Writer Duvay Knox demonstrates how great storytelling can both honor and explode literary tradition in his debut novel The Soul Collector (Creative Onion Press) and in his latest, The Pussy Detective (Clash Books). Both incorporate fully and to the bone, the language of street vernacular and the power of the image, with laser-sharp poetic precision. Magical realism is woven seamlessly into everyday life in modern “Amerikkka” through Knox’s trademark style, minimalist and authentic, which makes make both of these innovative works of fiction fast-paced, satisfying reads.
In The Soul Collector: As Told by that Nigga Death, Death (formerly known as Sippian when he was a living human), moves through hell, establishing himself as a player in those infernal corporate offices that echo with the atmosphere of an abandoned downtown office building. His mentor, Mr. Otis, manifests as a middle-aged streetwise guy with a sharp wit and the uncanny ability to produce a Kool cigarette or a frosty mug of beer out of thin air. Even with Death’s keen awareness and ability to read others, including how they might react when given their two-week final notice, he’s philosophical and questioning. When Mr. Otis tells him, “…We gone upgrade you some mo to sumpen you mite not be ready for. So we gotta make sho you ready for it,” Death replies, “Im ready for anything. Cuz that last case put sumpen on mah mind and made me see visions of this game I aint know about.”
Far from an unfeeling entity, cold as the blade he figuratively wields, Death possesses sufficient memory of his own earthly existence to feel pity, an attribute that he seeks not to lose, but manage. His capacity for hope, and concern for the greater good, occasionally give this ace reaper pause, like a hit-man burdened with a conscience.
The title character of The Pussy Detective, Reverend Daddy Hoodoo, emerges from the classic detective mold then smashes it to bits, redefining the phrase “private dick” on a natural, supernatural and cosmic level. The Pussy Detective blends the cinematic antecedents of 1970’s detective shows and the best of blaxploitation together with folkloric tradition and respect for the limits of magic into a surreal twenty-first century mystery. Reverend Daddy Hoodoo’s specialty is helping women find their lost pussies, or more accurately, the lost essence of their pussy, which, in the case of his newest client Abyssinia, seems to include a loss of self and direction as well.
Along with his partner (in more ways than one), Madame X, the Reverend assesses the deepest needs of his clients, guiding them through intricate rituals not for his own fulfillment, but to help them reclaim the part of themselves that was lost, often through contact with those who would take them for granted or exploit them. Rev. Daddy seeks to restore, with much preparation and soul-searching involved. He’s an old-school detective for the New Age, as comfortable cruising over to “go see Sonja’s fine, troublesome ass about …customized GANJA,” as he is navigating the frontiers of consciousness. He’s astutely observant, equipped with a well-developed bullshit detector: ear to the ground, back against the wall, and does not suffer fools.
Knox’s innovative use of language has an addictive effect, and both The Soul Collector and The Pussy Detective have gripping plots, and sharply drawn characters. These works are hip in the OG sense of the word, and to engage with the first-person narration in each book is to be taken on an extraordinary journey with a protagonist in possession of his own superpower. So, get “Suited and Booted,” as Reverend Daddy Hoodoo would say, and prepare for a hell of a ride!