With Grace, veteran Richmond, VA newspaper
editor, reporter and feature writer Howard Owen, still sticking with
investigative journalist Willie Black who continues to bite the hand that feeds
him, has arguably created the best book so far in the Willie Black murder
mystery series. Where the earlier four books garnered well-deserved critical
acclaim and awards, Grace exhibits a tighter, more confident
craftsmanship, as Owen shows that he knows how to work exposition into an
engaging plot while training a jaundiced eye on his protagonist, keeping Willie
the same but not quite the same. Willie, now 54, whose black father disappeared
at birth and who still delights in being the good bad boy of print journalism
at his paper (his nasty, venal publisher has pushed him into the late-night
crime beat), has evolved into an even more sardonic chaser of the justice and
truth. Hilarious at times and always cynical and selectively foul mouthed, he
seems aware of time’s winged chariot – the press of time and his history of
being a fuck-up. But he’s not afraid to use the L word for his lady love, whom
he just might make number four, if he can rout or, more realistically, diminish
his demons. He loves to drink, fight, stand pat when the dam breaks and,
go where angels fear to tread. A half bro, he can mix and mix it up with whites
and blacks, people of all classes, professions and vocations and relationships
to the law, earning the admiration of the innocent and the criminal.
Like some others in the hard-boiled detective genre,
Willie attracts because he is flawed and heroic, but he has limits about what
he will do and not do to get the story, the bad guy, the girl. His honesty,
integrity and ethics endear him to the various oddball men and women he
interacted with in the earlier books who are back again. These include
Peggy, his reefer smoking mom, Awesome Dude a former homeless derelict, his
ex-wife Kate, a lawyer who is his landlord, an Indian he has befriended, his
admiring colleagues both at the paper and in the police department, and his
slightly estranged but beloved daughter, Andi, now an unmarried mom
herself. Not to mention all those bartenders who know him well. Willie
also knows himself. Of his ability to judge others, which he thinks he usually
does well, he adds, “I’m my biggest fan, so maybe I’m a tad biased.” Unlike
many modern day protagonists, Willie believes in “social justice, the Golden
Rule, cold Millers, and forgiving women, in no particular order.” In other
words, Owen is not in the downer camp of contemporary noir. But he does know
how to read literary tea leaves. These say that the hot topics today that
inform best sellers include racial tension, class divide, pederasty in the
church, failed marriage and alcohol and drug abuse.
As with all the Willie Black books, Owen lets Willie speak for
his creator’s values, which are admirable, especially at a time when good
old-fashioned print journalism is dying, if not already dead, and when
so-called reporting, especially in social media and on certain channels makes
no pretense at accuracy, fairness or intelligence. As Willie says,
“First-person stories by reporters give me the heebie-jeebies. They smack too
much of the kind of `look-at-me’ journalism that some of my compatriots seem to
prefer to actually digging and sticking to the facts.” As for the state of the
world, it’s easy to take a nihilist line, but Willie is more nuanced that that.
He sees that the world is divided “into two equally reprehensible groups, both
earnestly involved in their life’s work: judging and affixing blame while
assiduously eschewing spell check.” If there is a God, he finds himself
thinking, he wonders “ why the hell are we still here? Isn’t it about time for
another flood?” But he knows why he is here, and that it to make things right.
He has for all his agnosticism a good smattering of . . . grace.
More Willie to come, assuming Trump doesn't get elected president and we emigrate to Canada. The sixth installment, The Devil's Triangle, is done and should be published in 2017. I'm working on something else, more in the lines of the nine literary novels I wrote before Willie came into my life.
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