Free Burning

“Bubbling gratitude and easy mercy are the African-American man’s great weakness, you know,” explains a black attorney halfway through Free Burning. Local writer Bayo Ojikutu’s second novel is full of articulate, punchy dialogue like this, and while that’s a talent, the slick pace dodges any hint of peachiness (after reading this particular scene, the wise words dissipate as we’re rammed into a new high-stakes conflict). And maybe that’s why this study of urban race relations succeeds where, say, the movie Crash’s didn’t: One develops, the other spews didactic speeches; one shows, the other tells.

Set in Chicago’s South Shore neighborhood, where Ojikutu grew up, the story centers on Tommie Simms. Recently let go from his topflight insurance firm, he mopes and unenthusiastically applies for jobs for which he’s overqualified. Broke (or is it bored?), he starts dealing pot for an old friend to provide for his family. Interestingly, he doesn’t really fit in either world: Professionals are too boring (or too phony), and he’s too levelheaded for what a life of crime entails. The kicker is that no matter which route he chooses, he’s a hustler of some sort.

Ojikutu’s at his most ambitious during a few hauntingly dreamy sequences (perhaps there should’ve been one or two more of these and a little less chitchat), but books this addicting and important are rare. And it’s mighty refreshing to read someone who has such a deep understanding of Chicago’s nuances (nervous U. of C. students exiting the Red Line to get to Hyde Park; drunken, pretty people crowding Greektown’s diners; sullen faces in a smoky South Side bar). In a weird way, it’s the most foreboding love letter the city’s ever received.—Tim Lowery