John Woman

The son of an erudite self-taught historian who works as a ticket-taker, Cornelius Jones is forced to flee New York following a sudden tragedy. He reinvents himself as Professor John Woman, a radical historian looking to shake up the establishment at an Arizona university. If his hostile colleagues or his affair with a student don’t prove to be his undoing, his long-hidden past just might.

Wanting to cast off the restrictive label of genre is commendable, but some writers should know their strengths. Walter Mosley is a prime example. His socially conscious detective novels — the mid-century exploits of self-made Los Angeles P.I. Easy Rawlins or the more contemporary tales of redeemed former fixer Leonid McGill — are well-crafted with memorable characters, sharp dialogue, and a keen sense of time and place. On the other hand, his science fiction novels tend to be pompous, hopelessly abstract, and ponderously slow while his erotic thrillers are cringeworthy. John Woman, unfortunately, represents a mix of the worst of all of the above. There is a murder, a political conspiracy, plenty of bloviating, and awkward sex, none of which coheres into an enjoyable whole.

The problem starts with the protagonist. John/Cornelius is deeply flawed, which wouldn’t be a problem if the narrative was not constantly trying to ennoble him. The history professor commits a crime about which we are told that he feels guilty, yet his only real regret seems to be that his father is no longer around. He commits numerous ethical breaches, including sleeping with a student. His view of history as belonging to everyone, including/especially the common man is framed as something bold and revolutionary even though Howard Zinn published A People’s History of the United States more than three decades ago. Every single female character save for his mother seems to be attracted to him. Most glaringly, those who oppose him are presented as insecure (the student’s suspicious boyfriend) or jealous (skeptical fellow professors) and given no redemptive traits. Mosley has spoken about the need for more black male heroes, but sadly, he has not realized that this book’s lead character is decidedly not one.

While the book’s problems might begin with John, they do not end there. A statutory rape is glossed over, long-disappeared characters randomly reemerge, and the Platinum Path, an improbable and hokey Illuminati imitator watches over everything, secretly grooming John for a leadership role. All of this contributes to the sense that Mosley had about five novels he wanted to write, and, not being able to decide among them, decided to merge them into one.

Were John Woman a debut from a nascent writer or the latest putrid offering of a talentless hack, it would be easily forgettable. But Mosley, who has shown himself to be capable of doing much better work, has left an impression for all the wrong reasons. Here’s hoping his next book is, if not a return to form, at least a return to lucidity.