Blacktop Wasteland

I have never seen any of the Fast and Furious franchise, but for some reason this novel brought those films to mind. I imagine this novel as the low-rent, grimy cousin of that franchise. With the right cast and a decent script this would probably make a half decent movie. As a novel, it did not hit the spot. The first half was ponderous. The pace picks up in the second half, but the plot lacks tension, jeopardy and depth. The semi-rural Virginia backdrop was hard for me to imagine (being British). Do people and places like this still exist in the US? The reality of the novel seemed historic rather than contemporary. A story that seemed more at home in the early 1970s rather than sometime between 2012 and 2016. I commend any African-American writer who tells stories about Black people where Race is not central to the themes, but sadly I found this effort disappointing.

My word. Crime fiction simply does not get better than this. Haunted by the actions and legacy of his father, Beauregard “Bug” Montage desperately wants to prove to his family and himself that he is and will continue to be a better man. But like the devil on your shoulder that reassures you that you deserve one more scoop of ice cream or one more finger of whisky, the doing is harder than the saying. As the old adage has it, after this “one last job”, Bug is going straight. That the job goes sideways in a hurry is a given. From that point onwards, the author could have taken the book in any number of directions. He plumped for his foot to the floor with a nitrous oxide injection. Car chases like you have never read the likes of, villains so nasty that you are happy for them to be around as they are so distinctive and well imagined you want to absorb their stench as it seeps off the pages. And Bug himself. A grenade searching for its pin. Explaining the bond between a father and his son is a futile task but damn if this author doesn’t nail it. My book of the year and then some.

I do not know what book the other reviewers read, but the book I read was not impressive at all. The plot was interesting enough, but the characters were not particularly well-developed or believable - particularly the main character who - when faced with tough challenges - follows a path that just adds more challenges. The character wasn't written to be nearly as stupid as he acted. The writing style was not particularly imaginative when providing background info like the scenery or character history. The story was hard to follow as it was written as a narrator, but felt more like a third person that kept switching from scene to scene without any real flow or reason. I almost quit halfway through, but kept plowing ahead hoping that it would improve. It did not.

I couldn't lay it down. I read it cover to cover in one afternoon. Hard hitting and fast paced story of the ends a man will go to to protect and provide for his family and those he loves. Excellent writing and characters so real you will swear you grew up with them.

I bought Blacktop Wasteland solely on the recommendation of Lee Child. He did not disappoint. If you enjoy a good simile or metaphor, try these: “A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he was meant to be.” “When he stepped off the porch, he could feel the sun beating down on him like he owed it money.” “He was about as useful as a white crayon.” “What’s your name? What your mama call you when she mad?” “The old leather in the couch smelled like tobacco that had been soaked in oil.” “His mother was one flat tire and a bad day away from a nervous breakdown.” “Like The King said, ambition was just a dream with a V8 engine. He was gonna ride that V8 all the way to sand by the ton and water so clear you could see the mermaid coming up to give you a kiss.” “Horace was grinning with a smile that made him look like a jack-o-lantern that had been carved by a Parkinson’s victim.” Hold your horses boy. I’ll be there. G**d***mosquitoes be driving trucks down there.” The book opens with a drag race that will have you smelling burnt rubber...and ends with “other faces joined them accompanied by the squeal of tires and the shriek of bullets. Wives he had made widows.” If Black Wasteland had been targeted at women, it’d be labeled chick lit or a beach read. As it’s written, it should be read with a non-filtered Lucky Strike and a long-neck beer! Burp!