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Yvettep
AALBC .com Platinum Poster
Username: Yvettep
Post Number: 3012
Registered: 01-2005
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Tuesday, June 24, 2008 - 07:55 pm: | 
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There are books, and then there are "Books We Like." Each week in Books We Like, our critics review their top picks for new fiction and nonfiction.
Every serious black American writer must sooner or later reckon with Invisible Man, and Paul Beatty — a bold wit cloaking high ambitions in low comedy — launches his third novel with a perfect travesty of Ralph Ellison.
The prologue of the Ellison classic sees its protagonist taking shelter in his surreal Manhattan lair, a hideout wired with 1,369 light bulbs and rigged with a phonograph playing Louis Armstrong's "(What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue." Contrast Ellison's nameless hero with Beatty's Ferguson W. Sowell, also known as DJ Darky, a turntable artist. Ferguson begins his adventures in the solitude of a tanning booth in Germany — UV light recalling the glare of his native Los Angeles, CD player rumbling through one of his own sound collages, narration declaiming that "after fourteen hundred years the charade of blackness is over. ... The Negro is now officially human. Everyone, even the British, says so."
In L.A., Ferguson mixed what might be the perfect beat — an inimitable, irresistible groove — but to ratify its transcendent noise, he needs the blessing of an elusive jazz genius called the Schwa, whose own "sound, like the indeterminate vowel, is unstressed, upside-down, and backward." In pursuit, Ferguson makes for Berlin, just before the wall falls, where he curates a jukebox at a pick-up bar, meets daffy spies and besotted Frauleins, and spits casually brilliant riffs on America and her music. A stranger in a strange land, he pays special attention to the bandleaders Sun Ra and George Clinton — outsiders so far out that they style themselves as brothers from another planet.
There are very few novelists with Beatty's swinging sense of play, and none — except maybe fellow freakazoid Thomas Pynchon — with the knowledge and nerve to sample John Keats, Afrika Bambaataa, and From Here to Eternity as he does in this sui generis piece of heartfelt absurdism. Give it a spin.
Audio + excerpt at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91747214 |
Cynique
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Cynique
Post Number: 12356
Registered: 01-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, June 25, 2008 - 12:14 pm: |
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Sounds like an interesting excursion into satire which automatically qualifies it for being something I'd like to read. |
Chrishayden
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Chrishayden
Post Number: 7035
Registered: 03-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, June 25, 2008 - 01:06 pm: |
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So far I think Beatty (who was a fantastic poet and one of my two favorite of the 90's the other being Sapphire)has fallen flat as a novelist.
He has a great sense of humor, is very intelligent and has a wide, literate frame of reference but he don't like his characters very much--they tend to be flat caricatures.
He is more of a polemicist, like Ishmael Reed.
I have read Tuff and White Boy Shuffle and will check this one out. |
Yvettep
AALBC .com Platinum Poster
Username: Yvettep
Post Number: 3017
Registered: 01-2005
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Thursday, June 26, 2008 - 11:57 am: |
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Chris, I have a similar opinion as you do about his fiction. Yet I find myself really, really, really wanting to love his work. I don;t know--It just seems like there are some authors who I root for and give second and third and fourth chances and others who I vow never to read again after one bad experience...
Anyway, I'm going to give this one a try. |
Chrishayden
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Chrishayden
Post Number: 7067
Registered: 03-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Thursday, June 26, 2008 - 02:47 pm: |
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Read Big Bank Take Little Bank
and
Joker Joker Deuce |
Carey
Veteran Poster
Username: Carey
Post Number: 869
Registered: 05-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Friday, June 27, 2008 - 05:18 pm: |
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Chris, you took me back on two accords. I've also read White Boy's Shuffle and "believe" I've read Tuff. Ol'boy has skills.
Now that I've got my book thang out of the way *smile*.
Do you know the history behind the wording "Big Bank Take Little Bank". That's some hood player S**t. Seen some real drama go down behind that phrase. |
Yvettep
AALBC .com Platinum Poster
Username: Yvettep
Post Number: 3028
Registered: 01-2005
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Monday, June 30, 2008 - 10:44 am: |
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Chris, I have read Big Bank. I'll have to check out the other title you mentioned. Thanks! |
Chrishayden
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Chrishayden
Post Number: 7083
Registered: 03-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Tuesday, July 01, 2008 - 01:42 pm: |
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Do you know the history behind the wording "Big Bank Take Little Bank".
(School us.
I just finished "Slumberland"
I think it is Paul's best. I also think it is going to make some people mad. |
Carey
Veteran Poster
Username: Carey
Post Number: 882
Registered: 05-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, July 02, 2008 - 12:25 am: |
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My Man ChrisHayden
Check game, maybe I should have said, how it is used around the way. it's a phrase old players would use to show a little macho or to backdown a fellow gambler. I don't know if you've been in gambling joints. I can only assume that you might have. But late at night after all the traps were checked and it was time to "show" your thang. The night people/hustlers would congregate in juke and gambling joints. Dress and talk were king. But talk could get you in trouble if someone wished to call you out. So if one stud was talking shit about how much money he had, another would step up and say " N***er You ain't got no money, Big Bank, Take Little Bank". Now the games on. I've seen thousands lost in this fashion. If a brotha said "bet" the house lit up. Drama was about to happen. Now remember some of these men had their women with them. So now the talk was about how close they were to "thier" money. Oh the shit would get thick. Much of it was about show. Before the bet was closed, a big display of money would break out of panties, bras, brief cases, everywhere. Now again, if the player wasn't serious and only wanted to front, then shit talkin' and flashing money was the game. But if respect was on the line, things got quite and thangs got real serious. The man with the less money lost his to the BIG BANK. |
Chrishayden
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Chrishayden
Post Number: 7092
Registered: 03-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, July 02, 2008 - 12:43 pm: |
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Carey:
Some of these wannabes out here trying to do some take-us-back-in-the-alley, stompdown, urban lit have written whole books that didn't have the firepower that one paragraph you wrote has.
I think, if you decide to embark on a scrivener's career, you might have found your motherlode.
Some Old Skool Playa fiction. |
Carey
Veteran Poster
Username: Carey
Post Number: 883
Registered: 05-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, July 02, 2008 - 04:21 pm: |
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Okay Chris:
You know I am fooling around in y'alls yard but I'd like to try something.
**frames**
I often wondered why he just didn't stop. Skippy's dad was a wino, we called him Mr. Farley. Mr Farley was a nice man. He was always well dressed. However, skip's dad would change. Some days he would sing to us in a voice that was purely mezmerizing while giving us money as if he was receiving pleasure from our listening. The next day he could just as easily be found wearing the same suit he'd worn to church the previous day, dirty and torn.
We never knew what Skip's mother did for a living but on many nights I and other neighborhood kids would gather outside of her church to listen to her and the other church members talk in tongue and shout about God, we called them Holly Rollers.
I heard the shot, I felt the combustion, a loud thunderous roar, it felt as if air was trying to force it's way through my head. Jimmy Six told me no one would be killed, we were only taking guns to scare them. I'd seen people shot on television but it was nothing like this. Blood was spurting from the man and he was crying while moaning. I was only 18, I now was invlved in a Bank Robbery and a murder.........
My father was the best man I've ever known. I can remember the day he was waiting for me at the kitchen table, it was 7am. The night before my girlfriend, Ann, called and said she was scared and asked if I would come over. I fathered a child with Ann and she lived alone with oue child. I lived in my parents house, a room to myself. My brothers were off to college and I loved my silence, my room. Before they left it was the threee of us in a small upstairs room. Gary, my oldest brother slept on a hideaway bed. Carl and I shared a queen sized bed. We always made fun of Gary because he had to fold up his bed every morning while we sort threw ours together.
I knew dad would be waiting for me. He was very strict about being on time. We had curfews and it was understood that they were not to be broken. He often told us that if he said 11 o'clock it didn't mean 11:01. We were not allowed to go out on weekdays unless it was to a sporting event. My father boxed and my brothers and I were involved in many sports. Regardless of the event, if the witching hour passed, dad could be found waiting at the kitchen table. I open the door with caution but as if nothing was wrong. I was prepared for my punishment or at least I thought I was. I assumed that he would make me wash the dishes for a month or cut all the neighbors grass and that would have been okay. I entered, he was sitting at the table, he stared at me and without hesitation said, "boy, what do you think this is, where have you been"? I can't remember dad giving us a beating or whippings, he wasn't that kind of father, yet he aways demanded respect and we always gave it to him without question. I explained to him that Ann heard noises in her new apartment and asked if I'd join her. I saw a look in his eyes that I'd never seen before. He wasn't mad, it wasn't disgust, it was fear and concern. He knew I was about to pass into a life that I was ill prepared to handle. He paused, then said, "son it is honorable of you to go and see about the welfare of Ann and the child. I now what you to go upstairs and pack your things". He dropped his head, raised it and continued, "we will not have a fatherless child in this family, it's time for you to go raise yoour family". I'd never seen my father cry. A tear appeared in the corner of his eyes. I was a teenager, Ann and I were not in love, we were kids playing around. I didn't plead my case, I said okay and walked to my room....
Smooth was cool, he wasn't like the winos that everyone poked fun at. He dressed sharp and everyone wanted to be like him. People said he wasn't a junkie ...but he used Narcotics. Smooth was the talk of the town, all the women loved him, I would later find out why. I wanted to be like smooth but I couldn't. I already had a family and I didn't even smoke cigarettes. My brother Carl was a wrestler, a state champ. He told me that he was good because he worked harder than others at his craft. He got up earlier than others, no one knew what he was doing. He did it his way. I latched onto that idea.
I was young, the world was in front of me and I wanted it all. I wanted to be cool like smooth, a family man like my father, tough as my brothers and go to college. I thought narcotics could be controlled, you didn't have to be a junkie, smooth was proof of that. Women whispered their pleasures to me and I entertained the possibilities.
My family was rooted in the community. In 1865 my 7th generation grandfather moved to the area as a released slave. The family was well respected and I knew never to draw them into a bad light. Secrets must be kept.
Cissy was known in the neighborhood as someone that could be trusted.
College was fertile ground for yooung attractive women.
Cool was in me, it had touched my soul.
I was about to travel a road that I could never have imagined, no one told me, they didn't know, they still don't.
Ann has passed away, we were married for 35 yrs. This is my story.
**short snippets.....the frame**
At an early age I witnessed the small nuances between Tricks and the women that served them. Everyone enjoys the touch of another and many need to feel as if they belong. I learned tht men who paid for the company of women didn't do so merely for sex. they needed to feel like they were a match for the women, that she may even like them. The women did not have to be beatiful, many were not. Eva wasn't in many opinions an attractive women. She was clean, barely 5'5" and overweight. She was sweet and always carried a smile......
The US military is one of the largest vehicles for drug smuggling in the world. Linda was my friend, my company. She agreed to come along on a trip after receiving a promise of adventure. She was very attractive, stunning, movie star quality, she liked me.
While passing through the gate Linda's face showed the look of impending doom. The officer ordered everyone out of the vehicle. A search was about to happen. Earlier we were in a village, it was called the jungle. An area frequented by blacks who were accepted by the locals. It was a humid day, the sun was bright, linds and I were filled with excitement. She was from Virgina and had not traveled much, she trusted me. We were free and fear was not our enemy. Prior to our journey we talk about the future and the dangers of our travel. I carefully questioned her on the what-if's, the possibilities.
The officer again said to vacate the vehicle, Linda went to work......
I was in the Master Bathroom, Benny was in the outer bedroom. I heard Joy call Bennie's name. She yelled, "Benny, what have you done. They were in town for a family reunion. I had a fairly lare home and invited Benny to spend the weekend with me. Benny never left my home....alive. Joy.....
I entered the bank after giving the appearance of a man shoveling snow outside. Bank robbery is relatively simple, there are seldom guards. It's the escape and entrance that harbored my concerns.
Pedestrians are also unwanted factors. After placing my shovle outside the dorr, I entered the bank and without saying a word, I handed the tellers a large bag, suggesting that they should fill it. One fell to the floor, she was to scared and weak to comply. the other, with eyes widened, trembling from shock and fear, stumbled through the process. I was covered from head to toe, they couldn't tell if I was a man or a women, white or black. I walked out.....
My wife and I were about to leave our daughter at her new home, the University of Kentucky. We were proud yet fearful. I was her track coach. I had accompanied her on most of her trips. My wife would always be by my side, assisting as mother do. She we even run along during training, we used her as a rabbit. My daughter would spot her yardage and try to beat her to the line. My son was along, he was just joyful of the promise of a Happy Meal. My daughter was a national age group champion. she now was going to Kentucky, the College National Champions....
The package arrived. I worked in personal, in-and-out processing. I recognized the hand writing and the secrets that would identify tampering. I never wanted to touch anything that could involve me. I called a friend. I asked him if he was ready to go downtown, a code phrase, pickup was important. Even though the packages appeared to be free of tampering, new methods were being developed to deter smugglers. Prior to the expected delivery......
Back:
I couldn't move, I was weak, my thoughts were confused! I ....
Next:
I was standing in front of the church, up in the poolpit. I said, "God doesn't take the "B" team home. I continued talking to the congregation saying, "I can remember sitting in my mother's kitchen and smelling her home cooked apple pies permeating from the oven", " I asked my mother how long it would take before the pies were done". She said, when it's good enough. She said, when the heat is just right and it's been in the fire long enough, the juices will rise to the top, it will then be ready. I paused and looked a the congregtion and said, my uncle Wallace is good enough to go home".
My uncle Wallace was like a father away from home. My brothers and I would take our girlfriends by his house to show them the good side of the family. He always made us laugh and the girls felt comfortable around him. When my father passed away I had many nice clothes but nothing suitable to bury my father. My uncle bought me a suit telling me to pick out what I wanted but nothing to expensive but yet something that would last. I wore that same suit when I spoke at his eulogy....my Uncle Wallace....
AND:
The plan had to be aborted, we drove through a grave yard.....
Carey
Carey |
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