The truth of the matter is that – at that point in my life – I just simply did not have “the time nor the inclination” (as Hitchcock would say) to review anyone else’s book. I was tired, exhausted, and not even close to the end of an extensive book tour of which I grew resentful of for having committed myself to such inane commitments of pedantic lectures, random signings, and last minute meetings – but not enough of the necessary psychedelic therapy of what rapper Notorious B.I.G. once called “party and bullshit and party and bullshit….” (These moments were always the best part of the book tour.) But the bottom line was that I was tired and ready to head back to Arizona for rest and relaxation.
The plan had been to complete the book tour, head west, shut down Push Nevahda Review. I’d also planned to shut down my Facebook spot, start ghost-writing Mrs. Rousseau’s memoir (for which I’d already accepted a deposit…so I was stuck with it….no turning back); revise my Black Bottom play, arrange images for my new history book, organize the life of Denicio Barbier, focus on my Master’s thesis, and read Katherine Mansfield. 2010 was going to be a busy year for me, and I could not afford to disrupt my arduous schedule with the fatuous banality of book-reviewing. But I love reviewing books….
On February 6th I met Detroit author Monica Marie Jones at the Macomb Book Fair and Writers’ Conference where she handed me a copy of her 3rd novel, Floss. I’d anticipated reviewing the novel ever since our John Oakwood interview, and now that she has become one of the hottest, most promising authors in Detroit I jumped at the chance to review it knowing full well that I hadn’t “the time nor the inclination” to do such tedious work. “But this is Monica Marie Jones!” I rationalized in my mind as she stood before me with the grace of a true celebrity and the poise of a bona fide author. I held on to her book with distinct admiration and sincere fierté, listening intently to the modestly dressed writer speak eloquently on matters concerning literature and her sleek-cover novel, Floss, before sashaying away towards a distant book seminar located in a far reach corner of the northwest wing of the busy Mount Clemens Public Library. I tucked away the book into a box of other books and placed it in the trunk of my car.
(Pedantic lectures ….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to pedantic lectures.
(Random signings….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to random signings.
(Last minute meetings….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to last minute meetings.
(Party and bullshit and party and bullshit….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to party and bullshit and party and bullshit….
“Hey Push! What’s good with you, baby!”
“I’m good…bout ta get my head straight.”
“True dat. Look, I was checking out those new pics you posted on Facebook when you was at the Macomb Book Fair lass month and wa wa wa wa wa wa wa…..”
Shit! Monica’s book review! Damn!
“….wa wa wa wa wa…and then when I had tried to come thoo to support choo’an shit dis nigga gone tell me that he couldn’t get me in fa uh haircut til 5 o’clock, so I just chilled and figured I’d catch you at anutha book signing.”
“It’s all good.” I left Charlie Brown and headed towards the back of the bar to look for Versandra, Kimle, and LF.
(Random signings….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to random signings.
(Last minute meetings….)
Floss is still rumbling around in a box in the trunk of my rented Silver 2010 Dodge Charger. Zoom, zoom to last minute meetings.
(Party and bullshit and party and bullshit….)
March 28, while leaving a book lecture, loading unsold books into the back of my car, I spot Monica’s book again. “Shit! Damn! I’m gonna put this up in the front seat, that way if I see it I’ll know to take it back to the Troy Westin and start reading it. I must get this book reviewed and put behind me.” I placed the book on my passenger seat and zoomed on to Mr. Mikes for a lil “party and bullshit and party and bullshit.”
Drink
Dance
Mingle
Talk shit
Drive
Hotel
Sleep
Sunrise. Yawn. March 29th. Troy Westin Hotel. Click. Channel 2…4…5. “Let me check the weather.” “We’re gonna have a
rather cold day today, folks, with wind-gusts at 18 miles-per-hour and temperatures in the low-forties,” exclaimed the weatherman. “I need a new sweater,” I thought.” I’d been looking for a reason to ride up to Tanger Mall to do a little shopping at Polo, Liz Claiborne, Donna Karan, and perhaps cop a blouse from Anne Klein for my sister (maybe that would get her to start speaking to me again). That excursion was followed by more banal pursuits of pedantic lectures, random signings, last minute meetings…and, as a matter of course, “party and bullshit and party and bullshit.”
The next day I stopped by the mall to pick up a Girbaud jean outfit I’d bought at Northland two days before but left for tailoring. Afterwards I met Mrs. Rousseau at the David Whitney mansion for lunch and small talk about my vision for the plot of her memoir I was contracted to ghost-write. From there I went on to Fairlane Mall to search for the Kenneth Cole boots I’d dreamed of the night before as the blizzard continued moving in from the Southeast. “I need new boots. And, while I’m at it, I may as well get that $230 sweater from Banana Republic and a new pair of white jeans from Guess for my trip to San Diego,” I thought to myself, “I need to look good. I needed to look my best at all times.”
Eight more days had passed before I found Monica’s novel now under the front driver’s seat of my car. “FUCK! I gotta get this book read and reviewed!” Think, quick, think, quick, think: “Put it in my briefcase and I won’t forget!” Since I’d recently booked a flight to Arizona for a two-week hiatus, I’d planned to take Floss with me and read it on the plane, finish it in Mesa, and get the review to Urban Book Source by the time I returned to Detroit in another two weeks. Coolbeans, sounds like a plan.
I like to fly out of Gerald Ford Airport because it is small, efficient, easy-going, and user-friendly. I arrived at the airport two hours early, returned the car rental, and headed to the terminal to await my departure time of 8:25pm, Allegiant Air, Flight 665, seat 29D. I stopped at StarBucks along the way, then the vending machine for snacks, then on to find a quiet spot to relax and munch and reflect. I sat down, opened my bag !*KABLAM*! THERE IT WAS!!
“It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing…for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.”
It was Monica’s book…Floss…still unread and un-reviewed. I sat dazed and paralyzed with tremendous feelings of guilt and sorrow…haunted and tormented…just like that poor sap in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart. And, like Poe, I slipped into a temporary state of insanity…fever…mad delusions – the odious voice of Monica Marie Jones telling me to review her book at once…or else reap punishment. I was overcome with grief and regret.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’m going to ask that you keep your seatbelts fastened just a little bit longer as we may experience some turbulence. We’re at 31,000 feet right now and we may move to 33,000 feet. We are 1,282 miles from Mesa and I’ll keep you posted on the weather conditions and our earliest time of arrival at Gateway/Mesa Airport.”
By the time the plane landed at Gateway Airport in Mesa, AZ, I was both finished with the novel and disappointed in my attitude and treatment of the novel. I guess I’d gotten so busy, caught up in my sophisticated literary pursuits of fast living, Kenneth Cole boots, Ralph Lauren underwear, Oscar De La Renta sweaters, Calvin Klein socks, Ferragamo loafers, Polo Rugby ties, Burberry cologne, Dolce & Gabbana lotion, lobster bisque and Dover Sole, that I totally forgot about Monica’s book, and, in the process, I almost overlooked a fabulous novel.
Simply put, I was too busy flossing.
So, now that I’ve learned my lesson, recollected my focus, got my head straight, and returned the Kenneth Cole boots, let me get to the business of settling my Monica affair:
Floss is a stunning narrative of sophisticated living and diamond ambitions – all served up in a feisty cocktail of drama deluxe and ghetto flair. Monica’s theatrical tale-telling spins hard and fast on a treacherous Dionysus to produce a cold-blooded lesson of what happens when we choose money over morals.
But before Floss lays bear the drama, Monica introduces us to a fashionable collection of perpetrating brothas and haute couture sistas. Usual suspects like Soloman, Abel, and Jabez do little to provide us with new angle on our already pretentious perspectives on African American men, so I was not really impressed with this collected cache of tired black male images. So what if we can relate to and/or know of these types of brothas! That is precisely why I longed for something fresh and creative.
On the other hand, Dionysus is the bitch we love to hate, we love to envy. She’s a classic beauty, sophisticated, high-end, glamorous, and always ‘bout her paper. Men want her, women envy her, and everyone is her footstool – especially her average and common cousin, Torah. And it is on this melodic note that the violinist plays her last concerto. Turns out that Torah gets her poetic justice when…WAIT! I wouldn’t dare rat out the plot of the novel’s (unsuspecting) ending, but I will certainly recommend you read it find out for yourself. It’s worth it!
4/5
what about the kennedys 
Push you are crazy as hell but your are truthful and an excellent writer. Peace
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I absolutely LOVE your writing style. Thank you so much for finding the time for this review 😉
MMJ
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