In his last novel, 2021’s Harlem Shuffle, Colson Whitehead introduced us to Ray Carney, a vibrant creation of fierce contradictions. A family man and respectable businessman, he’s constantly drawn back into the nefarious legacy of his own father’s villainy. As a furniture salesman and occasional receiver of stolen goods, his dual occupations reflect these polarities. His legitimate enterprise is one of modish interiors and the promise of comfort; his crooked side hustle plays out in the harsh exterior and threat of the street. And he’s not just holding it together in his own being – he’s somehow making sense of the chaotic environment of 1960s New York. “He was a wall between the criminal world and the straight world,” it is stated early on, “necessary, bearing the load.”
This compelling juxtaposition intensifies as we move into the 1970s with Whitehead’s follow-up, Crook Manifesto. Carney has been going straight: “four years of honest and rewarding work in home furnishings”, as the period style moves from sedate mid-century modern into the mad extremes of that most garish of decades. The city beyond is spiralling into an apocalyptic decline, nearing bankruptcy with staggering levels of crime, corruption and political violence. But it’s a simple act of parental generosity that gets him into real trouble once more.
