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Executive Times |
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2008 Book Reviews |
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Diablerie
by Walter Mosley |
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Rating: |
*** |
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(Recommended) |
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Click
on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Survival Walter
Mosley’s recent novel, Diablerie,
departs from his usual popular fiction and offers a serious look at troubled
people in a wounded society. Protagonist Ben Dibbuk is an alienated computer
programmer, with a mistress the same age as his college-student daughter. His
wife, Mona, the editor of a new magazine titled Diablerie, investigates Ben’s past after a woman claims that he
was a murderer. Ben struggles to keep a lid on his alcoholic past while he
recognizes that he doesn’t remember things he did while drunk. With Mosley’s
skilled prose, this struggle for survival plays out on many levels. Here’s an
excerpt, pp. 13-15: "If I'm such a
savior," Mona said to me at the counter at Augie's three months later,
"then come with me to the banquet tonight." I hated Mona's work functions.
She was a magazine editor, freelance. She worked for quasi-intellectual
fashion magazines. Her friends were the gushing emotional sorts or aloof
scholarly types who asked questions that I didn't even understand. "So you save me just to
punish me?" I joked, hoping that she only wanted to see me squirm. "Really, Benny. Rudy
bagged out and I can't go alone. You know, some people have started saying
that I really don't have .a husband at all, that I made you up because I'm a
lesbian and I don't want anybody to know it." "They'd
like your fantasy girlfriend more than they'll like me." "I saved
your life," she said inflecting her words with false drama. "Now
it's your turn." We took a taxi to our place on
Fifty-first near the East River. It was a nice-size, prewar apartment, with
thirteen-foot ceilings and more than enough room for a one-child family. We
had a big window that looked out over the water into Queens. Sometimes I'd
sit in the white stuffed chair and watch the river for hours. It was easy for me to lose
track of time, which is why I adhered to such a rigid daily schedule. I left
the house for work every day at 8:25, getting to the main offices of Our Bank
at Forty-second and Madison by 8:50. I left work when the job was done and
came right home. Schedules kept my mind, and me, from wandering. Left with no
destination or time limit, I could walk all day or sit in a coffee shop until
it closed for the night. "Are you wearing
that?" Mona asked me. I had been standing at the picture
window, looking at the skies fading over Queens, holding my hand up to the
pane as if I were gauging the city's anatomical form. "What's wrong with what
I'm wearing?" I asked. I had on a tan jacket, dark
brown pants and shoes, and a light-yellow shirt. "Not the bow tie,
Benny." "When did you stop calling
me 'honey'?" Mona had donned a very dark,
thin-strapped gray dress that made her body look no more than thirty. Her
deep brown eyes shone and her silvery, straightened mane was tied up at the
back of her head like the comb of some exotic rain forest bird. "The first year that you
forgot my birthday," she said. The simplicity and quickness of
her reply shocked me. When was her birthday? February? And how many years had
it been since I remembered? "I don't have any regular
ties," I said. "So
don't wear one. Go loose for a change." The Houghton Arms was one of
the oldest hotels in the city. It was on Park, above Forty-sixth and below
Fiftieth, but I never remembered the exact cross-street. Mona and I decided
to walk since the weather was fair and to clear the air between us. I was quiet on the way because
nothing I could say would make up for the years of forgotten birthdays. I was
disquieted also because of my abandonment of our daughter and my ever-increasing
distance from everyone, including my illicit lover, and because I didn't care
at all about Mona's unheralded birthdays. What difference did any of it make?
Why were we even walking together? "Benny?" "Uh-huh." "Have you thought about
going back into therapy?" "Say what?" "You
heard me." We'd come to a stop at a light, at Fiftieth and Park. Ben’s
psyche is packed with stuff that Mosley trickles out with precision. His name
seems to be a reference to Jewish folklore, a creature who’s possessed by an
evil spirit. Diablerie
is a modern serious novel, and Ben Dibbuk is unlike any fictional character
you’ve encountered lately, from Mosley or others. Steve
Hopkins, May 15, 2008 |
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Go to Executive Times Archives |
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the June 2008 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Diablerie.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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