What do you think?
Rate this book
416 pages, Hardcover
Published May 13, 2025
They came because they had not believed witches in league with the Devil could die. They came because she was their pastor's mother. They came because she was one of the last living among them to have known slavery.Rickey Fayne is a writer with a whole boatload of potential. I say that having finished his debut novel and awarding it the most solid 3.5 stars I've encountered in a long time. You see, this text regularly ran the gamut from 2.5 to 5 stars and back then, settling in the most strongly at the beginning and end and running risk of undifferentiated tepidness when the names repeated over too many generations. I say that as someone with no head for no names, however, to the point that I actually tend to avoid the multigenerational tales (although the flippant attitude many authors have to researching their 'epic historical tale' doesn't help). The fact, then, that I muscled through for that prose and those scenes says something about how well Fayne pulled his way through the river of his story.
The considered and effortless movement of her fingers seems, to Porter at least, uniquely capable of unthreading reality.'Ambitious' would have to be the word for this text, and not the most consistently fulfilled. Given the market these days, though, I don't blame the author for going the sprawlingly supernatural seven + one generations, as I have my doubts as to whether I myself would've committed to this had the devil not promised to go down south and take on Christianity with all its soldiers. Still, at bottom, I would've preferred an entire novel devoted to either the first three generations or the last two, as while it certainly would've made it easier on my poor myopically social brain, it would've given Fayne more room to develop his particular breed of passionate humanity without having to reinvent the wheel every 30-50 pages with new technology here, new social justice movements there. In the end, though, that closing sequence was a marvel, enough to send me onwards on the right side of the 3.5.
If I wanted her to live, they said, I would have to carry her, so I carried her. I carry her still.In terms of comparisons, I've seen Morrison bandied about more than a few times. To entertain the thought a moment, I recognize in Fayne a similar confidence in invoking the unknown without the slightest hint of gimmick and everything and then some to do with grace. It's something I didn't realize I needed until I was in the (queer) thick of it, so if you find yourself put off by that unctuous family tree at the beginning, don't be. Here's a rare tale that attempts to do something with writing in the year of our lord 2025 that doesn't seek to lop off its feet to satisfy its face, and I'm eager to see where Fayne takes us next.
"Is this heaven?" he asks, smiling like back when we first met.
"It can be," I tell him.