Charles Blakey is a young black man whose life is slowly crumbling. His parents are dead, he can't find a job, he drinks too much, and his friends have begun to desert him. Worst of all, he's fallen behind on the mortgage payments for the beautiful home that's belonged to his family for generations. When a stranger - a white man - offers him $50,000 in cash to rent out his basement for the summer, Charles needs the money too badly to say no. He knows that the stranger must want something more than a basement view. Sure enough, he has a very particular - and bizarre - set of requirements, and Charles tries to satisfy him without getting lured into the strangeness. But he sees an opportunity to understand the secrets of the white world, and his summer with a man in his basement turns into a dark game of power and manipulation.
Even in his genre fiction, which includes mysteries (the Easy Rawlins, Fearless Jones and Socrates Fortlaw series) and SF (Blue Light, etc.), Mosley has not been content simply to spin an engrossing action story but has sought to explore larger themes as well. In this stand-alone literary tale, themes are in the forefront as Mosley abandons action in favor of a volatile, sometimes unspoken dialogue between Charles Blakey and Anniston Bennet. Blakey, descended from a line of free blacks reaching back into 17th-century America, lives alone in the big family house in Sag Harbor. Bennet is a mysterious white man who approaches Blakey with a strange proposition-to be locked up in Blakey's basement-that Blakey comes to accept only reluctantly and with reservations. The magnitude of Bennet's wealth, power and influence becomes apparent gradually, and his quest for punishment and, perhaps, redemption, proves unsettling-to the reader as well as to Blakey, who finds himself trying to understand Bennet as well as trying to recast his own relatively purposeless life. The shifting power relationship between Bennet and Blakey works nicely, and it is fitting that Blakey's thoughts find expression more in physicality than in contemplation; his involvements with earthy, sensual Bethany and racially proud, sophisticated and educated Narciss reflect differing possibilities. The novel, written in adorned prose that allows the ideas to breathe, will hold readers rapt; it is Mosley's most philosophical novel to date, as he explores guilt, punishment, responsibility and redemption as individual and as social constructs. While it will be difficult for this novel to achieve the kind of audience Mosley's genre fiction does, the author again demonstrates his superior ability to tackle virtually any prose form, and he is to be applauded for creating a rarity, an engaging novel of ideas. (Jan.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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1 . Easy read.
Posted September 03, 2010 by J. Williams , Grand PrairieThe story flowed very well. I could not stop reading.
Little, Brown and Company
February 01, 2005
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Excerpt from The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley
"Mr. Blakey?" the small white man asked.
I had answered the door expecting big Clarance Mayhew and his cousin Ricky. The three of us had a standing date to play cards on Thursday nights. I was surprised even to hear the doorbell because it was too early for my friends to have made it home from work and neither one of them would have rung the bell anyway. We'd been friends since childhood, since my grandparents owned the house.
"My house is your house," I always said to Clarance and Ricky. I never locked the door because we lived in a secluded colored neighborhood way back from the highway. Everybody knows everybody in my neighborhood, so strangers don't go unnoticed. If somebody stole something from me, I'd have known who it was, what kind of car he drove, and the numbers on his license plate before he was halfway to Southampton.
"Yes," I said to the small, bald-headed white man in the dark-green suit. "I'm Blakey."
"You have a stand-up basement, Mr. Blakey," the white man told me.
"Teddy Odett down at Odett Realty said that you had a basement where a man could stand fully erect, one that has electricity and running water."
"This house isn't for sale, mister."
"Bennet. Anniston Bennet. I'm from Greenwich, Connecticut."
"Well this house isn't for sale, Mr. Bennet." I thought the small man would hunch his shoulders, or maybe give me a mean frown if he was used to getting his way. Either way I expected him to leave.
"Oh yes," he said instead. "I know that. Your family has owned this beautiful home for seven generations or more. Mr. Odett told me that. I know it isn't for sale. I'm interested in renting."
"Renting? Like an apartment?"
The man made a face that might have been a smile, or an apology. He let his head loll over his right shoulder and blinked while showing his teeth for a moment.
"Well, not exactly," he said. "I mean yes but not in the conventional way."
His body moved restlessly but his feet stayed planted as if he were a child who was just learning how to speak to adults.
"Well it's not for rent. It's just an old basement. More spiders down there than dust and there's plenty'a dust."
Mr. Bennet's discomfort increased with my refusal. His small hands clenched as if he were holding on to a railing against high winds.
I didn't care. That white man was a fool. We didn't take in white boarders in my part of the Sag Harbor. I was trying to understand why the real-estate agent Teddy Odett would even refer a white man to my neighborhood.
"I want to rent your basement for a couple of months this summer, Mr. Blakey."
"I just told you --"
"I can make it very much worth your while."