Jason Mott

It's a hell of a book. A crazily inventive oblique examination of what it must be like to be a black man in America. The language is damning and playful at once and the characters are unforgettable. Mott keeps the reader just off balance enough to keep going with the serious and uncomfortable aspects of the dual narratives.

This one left me in a whirlwind of emotions that I'm still trying to untangle. The intricate dance between dual timelines immediately drew me in and sparked my curiosity about how they would intertwine. Throughout the narrative, the boundary between reality and imagination blurred, leaving me questioning the significance of what was "real" and what wasn't. This book explores themes of grief, anger, mental health, and racism, offering a poignant yet refreshingly original perspective on these show more weighty topics. While I found the pacing lagging in the middle, the story's conclusion gripped me completely. The writing style is refreshing, seamlessly blending humor, heartbreak, and beauty. I loved the characters, from Soot to the author to The Kid. While this book may not leave you feeling happy, it's a powerful reminder that despite life's injustices, there's always room to strive for a better world. I highly recommend it but be prepared—it's one hell of a book. show less

This is definitely a hell of a book. It is funny, clever, and utterly devastating. It is about how Black people cope with the relentless violence against them; the endless cycle of shootings, protest, outrage, and inaction; the struggle between the need to ignore the violence to survive daily life and the guilt of ignoring it; the utter helplessness when faced with the monumental scale of the problem.

The unnamed narrator is an author on a book tour, promoting is book called Hell of a Book. show more Every other chapter tells the story of a boy with very very black skin, who constantly tries to become invisible so he will be safe. The book very cleverly obscures reality by creating many shifting layers of reality and unreality. The narrator often can't tell the difference between what is real and what is not, so the reader must constantly try to figure out what is real, and ultimately realize it doesn't matter. The stories of the narrator and the boy blend into each other, and blend into all of the other stories of Black people who are shot by cops.

The writing is relentlessly clever, witty, and playful - every sentence is delightfully crafted - while also exploring some of the most painful and difficult subjects possible. There were parts of the book where I was literally laughing and crying at the same time. This is a very powerful book. show less

Last week, I reviewed the new Thomas Pynchon book, Shadow Ticket, and I started my 5-star review with the words "I am still not sure what I just read." I will start this 5-star review with one word -- Ditto.

This blend of memoir and fiction is perhaps more serious than the Pynchon book, but both use highly stylized language and dual settings in Europe and the US to provide commentaries on the country we Americans find ourselves in. A country that is comprehensively fucked. The perspectives show more are different, certainly. Pynchon is a monied White New Yorker who attended Cornell and rose to fame in a moment when writers could find extraordinary financial reward, respect, and fame for writing a successful book. Mott is a Black man from North Carolina who attended community college and state schools and whose rise to popularity and receipt of the National Book Award (for the brilliant Hell of a Book) have, I am sure padded his coffers, but come at a time when the margins for financial success and impact on the zeitgeist for authors are significantly reduced from where they wire in the last quarter of the 20th century. That said, there is an undercurrent of despair in both. Shadow Ticket is a low moan of anguish for a lost America, a descent, by choice, into Weimar Germany redux. People Like Us is a sustained primal scream for an America that was never good to the writer and others who look like him, and then, after a few rays of hope that we would get closer to what he calls "Ni**er-La", became worse than we could have imagined. This is a book about how White America forces Black Americans into boxes of assimilation, and about how, when assimilation is attempted, those in power reject the attempt. It is about how, as a result of each of those facts independently and the unresolvable repellent force between the two demands, Black people shatter. It is about how those Black people can take completely different paths, and still end up in much the same place. (The characters of Soot and The Writer, from Hell of a Book, are here -- both of course alter egos for Jason Mott, with slightly different paths taken.) The book is about home never being a home. Oh, and it is really funny.

I am not going to get into the story itself because I have no idea how I would even begin to summarize it. The summaries I have read are not very good, and no shade on that because it is a pretty impossible task. This one is about the journey. Those of you who like a linear plot, this book is not for you. For those of you who are looking for an experience of brilliant writing and a display of profound truth and empathy, a book that makes you work for it, this is for you. This is as important a book as I have ever read, and also a real joy -- heartbreaking, funny, profound.

And Jason, if I ran into you, I would never confuse you with Ta-Nehisi Coates, Colson Whitehead, or Ibram X. Kendi. Promise. show less