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Narrated by Ernie Hudson
Walter MosleyUnabridged — 5 hours, 15 minutes
Narrated by Ernie Hudson
Walter MosleyUnabridged — 5 hours, 15 minutes
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In this successful and intriguing departure from his usual work, Mr. Mosley creates a substantial subplot about heritage and history. … In the end this audacious novel is about facing up to such brutal realities. But it is also about seeking refuge. — Janet Maslin
Despite the heavy themes, the book never bogs down, and Mosley keeps the action flowing with his direct, colloquial writing. — Edward Nawotka
Even in his genre fiction, which includes mysteries (the Easy Rawlins, Fearless Jones and Socrates Fortlaw series) and SF (Blue Light, etc.), Mosley has not been content simply to spin an engrossing action story but has sought to explore larger themes as well. In this stand-alone literary tale, themes are in the forefront as Mosley abandons action in favor of a volatile, sometimes unspoken dialogue between Charles Blakey and Anniston Bennet. Blakey, descended from a line of free blacks reaching back into 17th-century America, lives alone in the big family house in Sag Harbor. Bennet is a mysterious white man who approaches Blakey with a strange proposition-to be locked up in Blakey's basement-that Blakey comes to accept only reluctantly and with reservations. The magnitude of Bennet's wealth, power and influence becomes apparent gradually, and his quest for punishment and, perhaps, redemption, proves unsettling-to the reader as well as to Blakey, who finds himself trying to understand Bennet as well as trying to recast his own relatively purposeless life. The shifting power relationship between Bennet and Blakey works nicely, and it is fitting that Blakey's thoughts find expression more in physicality than in contemplation; his involvements with earthy, sensual Bethany and racially proud, sophisticated and educated Narciss reflect differing possibilities. The novel, written in adorned prose that allows the ideas to breathe, will hold readers rapt; it is Mosley's most philosophical novel to date, as he explores guilt, punishment, responsibility and redemption as individual and as social constructs. While it will be difficult for this novel to achieve the kind of audience Mosley's genre fiction does, the author again demonstrates his superior ability to tackle virtually any prose form, and he is to be applauded for creating a rarity, an engaging novel of ideas. (Jan.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
This is a standalone literary novel from Mosley, who is best-known for his detective fiction. He arranges character and plot development so that Charles Blakey, a purposeless, unemployed, African American, accepts payment to let the mysterious Anniston Bennet spend two months imprisoned in his basement-and thus the stage is set for a sequence of philosophical dialogs and debates that influence and change the path of Charles's life. The conversations veer around topics like the dynamics of power, the need for redemption through punishment, and the nature of guilt. Mosley's well-written prose and dialog are given an adequate if uninspired reading by actor Ernie Hudson. To fans of Easy Rawlins, Socrates Fortlow, and Fearless Jones, this will be a departure, but it is recommended as demand warrants.-Kristen L. Smith, Loras Coll. Lib., Dubuque, IA Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
In Mosley's boldly understated fable, an unemployed African-American agrees to rent space in his basement to a wealthy white businessman for two months. Except for living in New York's Harbor district, Charles Blakey might be a double for the denizens of Mosley's Watts (Six Easy Pieces, 2003, etc.). He's got no wife, no current girlfriend, few friends-though those few are ancient and loyal-and no work since he was fired from his job as a bankteller for petty embezzling. Worse still, he's about to lose the house his family's lived in for seven generations because he can't make payments on the mortgage he's taken out to tide him over. But when Greenwich reclamation expert Anniston Bennet approaches him with a request to let his basement for the summer, Charles isn't even tempted-until his other feeble sources of income dry up and his back is to the wall. It turns out that Bennet is offering a fabulous sum, nearly $50,000, for his stay; that he's picked Charles out especially as his host after doing a great deal of research; and that in cleaning out the basement to make it ready for him, Charles, who according to antique dealer Narciss Gully has turned up family heirlooms worth just as much as Bennet promises, doesn't really need his money anymore. By this time, however, he's become entranced by the combination of mastery and submission the white man is offering him, and the two enter into a relationship that becomes steadily more lacerating for them both. Fans of Mosley's nonfiction (Workin' on the Chain Gang, 1997, etc.) will know from the beginning what Bennet wants from Charles. Even given the resulting lack of suspense and a story that falls off sharply by the end, this slender parableis Mosley's most provocative and impassioned novel yet. Agent: Gloria Loomis/Watkins Loomis
"Will hold readers rapt; it is Mosley's most philosophical novel to date."—Publishers Weekly
"A provocative, page-turning story that constitutes nothing less than a masterpiece."—Bookmarks Magazine
"This is fine, provocative writing from the prolific Mosley, whose gifts extend well beyond his excellent mysteries."—Booklist
Charles Blakey has fallen on hard times. Out of work, heavily in debt, drinking too much, Blakey, a black man, worries about holding on to his family home in Sag Harbor. When a strange white man offers him $50,000 to rent his basement for the summer, Blakey can’t refuse. What’s the catch? Anniston Bennet wants to be imprisoned for the duration of his stay. Ernie Hudson’s performance turns Blakey’s dilemma into an exploration of perversity, punishment, repentance, and redemption. His accomplished handling of the exchanges between the two men resonates with truth. Hudson is compelling as Blakey wrestles with the seductiveness of power. In a departure from his popular Easy Rawlins mysteries, Walter Mosley presents a fascinating, if disturbing, look into the human soul. S.J.H. Winner of AUDIOFILE Earphones Award 2005 Audie Award Finalist © AudioFile 2004, Portland, Maine
| BN ID: | 2940169974461 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hachette Audio |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2005 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
I had answered the door expecting big Clarance Mayhew and his cousin Ricky. The three of us had a standing date to play cards on Thursday nights. I was surprised even to hear the doorbell because it was too early for my friends to have made it home from work and neither one of them would have rung the bell anyway. Wed been friends since childhood, since my grandparents owned the house.
"My house is your house," I always said to Clarance and Ricky. I never locked the door because we lived in a secluded colored neighborhood way back from the highway. Everybody knows everybody in my neighborhood, so strangers don't go unnoticed. If somebody stole something from me, Id have known who it was, what kind of car he drove, and the numbers on his license plate before he was halfway to Southampton.
"Yes," I said to the small, bald-headed white man in the dark-green suit. "I'm Blakey."
"You have a stand-up basement, Mr. Blakey," the white man told me.
"Say what?"
"Teddy Odett down at Odett Realty said that you had a basement where a man could stand fully erect, one that has electricity and running water."
"This house isnt for sale, mister."
"Bennet. Anniston Bennet. I'm from Greenwich, Connecticut."
"Well this house isn't for sale, Mr. Bennet." I thought the small man would hunch his shoulders, or maybe give me a mean frown if he was used to getting his way. Either way I expected him to leave.
"Oh yes," he said instead. "I know that. Your family has owned this beautiful home for seven generations or more. Mr. Odett told me that. I know it isn't for sale. I'm interested in renting."
"Renting? Like an apartment?"
The man made a face that might have been a smile, or an apology. He let his head loll over his right shoulder and blinked while showing his teeth for a moment.
"Well, not exactly," he said. "I mean yes but not in the conventional way."
His body moved restlessly but his feet stayed planted as if he were a child who was just learning how to speak to adults.
"Well it's not for rent. It's just an old basement. More spiders down there than dust and theres plentya dust."
Mr. Bennet's discomfort increased with my refusal. His small hands clenched as if he were holding on to a railing against high winds.
I didn't care. That white man was a fool. We didnt take in white boarders in my part of the Sag Harbor. I was trying to understand why the real-estate agent Teddy Odett would even refer a white man to my neighborhood.
"I want to rent your basement for a couple of months this summer, Mr. Blakey."
"I just told you -"
"I can make it very much worth your while."
It was his tone that cut me off. Suddenly he was one of those no-nonsense-white-men-in-charge. What he seemed to be saying was "I know something that you had better listen to, fool. Here you think you know what's going on when really you dont have a clue."
I knew that there were white people in the Hamptons that rented their homes for four and five thousand dollars a month over the summer. I owned a home like that. It was three stories high and about two hundred years old. It was in excellent shape too. My father had worked at keeping it up to code, as he'd say, for most of his life.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bennet," I said again.
"I'm willing to pay quite a bit for what I want, Mr. Blakey," the white man said, no longer fidgeting or wagging his head. He was looking straight at me with eyes as blue as you please.
"No," I said, a little more certain.
"Maybe this is a bad time. Will you call me when youve had a chance to think about it? Maybe discuss it with your wife?" He handed me a small white business card as he spoke.
"No wife, no roommate, Mr. Bennet. I live alone and I like it like that."
"Sometimes," he said and then hesitated, "sometimes an opportunity can show up just at the right moment. Sometimes that opportunity might be looking you in the face and you dont quite recognize it."
It was almost as if he were threatening me. But he was mild and unassuming. Maybe it was a sales technique he was working out-that's what I thought at the time.
"Can I call you later to see if you've changed your mind?" he asked.
"You can call all you want," I said, regretting the words as they came out of my mouth. "But I'm not renting anything to anybody."
"Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Blakey." The white man smiled and shook my hand just as if I had said yes to him. "Thats my office number in Manhattan on the card. Id give you my home phone, but I work more than anything else. I hope I'll be hearing from you. If not I will certainly call again."
Before I could say anything else, the little man turned away and walked down to a Volkswagen, the new Bug, parked at the curb. It was a turquoise car that reminded me of an iridescent seven-year beetle.
He made a U-turn and sped away.
Across the street Irene Littleneck was watching from her porch.
"Everything okay, Mr. Blakey?" she called.
"Just a salesman, Miss Littleneck."
"What's he sellin?"
"I didnt even get to that," I lied. "You dont buy if youre unemployed."
Irene Littleneck, eighty years old and black as tar, flashed her eyes at me. All the way across the road those yellow eyes called me a liar. So I turned my back on them and went into the house.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley Copyright © 2004 by Walter Mosley. Excerpted by permission.
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