Walter Mosley has two idiosyncratic mystery series set in New York City: Leonid McGill and King Oliver.
I’ve written before about my fondness for the McGill series. They’re not significantly different from the King Oliver books but I like how Leonid is a former crime fixer who is trying to do right in a neo-surrealist Manhattan. Oliver’s story is interesting but I don’t find the character as compelling.
That changed a bit with this one. Amidst several plots, King has to try and find his long-lost father so his ailing grandmother can see her son before she dies. Of course, all is not as it seems and chaos ensues. Well…as much as chaos can really ensue in a Mosely novel, which is to say amidst the crimes, there’s a heavy dose of existentialism. But I think because Oliver had an entertaining quest that took me through his back story a little more, I appreciated it in a way I haven’t before with the books in this series.
The overarching question of the Oliver books is: Are we ever truly free? Oliver is asked this by an ex-con in a certain way when they are comparing prison experiences. Oliver’s own haunts him as I’m sure most do and freedom seems to be the motif of all the characters in this story, whether they are rich and/or loved. What is freedom in a world of racism? A world of income inequality? These books don’t provide answers but they dig deep into the questions, which is what makes Mosley such a special, talented writer.