A few weeks ago, I finished listening to the audiobook version of The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey, by Walter Mosley. This novel promised to deliver everything I look for in a book, starting with a premise that is both inventive and dark: an elderly man, by means of a clandestinely administered drug, is given a temporary reprieve from dementia in order to bring to justice the person responsible for the murder of his beloved nephew. Ptolemy is an extremely sypathetic character; he has lived a hard but noble life and the decency of his character continues to radiate through the dense fog of his mental impairment. Mosley's depiction of Ptolemy's inner life, refracted through the lense of a damaged brain, is simulataneously powerful and heartbreaking. The setting, a poor black neighborhood in which decent people struggle with the indignities of sharing their streets with gangsters, hoodlums and addicts, is vividly drawn and there is precious little, if anything, to celebrate in this particular community. In other words, the tone of this book is about as dark as anything out there and, as I know I've already mentioned, I like dark. An added bonus was that, in the audiobook version, narrator Dominic Hoffman does an absolutely brilliant job of bringing Ptolemy to life.
So what was it about this book that made it, for me at least, only a pop fly, albeit one that went all the way to the back fence? As much as I wanted to buy into the existence of a mysterious drug with restorative powers, I found this particular strand of the story line less convincing than was needed in order for me to suspend my disbelief. Also, although a main element of the story is Ptolemy's quest to discover the true facts of his nephew's murder, the identity of the murderer is pretty tranparent to the reader early on in the narrative; the bigger question is actually whether Ptolemy will live long enough and be lucid long enough to solve the mystery for himself. Although the book presents itself as a crime novel, it didn't quite feel like one.
My final observations about this book have to do with the differing expectatons that men and women bring with them to the experience of reading any particular book. Mosley's male sensibility came across to me especially strong in his depiction of Robyn, a seventeen year old girl of great intelligence and extraordinary beauty, who not only befriends Ptolemy, but who also brings a measure of grace and dignity to this tired and beaten old man. The level of perfection ascribed to Robyn by Mosley made her, at least to this female reader, more of a male fantasy figure than a real person. Too much of a point was made about her physical beauty for me to feel really comfortable with her - okay, constantly being reminded of how wonderful she was started to get on my nerves. I'd be curious to know if other female readers felt this same way about Robyn or if it's just me.
Also, thank you to everyone who offered suggestions that will add some much needed humor to my "books to read" list. It may take me a while to get to them (the reading for the two book groups I'm in comes first), but I will be reporting back eventually.
