A man has a hierarchy of crime, of what is morally acceptable and what is not, a crook manifesto, and those who subscribe to lesser codes are cockroaches. Are nothing.
The sequel to Harlem Shuffle, Crime Manifesto revisits Ray Carney — son of a notorious criminal, trying to make it straight with his increasingly successful furniture store — and as with the previous novel, this one is divided into three sections: set in the years 1971, 1973, and the big Bicentennial year, 1976. As NYC, and Harlem in particular, get ever seedier — with corruption, murder, and arson out of control and the Mayor responding by laying off first responders — Carney watches as it churns, seeking out stability and opportunity. Once again, Colson Whitehead has written a highly entertaining piece of social commentary — African-American history disguised as a crime novel — and once again, I was thoroughly immersed in the setting, cared about the characters, and recognised the truth of the story Whitehead was telling. You really couldn’t ask for more. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
As the novel begins, Carney has been “retired” as a fence for four years — not only has the furniture showroom expanded into the former bakery next door, but Carney has bought the entire building and is now a landlord to the apartments upstairs as well; business is good — but when his teenage daughter begs him to find tickets for the upcoming Jackson Five concert at Madison Square Gardens, Carney reaches out to a crooked cop he used to know, and finds himself dragged back into the criminal underworld. One thing leads to another that plays out over the following five years. On the surface, this reads a bit like old-fashioned noir fiction — consider lines like She had an hourglass figure, not in its shape but in the melancholy reminder that time is running short and there are things on this Earth you’ll never experience. Or:Crime isn’t a scourge, people are. Crime is just how folks talk to each other sometimes. — but by loading in details of actual people and events, Whitehead has crafted a story both entertaining and realistic.
As with Harlem Shuffle, I found an interesting device in Crook Manifesto that I don't want to spoil, so consider this forewarned for the next bit:
It was his own fault. He had been on the straight and narrow for four years, but slip once and everybody is glad to help you slip hard. Crooked stays crooked and bent hates straight. The rest is survival.
As the novel begins, Carney has been “retired” as a fence for four years — not only has the furniture showroom expanded into the former bakery next door, but Carney has bought the entire building and is now a landlord to the apartments upstairs as well; business is good — but when his teenage daughter begs him to find tickets for the upcoming Jackson Five concert at Madison Square Gardens, Carney reaches out to a crooked cop he used to know, and finds himself dragged back into the criminal underworld. One thing leads to another that plays out over the following five years. On the surface, this reads a bit like old-fashioned noir fiction — consider lines like She had an hourglass figure, not in its shape but in the melancholy reminder that time is running short and there are things on this Earth you’ll never experience. Or:Crime isn’t a scourge, people are. Crime is just how folks talk to each other sometimes. — but by loading in details of actual people and events, Whitehead has crafted a story both entertaining and realistic.
As with Harlem Shuffle, I found an interesting device in Crook Manifesto that I don't want to spoil, so consider this forewarned for the next bit:
In Harlem Shuffle, I thought that each of the three sections was inspired by a work of classic fiction (Great Expectations, The Count of Monte Cristo, “dime books'' like Strange Sisters), but here, it felt like each section was inspired by a movie. 1971 was the year that the real life police officer Frank Serpico was shot in the face on duty (and left to die by his fellow officers) after going to The New York Times with his story of police corruption, and even though the movie Serpico wouldn’t come out until 1973, his real life whistleblowing — and the ensuing Knapp Commission empanelled to investigate police corruption — is the catalyst for the crooked cop, Munson, entangling Carney in his crooked business.
The second part, set in 1973, is inspired by Blaxploitation movies like Blacula: not only is that movie mentioned by name, but this section tells the story of just such a film being made in and around Harlem. Carney doesn’t appear as much in this section — although he is an investor and his furniture store is used in a scene — and it was just as satisfying to centre on the film’s bodyguard, Pepper: a mountainous tough guy who had run with Carney’s father back in the day.
The third section (and this is where my theory kind of falls apart, ha ha) is set in 1976, and several characters talk about going to see Midway in SenSurround. If the city is at war — and this is a city firebombed, vandalised, and under siege — the ultimate confrontation, which all of the plot threads lead to, could well be considered a tide-turning battle.
And the switch from books to films makes sense: If Carney had hoped to escape his father’s criminal lifestyle through study and education, as a young man, books would have been how he learned about the greater world. In midlife — as a husband, father, busy entrepreneur and community member — Carney might not have had as much time for reading, consuming culture through movies instead. Maybe?
What I interpreted as the “shuffle” of the first book’s title, Whitehead explicitly calls “churn” in this one. Not only does Carney call his sideline as a fence a churn, but he also uses the word to refer to the corruption behind “urban renewal” — mysteriously overinsured tenements burning down and rebuilt shoddily by crooked developers with state funds — and with everyone from the fire inspectors to the politicians skimming a piece of the pie, it’s poor folks looking for a place to live who get lost in the churn every time. There are things you’ll do and things you won’t — the crook’s manifesto — and at midlife, Carney is defining himself in these terms. I understand this is going to be a trilogy, and I can’t wait to see what happens to Carney, and Harlem, in the years to come.
The second part, set in 1973, is inspired by Blaxploitation movies like Blacula: not only is that movie mentioned by name, but this section tells the story of just such a film being made in and around Harlem. Carney doesn’t appear as much in this section — although he is an investor and his furniture store is used in a scene — and it was just as satisfying to centre on the film’s bodyguard, Pepper: a mountainous tough guy who had run with Carney’s father back in the day.
The third section (and this is where my theory kind of falls apart, ha ha) is set in 1976, and several characters talk about going to see Midway in SenSurround. If the city is at war — and this is a city firebombed, vandalised, and under siege — the ultimate confrontation, which all of the plot threads lead to, could well be considered a tide-turning battle.
And the switch from books to films makes sense: If Carney had hoped to escape his father’s criminal lifestyle through study and education, as a young man, books would have been how he learned about the greater world. In midlife — as a husband, father, busy entrepreneur and community member — Carney might not have had as much time for reading, consuming culture through movies instead. Maybe?
Churn.Carney’s word for the circulation of goods in his illicit sphere, the dance of TVs and diadems and toasters from one owner to the next, floating in and out of people’s lives on breezes and gusts of cash and criminal activity. But of course churn determined the straight world too, memorialized the lives of neighborhoods, businesses. The movement of shop owners in and out of 383 West 125th Street, the changing entities on the deeds downtown in the hall of records, the minuet of brands on the showroom floor.
What I interpreted as the “shuffle” of the first book’s title, Whitehead explicitly calls “churn” in this one. Not only does Carney call his sideline as a fence a churn, but he also uses the word to refer to the corruption behind “urban renewal” — mysteriously overinsured tenements burning down and rebuilt shoddily by crooked developers with state funds — and with everyone from the fire inspectors to the politicians skimming a piece of the pie, it’s poor folks looking for a place to live who get lost in the churn every time. There are things you’ll do and things you won’t — the crook’s manifesto — and at midlife, Carney is defining himself in these terms. I understand this is going to be a trilogy, and I can’t wait to see what happens to Carney, and Harlem, in the years to come.
