Crook Manifesto is the follow up to Colson Whitehead’s splendid Harlem Shuffle, but the 1960s are now in the Wayback Machine. This is New York City in the 1970s. Harlem is still Harlem, but the rest of the city is following its faltering lead. ”You knew the city was going to hell if the Upper East Side was starting to look like crap, too.” As always, the city is in transition. In one neighborhood it’s “Jews and Italians out, blacks in” and in another it’s the Spanish replacing the Germans and Irish.
Fortunately, Ray Carney is still around, but he has transitioned too. He’s focused on his Harlem furniture business. He no longer fences jewelry. But “crooked stays crooked,” and it’s not long before Carney returns to his side hustle. ”What else was an ongoing criminal enterprise complicated by periodic violence for, but to make your wife happy?”
The story is divided into three loosely-connected parts. The first one opens in 1971. Carney has promised his teenage daughter tickets to the sold-out Jackson 5 show. But Carney knows a guy – a crooked white cop – who supposedly has tickets and will give them to Carney if he helps the cop run some “errands,” a euphemism for robbing everyone the cop can think of, because he’s being investigated for corruption and he’s about to leave town.
Part 2 takes place in 1973. Carney is an investor in a Blaxploitation film wonderfully called Nefertiti T.N.T. There’s a problem. The female lead has disappeared. ”They were making a movie about dirty Harlem and then the real thing came up and bit them in the ass.” To the reader’s delight, this brings Pepper back. Pepper is Carney’s mentor, a father figure who (sometimes) protects Carney from himself and other criminals. Pepper knows what he’s doing, and he’s hired to find the actress.
In Part 3, it’s 1976. The bicentennial is being celebrated with the crass commercialism New York City excels at. Harlem’s criminal gangs have transitioned in the intervening five years as well. Carney and Pepper have inadvertently contributed to some of those changes. When a flippant remark from an old rival pisses Carney off, he lights a match causing a conflagration that burns what’s left of old Harlem to the ground.
Carney is immensely likeable and relatable. He’s a family man. Sure, he’s also a part-time criminal, but he lives by a code. ”A man has a hierarchy of crime, of what is morally acceptable and what is not, a crook manifesto, and those who subscribe to lesser codes are cockroaches.” He’s the thread that successfully pulls the novel’s three parts together, but let’s be clear: The novel’s glue is New York City, and it steals every scene.
Gladiola Overdrive, Chief Editor
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 