Close to the Bone : A Novel

by Lamar, Jake

• ISBN13: 9780517704073
• ISBN10: 0517704072
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 1999-02-01
• Publisher: Crown

Summary

In the tradition of Bebe Moore Campbell, Terry McMillan, and E. Lynn Harris, author Jake Lamar has created a riveting novel of three young couples whose lives intersect in curious ways. And the question that torments all of them: What is a black man? Hal Hardaway is a young black executive, struggling to get along with Corky Winterset, his white girlfriend, who holds him in "constant suspicion of machismo." Walker DuPree, Hal's former roommate, is wrestling with his mixed racial heritage while trying to avoid marriage to his persistent black girlfriend, Sadie Broom. Dr. Emmett Mercy, self-help guru and author of Blactualization: Everyday Strategies for Reconnecting with Your Authentic African-American Self, is obsessed with gaining fame and fortune--at any cost. Meanwhile, his wife LaTonya shares a secret, sordid history with Hal. The story moves from New York to Paris, from Amsterdam to Craven, Delaware, finally culminating on the eve of one of the defining events of our time: the verdict in O.J. Simpson's criminal trial. Using the public spectacle of the celebrated murder case in counterpoint to the private lives of his characters, Jake Lamar--one of America's most original writers--paints a stunning portrait of a society grappling with fundamental problems of race and sex, identity and justice.

Author Biography

<b>Jake Lamar</b> was born in 1961 and grew up in New York City. He is the author of the acclaimed memoir <i>Bourgeois Blues</i> and the controversial political novel <i>The Last Integrationist.</i> He lives in Paris.

Excerpts

"What is a black man?"

It was Dr. Emmett Mercy who posed the question. He sat in a warped folding chair in the basement of a Presbyterian church on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. When he entered the church a half hour earlier, at six thirty-five on this Thursday evening in September 1994, the sky over Broadway was a metallic gray; the air was dense and muggy but a fierce wind was kicking up. A hellacious storm seemed in the offing. The spartan, wood-paneled room in the basement was empty when Dr. Mercy arrived, but rancid with the smell of stale coffee, the telltale sign that a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous had recently taken place there. Dr. Mercy expected only five participants in tonight's workshop. He set up six folding chairs in a circle in the center of the room and, on a nearby table, arranged five hardcover copies of his book, Blactualization: Everyday Strategies for Reconnecting with Your Authentic African American Self. He paused for a moment to admire his portrait on the book jacket, relishing the image he projecte
d in his somber three-piece suit, a gold watch chain glittering against the black vest, his starched white shirt and black tie, his thick forest of black hair combed straight back, bushy sideburns extending to his jaw, light brown eyes staring righteously behind round-lensed, gold-framed spectacles. Change the photo from full-color to sepia, Dr. Mercy mused, and it could have been taken in the late nineteenth century. Without making a conscious effort, Dr. Mercy, over the years, had come to resemble a figure from the time of Douglass or Du Bois.

"What is a black man?"

Dr. Mercy repeated his question, putting a dramatic emphasis on that second word, slowly turning his head around the small circle of black men, looking each participant in the eye. It was five minutes after seven. Dr. Mercy was pleased that all five men taking part in tonight's Amandla workshop had arrived on time, at seven o'clock sharp. After some initial chitchat--it turned out that two of the brothers at tonight's meeting had gone to college together but had not seen each other in eight years--Dr. Mercy had the men stand up, join hands, and recite the pledge he had composed: "We gather here tonight as strong black brothers, imbued with the wisdom of our ancestors, nourished by the love of our sisters, determined to protect our progeny. We meet in the spirit of togetherness, redemption, and empowerment. Amandla." Dr. Mercy loved the sound of the six men saying that word--the Xhosa word for "power," the first word that Nelson Mandela uttered to his followers after his release from prison in South Africa four years earlier--in unison. It sounded like "Amen," only more musical. The word conveyed a sense of purpose, the purpose that Dr. Mercy advertised in his literature for the Amandla workshops: "To help African American males resolve their conflicts, banish their bad habits, redeem their relationships, reclaim their unique African American identity, and gain a new sense of personal power. Black men empowering black men. That is the essence of Amandla."

Once the pledge was over, the men took their seats and Dr. Emmett Mercy posed his question. Then he posed it again and looked closely at his small audience, silently taking the measure of each participant:

There was Byron Jenks, evidently known to one and all as "Tiny," though, at five foot six, he didn't strike Dr. Mercy as being all that short. This was Tiny's second Amandla workshop and he stared raptly at Dr. Mercy, giving the group leader the absolute concentration he craved.

Sitting to the right of Tiny Jenks was Chester Beer; solid, stolid Chester, a deacon at Dr. Mercy's church in Hallisbury, New York. Chester Beer, wise-eyed and balding, a sixtyish widower whose ample girth only enhanced his natural air of gravitas, had attended all five of the previous Amandla workshops but had hardly said a word in any of them. Sometimes Dr. Mercy thought Chester came to the meetings just for the company.

To the right of Chester was the man who Dr. Mercy knew instinctively would be tonight's problem participant: Walker Du Pree, a light-skinned brother with reddish-brown dreadlocks and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Everything about Walker, from the way he sat slumped in his folding chair--black-jeaned legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles--to the quizzical expression on his face--eyebrows arched, mouth smirking slightly--radiated insolence. Dr. Mercy would have to be on his guard with this character.

Next to Walker was Jojo Harrison, another first-timer, a middle-aged brother with a shaved head and glasses so heavily tinted that they were almost shades. He sat with his arms crossed in the leather jacket he had inexplicably decided to wear on this hot, late-summer night and that he declined to remove even though there was no air-conditioning in the church basement. His neutral expression seemed to be a scowl. Jojo would be a tough customer, though probably less tricky than Walker.

Finally, there was Hal Hardaway. The brother was casually GQ in his linen suit and silk tie, a sleek briefcase propped beside his folding chair. Hal held his hands, palms pressed tightly together, as if in prayer, to his lips, middle fingertips touching his nose. There was a look of agitation on his face that Dr. Mercy did not know how to interpret. As far as Dr. Mercy was concerned, Hal was tonight's guest of honor. Tiny Jenks had phoned Emmett the night before to say that he was bringing a friend, "a thirty-year-old senior vice president at Burnish Enterprises," to the Amandla workshop. "The brother's in a personal crisis," Tiny had said. Dr. Emmett Mercy was prepared to help. He also knew that a connection at Burnish Enterprises--one of the most successful black-owned businesses in America--could be, well, advantageous to his cause.

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Excerpted from Close to the Bone: A Novel by Jake Lamar
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