The Trees

Equal parts scathing humour and eviscerating horror, this feels ripe for a Jordan Peele adaptation. I could happily continue reading as Everett skewers our current cavalcade of racists from the backwoods hillbillies who were “living proof that inbreeding does not lead to extinction” to the president of the United States stuck and cowering under the Resolute desk in the Oval Office forgetting his own wife's first name.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. We open on Money Mississippi with a dead and castrated white boy slumped beside a black man in a suit holding his severed testicles in his hands. It's a police procedural as two Black detectives try and unravel the mystery as the dead Black man mysteriously appears at the scene of another murder.

Everett is working on so many levels here from the broad to the subtle and meta textual. We have the vaguely voodoo Mama Z who has faithfully chronically every lynching in the United States since 1913 - all 7,006 of them - wryly noting to the published professor Damon Thruff that he has somehow constructing three hundred and seven pages on racial violence “without an ounce of outrage.” The Trees is about 307 pages from the Distinguished professor Percival Everett and it feels far from academic with the outrage hidden under a veneer of entertainment.