Black Buck an irresistible comic novel

Black Buck

Mateo Askaripour

HMH

A month ago, I'd never heard of Mateo Askaripour. Today I would buy anything from him.

This debut author polished his patter as director of sales at a tech startup. Now he's produced a sly and sweet comic novel about racism in corporate America.

In a tradition stretching back to Ben Franklin, Askaripour positions this Bildungsroman as a self-help manual. Writing from his penthouse overlooking Central Park, Darren wants to give other Black people the tools they need to fulfil their dreams. The introduction is as American as Dale Carnegie, and the story is periodically interrupted by suggested habits of highly effective people that would make Stephen Covey proud: “Reader: Watch closely and take notes. Sales isn't about talent, it's about overcoming obstacles, beginning with yourself.”

But when the story begins, Darren is just a 22-year-old dude living with his mom in Brooklyn. Despite graduating as valedictorian of his high school, he never went to college and has been working the last four years at a Park Avenue Starbucks. One day he confronts a businessman who always orders a Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew.

“I don't think you want that today,” Darren says. The businessman is so impressed that he hires Darren to be a sales associate at Sumwun, the hot new online therapy service.

Askaripour has a sharp eye for the comic absurdity of online startups. Employees zip around their office on scooters, dodging colleagues' dogs and bopping to blaring music. It's an empire of panicked optimism goosed by New Age aphorisms and impossible sales goals.

But what makes Black Buck rise above other corporate satires is Askaripour's treatment of race in the workplace. As the only Black man in the office, Darren is among colleagues determined to prove how post-racial they are. They're constantly asking him, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Malcolm X?” “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Martin Luther King?”

His manager is the worst. “I knew you looked familiar,” he says, “but I wasn't sure if it was in the way most Black people look alike. Not in a racist way, of course.”

Darren endures an ever-expanding host of racist humiliations that begin with changing his name to Buck. On the other hand, his salary jumps from $19,000 to $65,000. That's enough to justify rapping when the boss requests it. Right?

“Reader: If you are a Black man, the key to any white person's heart is the ability to shuck, jive or freestyle. But use it wisely and sparingly. Otherwise you're liable to turn into Steve Harvey.”

Darren may have lost touch with his family and friends, but as a Black man willing to talk about “diversity” while avoiding the word “race,” he's a corporate darling. He confronts fragility so finely attuned that even to suggest the existence of racism incites a white backlash of racist attacks cloaked in sententious outrage. Still, Darren seems buoyed by a well of joy that feels miraculous.