Jenkins, in the guise of his complicated protagonist Denzel Davis, tells readers that his experience growing up in 1990s Philadelphia was one of “dysfunction, inserting the burdens and curses of my ancestors.” Denzel is constantly beset by circumstances beyond his control; as the author explains, “My grandmother murdered my great-grandmother; my father drowned himself in alcohol; my other grandmother was an uneducated, helpless invalid rooted in rigid traditions.” It’s a brutally frank depiction, powerfully conveying the unholy legacy of institutionalized racism in the United States and its impact on the oppressed. Denzel is not some innocent figure of exemplary nature callously tossed into the gnashing jaws of outrageous fortune to fend for himself—he is actually an extremely flawed character whom many may well argue embraces criminality all too easily, and without much remorse. He views continuing to engage in petty schemes to defraud people (with bogus checks and credit card scams) as simply a necessary course of action given his precarious situation and financial straits. In Jenkins’ stark and briskly paced narrative, readers come to understand that Denzel, for all his brashness and toughness, suffers from profound mental health issues. The work functions as a deft commentary on the way American society dismissively judges those it actively seeks to dehumanize. “Brown evokes images of earth and soil, drawing parallels to poverty and neglect,” the author writes. “It is a color that often goes unnoticed, as dull and repetitive as a song heard too many times. Yet, within this hue lies an unrecognized resilience and strength.” Denzel may not be a saint as he valiantly strives to earn a degree and make it as an artist, but, in the end, his fitful journey registers as heroic.
