Big Machine

By Victor LaValle
Spiegel & Grau, $25.00, 370 pages

Victor LaValle’s second novel, Big Machine, opens with Ricky Rice, a bus terminal Janitor in Utica, New York trying to escape the prying eyes of his boss long enough to read a letter addressed to him with no return address. The cryptic message inside simply says, “You made a promise in Cedar Rapids in 2002. Time to honor it.”

A former heroin addict (three years clean, yet he still keeps a small stash and syringe handy) who’s obviously had run-ins with the law, Ricky seems an unlikely but oddly reliable narrator. He’s the sort that’s likely run out of second chances, but attached to the note is a one-way bus ticket to Vermont. So he decides to take a leap of faith while at the same time questioning his decision: “What kind of black man accepts an unsigned invitation to the whitest state there is?”

What does salvation look like? For Ricky it‘s a cabin in the woods with six other misfits (addicts, criminals, prostitutes) and a “job” at the Washburn Library as an Unlikely Scholar searching through daily newspapers for signs of paranormal activity. Ricky eventually settles into a routine, but his first thought is, “Seven black people in the Northeast Kingdom. Sounds like the start of a gruesome old folktale.” And in a way, it is, as LaValle weaves a tale that could be (in fact might be) happening right now in a not too distant suburb.

Nine months later, Ricky, now accustomed to the routine of work and the camaraderie of the other members, is ordered to fly to California and assassinate a “rogue” Scholar, Clay Solomon, who is assembling a task force of homeless people and planting bombs in the Bay Area. This is where the real adventure starts and the big questions about faith and redemption and humanity are posed.

On almost every page LaValle reveals some insight: “A mother’s reward for running away is hate, but a father’s is adoration.” Interspersed with these are nuggets of humor: “The two of us [in a photo] on our living room couch. Daphne’s five, and I’m only six months old and totally naked. I look like a big old Junior Mint in her arms.” But LaValle is at his best when he offers up moments of insightful humor: “Heroin…robs you of your empathy. And that’s a problem, because empathy is what separates human beings from teenage boys.”

Written with depth and wit and compassion, the book includes engaging characters that are both real and absurd, and the situations they find themselves in seem both unlikely and eerily possible. Big Machine is a wild, engaging, and thought-provoking read.

Reviewed by Bruce Genaro