this novel is meant to serve as some kind of allegory, because neither Cordell’s remarkable, but heretofore unknown sexual abilities, nor the conflict’s resolution were even remotely credible. After completing the book, one is left with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, not unlike the way Cordell seems to feel despite his many conquests.
This disappointing experience notwithstanding, I will continue to look forward to anything written by Mr. Mosley. I admire his refusal to be defined by one genre; his willingness to take chances suggests someone who is still growing as a writer, someone who will probably continue to explore for the rest of his career. Could a reader ask for anything more?
The novel revolves around Cordell Carmel, a middle-aged black New Yorker who one day discovers his long-time girlfriend having torrid sex in her apartment with a white man, Johnny Fry. Unseen, Cordell leaves, but the impact of this experience is life-changing. Not only does the formerly mild Cordell want to kill Johnny, but the realization of his own ignorance and inadequacies leads him into a series of sexual escapade with numerous women, to what ultimate end I really don’t know.
Perhaps this novel is meant to serve as some kind of allegory, because neither Cordell’s remarkable, but heretofore unknown sexual abilities, nor the conflict’s resolution were even remotely credible. After completing the book, one is left with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, not unlike the way Cordell seems to feel despite his many conquests.
This disappointing experience notwithstanding, I will continue to look forward to anything written by Mr. Mosley. I admire his refusal to be defined by one genre; his willingness to take chances suggests someone who is still growing as a writer, someone who will probably continue to explore for the rest of his career. Could a reader ask for anything more?
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