Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

2025 reads, #2. I got convinced at the beginning of this winter to read the entire oeuvre of racially aware crime author SA Cosby, by a freelance client of mine who writes very similar books; see here for my review of his first novel, 2019’s My Darkest Prayer, originally published through a basement press back when this author was just starting out. Today’s book, Blacktop Wasteland from a year later, was his first to come out through a mainstream press (the Macmillan imprint Flatiron Books), and also the first one to have a huge impact with the public, becoming a finalist or winner for a dozen awards during its first year of release, and becoming the first of Cosby’s now three bestsellers.

And indeed, now that I’ve read it myself, I can see why this book exploded in popularity when it first came out, and even here in February I can predict with some certainty that it will eventually land on my “best reads of the year� roundup later this December. To begin with, although the story itself is nothing more than a typical noir, it’s an excellently done example of noir writing, a pitch-perfect tale about a car mechanic in the Deep South who has a past history of driving getaway vehicles for petty crimes, who has tried to get out of the business but ends up getting pulled back in through desperation over mounting bills, his sick elderly mother, and an estranged child whose relationship he’s trying to mend. But what really makes this story special -- and in fact has become a hallmark of all of Cosby’s books -- is that he tells this traditional noir story through the lens of our protagonist being a poor black man, and shows how the usual beats of the noir genre get much more richly complicated when you add racist Southern cops to the mix, the long legacy of black fathers who abandon their families, and how when black people get into desperate situations, even if they want to use legal means to fix their problems, often they have no other option for digging themselves back out except for the exact crime sprees that our antihero has sworn never to return to.

Put together, it all adds up to one of my favorite types of books these days, one that’s politically charged but not Woke, taking a clear-eyed look at how race informs these subjects but without the book ever wallowing in virtue signaling or Sunday school sermonizing, a novel that in good noir style features not even a single truly decent human being but that nonetheless makes us feel moved by the end for the plight of the average Southern black male, and that makes us understand how much the societal deck of cards is stacked against such men. It’s both a rip-roaring adventure story and a thought-provoking rumination on race in America; and that makes it perfect for our times, and not a coincidence at all that Cosby’s work has blown up so much in public awareness and critical fawning at this particular moment in history. It comes strongly recommended to both traditional noir fans and those looking for the best work out there when it comes to social justice issues, and I have to confess that I’m now looking highly forward to the next book in Cosby’s bibliography, 2021’s Razorblade Tears which I’ll be tackling in a few weeks.