It might even require a different America.Blacktop Wasteland has generated a lot of interest over the preceding months with both veteran and new writers queuing up to sing its praises on social media.

Such an escape would require different skills. It’s not “Django Unchained,” and thank God, because who would read that? Beauregard can’t badass his way out of the traps of racism, poverty and absentee parenting. But this grim tale finds its saving grace in its refusal to worship its hero.

Because the more Beauregard exercises his brutal skill, the deeper he sinks into the quicksand of his father’s fate.Ĭosby delivers heavy doses of imaginative action and highway high jinks in lieu of any real mystery. … There was truth in that idea and sadness too.” Sadness indeed. “He would never feel more alive, more present. “Violence is a Montage family tradition,” he muses.

This is the legacy bequeathed to him by his father, Anthony “Ant” Montage, another ace wheelman who skipped town when Beauregard was 13. Beauregard does the heavy lifting, but it’s Ronnie who gets Cosby’s best punch lines.Īs Beauregard backslides into Ronnie’s world, he realizes that he feels more at home driving fast and kicking ass than he ever did in the straight life. The good news (for us, at least) is that Beauregard’s running mate for that job is Ronnie “Rock and Roll” Sessions, the eel-slick schemer, who has a chronological series of Elvis portraits tattooed from shoulder to hand. His embittered mother faces eviction from the nursing home. But his auto shop is deep in the red, and one son needs braces. At the onset, Beauregard has given up crime, walking the line to support his wife and two sons. The milieu is fresh the setup, more familiar. Cosby’s “Blacktop Wasteland,” a gritty, thrilling reminder that small-town America has an underbelly, too. What about a Black mechanic from the sticks, haunted by the ghost of his missing father? Enter Beauregard “Bug” Montage, the protagonist of S. To freshen up the vibe, some inventive authors have switched the gender of our brooding dicks, troubled them with Tourette’s, launched them out to space. It’s Chinatown.” You know how these things go. But though he (and it usually still is a “he”) will win the battle, the world will remain a smoky, sinister and unfair war. The world of noir is well mapped, and we return to its tropes for the comforting knowledge that the little guy will somehow use his wits to beat the long odds against the Man. Agents, the New York City Investigative Journalists, the Detroit Coroners. The other teams in the league? Perhaps the Miami D.E.A. Philip Marlowe at quarterback, Easy Rawlins at strong safety, and a fierce defensive line of framed shamuses. Thumb through the crime fiction canon, round up all the private detectives who have prowled the streets of Los Angeles - you could field a football squad.

Blacktop wasteland