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Philmont Castle is a man who has it all: wealth, respect, and connections. He's the last person you'd expect to fall prey to a murderer, but then his body is found on the grounds of a Harlem mansion by the young writer Eddie Wesley, who along with the woman he loves, Aurelia Treene, is pulled into a twenty-year search for the ...
Philmont Castle is a man who has it all: wealth, respect, and connections. He's the last person you'd expect to fall prey to a murderer, but then his body is found on the grounds of a Harlem mansion by the young writer Eddie Wesley, who along with the woman he loves, Aurelia Treene, is pulled into a twenty-year search for the truth. The disappearance of Eddie's sister June makes their investigation even more troubling. As Eddie and Aurelia uncover layer upon layer of intrigue, their odyssey takes them from the wealthy drawing rooms of New York through the shady corners of radical politics all the way to the Oval Office and President Nixon himself.
Dominic Hoffman's voice possesses a touch of sandpaper that causes every word to be rubbed raw before emerging from between his lips. The hardboiled sensation is appropriate for law professor and novelist Carter's suspenseful story of secret societies, political intrigue, and the social swirl of Harlem's 1950s elite. Eddie Wesley, a writer and member of African-American high society, finds himself thrust into a shadowy world of murder and espionage, forced to use his authorial skills to uncover the truth. Hoffman's occasional forays into doing voices, like those of Vietnamese police officers, are unfortunate, but the grain of his voice is alluring enough that listeners will want him to just keep going. A Knopf hardcover (Reviews, May 19).(Aug.)Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
A Wall Street lawyer is recruited into a mysterious conspiracy. Two and a half years later, a young writer stumbles over the lawyer's corpse in Harlem; an unexplained suicide follows. The writer's sister vanishes. The writer sets out to connect these seemingly unconnected events; his quest takes him through the tumultuous 1950s and 1960s. In his previous novels (New England White; The Emperor of Ocean Park), Yale law professor Carter has delighted in bending genres. His latest is no exception, at once a hyperbolic thriller and a subtle and convincing comedy of manners. Lives intersect across 20 years in ways both obvious and hidden: Richard Nixon appears as a strangely sympathetic figure, and poet Langston Hughes, Joe and Jack Kennedy, Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, and J. Edgar Hoover take bows. Few authors are better than Carter at capturing the nuances of human behavior on both sides of the color line. His take on race relations isn't bleak, but Carter is no Pollyanna: there's still a long way to go by the end of this book. Council will grip readers, but it will also make them think. Enthusiastically recommended for all general collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ3/1/08.]
He's approached by real-life Soviet spy Rudolf Abel and pressured by FBI director J. Edgar Hoover to become a snitch. He's at the Cape Cod meeting in 1959 where John F. Kennedy persuades key supporters that he can win the presidency, and Eddie briefly writes speeches for Kennedy after the election. He exposes a CIA program of torture and murder in war-torn Vietnam and attends the final, chaotic convention of the SDS in Chicago in 1969. He's at Richard Nixon's side at Camp David after two key aides resign. He pals around with Langston Hughes and has an audience with Joseph Kennedy. In short, Eddie is a man of his times, many times over.
And then there's the conspiracy: In the book's opening pages, Eddie discovers a corpse. A couple of years later, his beloved sister Junie, a Harvard-educated radical, disappears on a road trip. As he pursues his youthful love, Aurelia, in and out of her marriage to another man, the two of them struggle to unravel a plot that connects his missing sister and the dead body, as well as several other mysterious deaths, to a secret organization composed of both black and white powerbrokers who have plans of their own about how they'll shape the times as they are a-changin'.
Palace Council is a Carter mystery, and so all of this isn't so unwieldy as it sounds. Carter excels at complexity. A Yale law professor who turned his hand to fiction several years ago, his popular novels The Emperor of Ocean Park and New England White attracted readers fascinated by tales of upper-class, inner-circle blacks. He has the eye of a social critic, and offers entrée to a world, with its own protocols and pitfalls, that isn't widely known or understood. (Readers of his previous novels will encounter those characters' forebears or childhood selves here.)
In Eddie, Carter has created a useful proxy, an observer caught up in history as it unfolds and yet apart from it. Eddie's status as a writer affords him the social and political fluidity to turn his lens wherever Carter wants to look, and sometimes what comes into focus feels telling and true. (In one episode, Eddie pens a piece for The Nation characterizing Nixon as "all-American" because his win-at-all-costs scheming embodies the true national ethos, and finds himself reviled by those on the right, who get his point with "crystal clarity," as well as by leftists who misinterpret him as a conservative). More often, though, Carter isn't able to wring much more from the common property of history than the already familiar: Hoover is unpleasant and looks like a bulldog, JFK wants to do the right thing, Nixon is underhanded but vulnerable.
The book opens on the Harlem salon society of the late '50s and early '60s (which Carter shifted forward in time by at least a decade), where matrons dubbed "the Czarinas" ran the show, and those who got off the A train were judged according to their stops -- the low-rent Valley dwellers debarking at 125th Street, the residents of exclusive Sugar Hill at 145th or 155th. It's fascinating real estate, but it disappears quickly from view and nothing as vivid takes its place. Eddie is shuttled from one historic overlook to the next, and neither he nor Carter has the chance to take full stock of where he is.
Occasionally big events are filtered convincingly through the eyes of Carter's characters, as when Aurelia attends a gathering to watch Neil Armstrong walk on the moon: "Everybody wanted to be cool and cynical, even to mumble about how the money that went into Project Apollo could have been better spent feeding the hungry, but nobody wanted to miss it." Unfortunately, the florid and unimaginative language into which Carter can lapse sounds even worse when applied to public figures. The night Eddie meets Nixon at Camp David, for instance, "was achingly cold, but the cauldron of boiling emotion that constituted Nixon, like the similar simmer deep inside Eddie, generated all the warmth he needed." Overheated prose, indeed.
It is Eddie's obsession with finding his sister, and his thwarted-but-never-dead romance with Aurelia, that keeps us reading. But as the plot threads through protests, presidencies, and war, it loses its way so many times that, by the end, the resolution has lost much of its urgency, and the obscure machinations of the villain never take hold of our imagination the way they're meant to. History has gotten in the way. Carter's note at the end of the book ticks off any number of ways that he had to "fuss" with real events to make them conform to his narrative. That's the trouble with grand conspiracies. --Sarah L. Courteau
Sarah L. Courteau is literary editor of The Wilson Quarterly.
Had Eddie Wesley been a less reliable man, he would never have stumbled over the body, chased Junie to Tennessee, battled the devils to a draw, and helped to topple a President. But Eddie was blessed or perhaps cursed with a dependability that led to a lack of prudence in pursuing his devotion. He loved only two women in his life, loved them both with a recklessness that often made him a difficult man to like, and thus was able, when the moment arrived, to save the country he had come to hate.
A more prudent man might have failed.
As for Aurelia, she arrived with her own priorities, very conventional, very American, and so from the start very different from Eddie’s. Once they went their separate ways, there was no earthly reason to suppose the two of them would join forces, even after the events of that fateful Palm Sunday and what happened in Hong Kong—but join they did, by necessity more than choice, fighting on alone when everybody else had quit or died.
Edward Trotter Wesley Junior breezed into Harlem in May of 1954, just days after the Supreme Court outlawed racial segregation in public schools, a landmark decision that Eddie was certain must conceal some sort of dirty trick. He possessed a degree from Amherst, a couple of undistinguished years of graduate work at Brown, a handful of social connections through his mother, and a coveted job on the Amsterdam News, although he quit in disgust three months after starting. He had not realized, he explained in a letter to his beloved sister Junie, how very small and unimportant the position was. Junie, in a mischievous mood, forwarded his letter to their awesomely disapproving father, a Boston pastor and essayist. Actually, he was at this time in Montgomery, Alabama, helping to organize a boycott of local businesses that refused to call Negro patrons “Mr.” and “Mrs.” Wesley Senior, as he liked to be called, was a distant relation of William Monroe Trotter, the Negro journalist once arrested after tossing pepper to disrupt a speech by Booker T. Washington, and had inherited some of the fire of that clan. Upon his return to Boston, he answered Junie at once, sending along a surfeit of citations from the New Testament, most on the subject of hard work, commanding his daughter to share them with her brother. Eddie read them all; Second Thessalonians 3:10 sufficiently stoked his fury that he did not write his parents for a month, for Eddie was rather fiery himself. When he at last pulled together enough money from odd jobs to afford a phone, he refused for weeks to give his parents the number. Wesley Senior thought Eddie lazy. But Eddie, to his own way of thinking, was simply focused. He did not want to write about car wrecks and speeches by the great leaders of the rising movement for Negro rights. He wanted to write short stories and novels and decided, in the manner of many an author before him, that earning a living would disturb his muse. So, for a time, he mooched.
His mother sent money, cars were washed, meals were served, papers were sold. Around the corner from his apartment on 123rd Street was a Jewish grocery—that was what they were called, Jewish groceries, a reference to ownership, not cuisine—and Eddie for a time earned a second income working nights behind the cash register, reading and writing there on the counter because custom was thin. But a better offer came his way. In those days the seedier side of Harlem was largely run by a worthy named Scarlett, who had risen to power after the legendary Bumpy Johnson, king of the Negro rackets, was sentenced to prison for the third time. Scarlett owned a nightclub on 128th Street and much else besides, and was said to pay his dues to Frank Costello, the successor to Lucky Luciano and, at the time, the most powerful Mafia leader in New York. Scarlett was an elegant Jamaican who had come out of the old Forty Thieves gang along with Bumpy. He was popular along the streets. He liked to walk into shops and pull a huge bankroll from the pocket of his tailored suit, make a small purchase with a large bill, then tell the delighted proprietor to keep the change, thus cementing his reputation for generosity—never mind that a week later his people would be around to collect protection money from the very same store. At twenty-seven, a joyless term of military service behind him, Eddie Wesley was not known to be a scrapper. Still, he had a friend who had a friend, and before he knew it he was doing occasional odd jobs for bluff, secretive, boisterous men who were, or were not, connected to Scarlett. It was a living, Eddie told himself, but not his parents; it was only until he was discovered as a writer; besides, it would provide meat for the tales he would one day spin. He reminded himself, whenever moral doubts assailed him, that Richard Wright, in Black Boy, had confessed to a youthful life of crime. True, Wright stole no more than the occasional fistful of tickets from the proprietor of a movie house, and Eddie was carrying mysterious packages across state lines, but he consoled himself with Wright’s dictum that the white man had done so many horrible things that stealing from him was no breach of ethics. And if part of him suspected that, whoever Scarlett was stealing from, it wasn’t the white man, Eddie suppressed the thought.
“Where do you go all these nights?” asked Aurelia, his unattainably highborn girlfriend, whom he often wooed by reciting Andreas Cappelanus on the art of courtly love: medieval literature having been among his best courses at Amherst. They were canoodling, as it was called, in a shadowed booth at Scarlett’s club, not the sort of place where Eddie’s friends ever went, or, more important, Aurie’s. “You’re so secretive”—as though she herself was not.
“If I told you, you’d never believe it.”
Aurelia was much quicker than Eddie, and always had been: “Then it can’t possibly be another woman.”
“You’re one to talk,” he said.
“I know.” Sipping her pink gin fizz with Kirschwasser, the drink for which she was known throughout Harlem. She was a columnist for the Seventh Avenue Sentinel, the second-largest Negro paper in town, and wrote about everyone’s scandalous peccadilloes but her own. “I am one to talk,” she said, and leaped to her feet, tugging at his arm. “Dance with me. Come on.”
“We shall be conspicuous,” said Eddie, in the peculiar elocution he had developed at Amherst. His friends mocked him, but women adored it.
“We shall not,” she teased, echoing his cadences, and perhaps she was even right, because Scarlett’s was also the sort of place that always remembered to forget you were ever there. But before they could have their dance, one of the boisterous men tugged Eddie aside for a whispered conversation. Eddie, excited, told Aurelia they would have to make it an early night, conveying through his body English what he dared not speak aloud. Alas, Aurie was not so easily impressed: included in her family tree, as she would remind you at the drop of a hat, were villains galore, as well as a Reconstruction Era congressman and the first Negro to make a million dollars in real estate.
“You can’t be involved with these people,” Aurelia said as they walked through the sooty Harlem rain. She wore cheap plastic overshoes, but her umbrella was from Paris, where her aunt sang jazz.
“It isn’t involvement in the usual sense.”
She knew his excuses, too: “Let me guess. Research for the great novel.”
“Something like that.”
They had reached the public library on 135th Street, three blocks from the apartment Aurie shared with two other women. Cars were jammed so tightly along the curb that it was a miracle they ever got out again. This was as far as Eddie was ever allowed to go. Aurelia kissed him. She had feathery eyebrows and a roundish chipmunk face. When she was happy, she looked like a playful imp. When she was earnest, the roundness hardened, and she became Hollywood’s image of a schoolmarm. This was schoolmarm time.
“My family has certain expectations of me,” she began. “I’m an only child. My future matters to them. A lot.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Because it’s true.” The brow crinkled. “You know, Eddie, my uncle’s hotel business is—”
“I’m a writer.”
“They own hotels in seven different—”
“I cannot do it.”
“He makes good money. He’ll always make good money. I don’t care what the Supreme Court says. We’ll need colored hotels for the next fifty years. Maybe more.” Eddie stroked her downy chipmunk cheek, said nothing. “I wanted to ask you one last time, because—”
He covered her mouth. Gently. They had been arguing the point almost from the night they met, at a college mixer two months after V-J Day. Both knew the outcome in advance. “I have to write, Aurie. The muse sits upon me. It is not a matter of choice. It is a matter of necessity.”
“Then you should have kept the newspaper job.”
“It was not real writing.”
“It was real money.”
Later that night, as Eddie left the train station in Newark, a couple of thugs tripped him, kicked him, snatched the parcel in its neat brown paper, ran. They had marked him down weeks ago and bided their time until he got careless. He was told by one of Scarlett’s people that the boys had admitted the crime. Not to the police. To Scarlett, who was said to have a way of loosening tongues. Eddie believed it. Maceo Scarlett’s nickname was the Carpenter, a reference, it was rumored, to the unfortunate fate that had befallen his predecessor, whose right-hand man Scarlett had been, back when the poor gentleman possessed a right hand: something to do with nails and saws. A neighbor named Lenny, the dark, skinny imp who had tempted Eddie in the first place over to Scarlett’s side of the street, assured him that he was in only small trouble, not big, for losing the package: nothing would happen if he got out now. And so, when Scarlett’s people offered him a second chance, Eddie respectfully declined. For a month thereafter Eddie did not read the papers. He did not want to know what happened to the boys.
After that Eddie went back to washing cars and sweeping floors. He earned little money, and saved none, for what he did not spend on Aurelia he shared with friends and neighbors. He developed a reputation as a soft touch. You had but to ask, and he would turn over his last dollar. This was not generosity in the usual sense, but neither was it calculated. He simply lived so thoroughly in the moment that it would never occur to him to hold on to a quarter because he might need it tomorrow. The most intensely political of his buddies, Gary Fatek, playing on Lenin, liked to say that when the revolution arrived Eddie would give the hangman cash to buy the rope; but Gary was white, and rich, and hung out in Harlem to prove his bona fides. Aurie found Eddie’s lightness with money endearing, even though it called into question—she said—his ability to support a family.
“In the fullness of time, I shall be successful.”
“In the fullness of time, I shall be married. So watch out.”
As it happened, Aurie made this comment, to embarrassed laughter all around, at a small dinner party hosted by a young couple named Claire and Oliver Garland at their apartment on West Ninety-third Street. The occasion celebrated Eddie’s transition to published writer. One of his stories had at last been accepted by a serious literary magazine. Ralph Ellison sent a note. Langston Hughes proposed a toast to Eddie’s grand future. Eddie had never met the famous writer, and was nervous. But Hughes, the greatest literary light in Harlem, put the young man at his ease. Hughes was broad and smiling, a spellbinder of the old school. Over brandy and cigars, he shared tales of a recent sojourn abroad. Eddie was enthralled. Langston Hughes lived the life Eddie coveted for himself. Running hotels with Aurelia’s uncle could not possibly compare. Oliver Garland, the only Negro lawyer on Wall Street, seemed to have been everywhere, too: he and his cousin Kevin and Langston Hughes compared notes on restaurants in Florence. Eddie, child of a preacher and a nurse, knew little of Negroes like this.
Gary Fatek was also at the party, along with a couple of other Caucasians, because members of the younger, educated set in white America prided themselves on ignoring the cautious racialism of their parents. Afterward Gary pulled one of his cute political tricks, summoning a cab, climbing in with Eddie and Aurelia, then directing the driver to drop his friends in Harlem first and only then head to Gary’s own place in the Village. Everybody knew that a New York cabbie would otherwise never go north of Columbia University. Eddie, always a proud man, would never have cooperated with this nonsense had Aurelia not been present; and Gary probably would not have tried. White friends were important, Wesley Senior had long preached to his children: That is where the power lies, he warned them, and where, for the foreseeable future, it will. Eddie and Aurelia sat together on the bench. Gary folded down the jump seat, and clutched the handle as the driver bumped angrily uptown. He lectured them about revolutionary politics. He was red-haired and gentle and certain. He said Eddie’s story showed the glimmering of consciousness, but only the glimmering. Aurelia, feigning a cold, giggled behind her white-gloved hands. Even back in college, where the three of them first met, everybody had known that Eddie was entirely unpolitical.
From the Hardcover edition.
1. Carter writes, “The social distinctions mattered little to the great mass of Negroes, but Eddie had been raised, in spite of himself, to an awareness of who was who” [p. 16]. How does Eddie's father's position in the community, as well as his own experiences at a prestigious college and graduate school, influence Eddie's self-perception and his ambition? Do his experiences working for Scarlett and in various low-paying jobs affect his outlook and his understanding of (and sympathy with) the lives of “the great mass of Negroes”?
2. Despite the claims made by others, “Eddie did not consider his short story revolutionary. He did not consider it anything, except finished” [p. 15]. What does this show about the way Eddie thinks of himself as a writer? Is he naïve? Self-serving? Does his view of the role of a writer change in the course of the novel?
3. What does Aurelia's approach to her career and marriage reveal about the things that matter to her? Do her ambitions justify her rejection of Wesley [p. 16]? Does the information about her that emerges later in the novel help explain the opinions she voices and the decisions she makes? In what ways is she a typical example of many smart, well-educated, upper-middle class women during the period in which the novel is set?
4. Palace Council covers the vast changes in American politics and society between 1954 and 1974 through the lives of individuals. Discuss how the following characters contribute to the broad and complex picture Carter draws: Edward Wesley Senior; Gary Fatek; Perry Mount; Matthew and Kevin Garland; Benjamin Mellor.
5. Eddie is subjected to extreme psychological and physical intimidation throughout the novel. What do the threats from Hoover and his henchman show about the way power operates in Washington [pp. 100–101]? What do Eddie's experiences in Saigon [pp. 319–325] and his horrific kidnapping in Hong Kong [pp. 368–372] demonstrate about the acceptance of extreme measures to achieve a goal? Do the differing perceptions—and mutual suspicions—of opposing political groups or interests inevitably encourage extremism?
6. John Milton's Paradise Lost holds the keys to the nature and scope of “The Project.” How does the great epic poem about the battle between God and Satan illuminate the moral themes of Palace Council? Milton's purpose was to “justify the ways of God to man.” Is there a parallel theme or “purpose” underlying Palace Council? To what extent do the characters embody the ideas of good and evil that are at the heart of Paradise Lost and of traditional Christian belief?
7. Aurelia asks herself, “Why did the group identify so completely with Satan, who is doomed to defeat?” [p. 346]. What answers does the novel provide?
8. In his celebrated essay “The American Angle,” Eddie identified the qualities that define the country in 1967 and concluded, “If America failed to change the angle from which it looked at life . . . then the nation was at a moral dead end” [p. 313]. Are these still the salient characteristics of our politics and our culture? In your opinion, has the situation improved or deteriorated over the last forty years?
9. Many of the secrets the characters keep from one another reflect the need (or desire) to protect both their public roles and their private lives. To what extent are they driven by a sense of loyalty—to their families, their causes, their ideals? What does this show about the relationship between individual and social responsibility?
10. In describing his novel and the people in it, Carter said, “Human motive and human weakness interest me, and politics happens to highlight those weaknesses” [Vintage interview]. What does the Council and its convoluted history reveal about the motives that drive people to commit themselves to a radical course of action? Do you think the kind of conspiracy Carter describes is possible?
11. Throughout the book, Carter imagines the conversations of prominent people like J. Edgar Hoover [pp. 93–99], Joseph Kennedy [pp. 132–135], and Richard Nixon [pp. 463–469]. Discuss the “legitimacy” of putting words into the mouths of real people. Do their voices conform to your impressions of them? Does Carter capture both the tone and the content of their thoughts in a realistic way or does he distort or exaggerate them to make them relevant to the fictional narrative?
12. Were you familiar with the larger history that forms the background to the novel? Did you discover things you hadn't known before? Are specific events adequately explained and put into context? In the author's note, Carter writes, “I chose to fiddle a bit with history. My only excuse, other than the needs of the narrative, is that I have tried to reorder the decades in a way that does honor to my subjects.” [p. 514]. Does a novelist have an implicit obligation to present an accurate record of the times he is portraying? Do the modifications Carter describes enrich the depth and impact of the book?
13. If you came to Palace Council with prior knowledge of Empyreals from reading Carter's previous novels, did you find yourself using that knowledge as you read? Were the recurrent characters (the Garlands, Aurelia, and Mona Veazie, for example) consistent with your recollections of them? Did this prequel inspire you to read (or reread) Carter's other books?
Posted August 14, 2008
Having read Mr. Carter's previous books, I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Palace Council in my local book store. From the first page to the last, I was fully captivated by the rich historical setting and fully developed characters that moved mysteriously throughout the novel. Although I consciously attempted to slowly savor every titillating word written by Mr. Carter, the story tenaciously lured me on to each page. I couldn't help but feel as though I was a fly on the wall of Eddie Wesley. The narration was palpable and the plot compelling. Accordingly, I highly recommend the Palace Council as a 'must read'. Especially if you have already read New England White and The Emperor of Ocean Park. It is evident that Mr. Carter has delicately established all of his characters, as they weave in and out of the three novels. I can only hope that he will release another novel soon, and allow us into the world of the elite 'darker nation' yet again...even if we are already a member.
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Posted August 23, 2009
I loved this book. It is a fictional account, mixed in with a lot of historical facts, of race relations and national politics from before JFK to the end of the Nixon era. The author describes the roles played by fictional and real power brokers, (fictional and real) African American influences and (again, both fictional and real) African American experiences in shaping the country's political landscape and affecting the outcome of elections and lives. For example, we see a fascinating picture of Harlem as it undergoes an unfortunate dismantling, starting out as the major center of African American culture and power, and ending up as a broken down neighborhood populated by the ghosts of greatness past and those who were left behind when most of the educated and wealthy headed for the suburbs. That's not to say that no great minds remained, they are undoubtedly born every day, but we see how the once stratified and often regal neighborhoods in Harlem ceased being magnets or protective forces for intellectual and artistic development of African Americans, at least from perspectives that lean toward the conservative side of what culture is.
This novel addresses student and Afro-centrist extremism; scheming on all sides of the political spectrum, and within families; and links and breaks between African Americans and the full gamut of conservative, centrist and liberal representatives of the Caucasian majority.
The author successfully turns history that we know into a thriller by the addition of fictional elements that will show many of us parts of America that are unfamiliar (no matter what our family or racial backgrounds may be). A lot of ground is covered, from personal and family loyalty to Civil Rights to the bizarre personality of Richard M. Nixon. This is the stuff of great conflicts!
Along the way, we enjoy excellent, gripping writing, clever plots and subplots, and a cast of characters that is simply fascinating. Adding to the pleasure, threads of the plot link Palace Council to New England White, Carter's previous novel, which was also an excellent thriller that managed to present us with convincing murder mysteries and behavioral mysteries while it addressed race relations and racial politics at local village, elite academic and national levels.
I can't say that this novel is perfect, but it is darned close, and is an epic "must read" that will thrill, inform, delight, sadden, and emotionally involve the reader in many complex ways.
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Posted December 9, 2008
In 1952, twenty important men meet secretly to set in motion a scheme to own the President of the United States. Two years later, writer Eddie Wesley finds dead one of the plotters, white Wall Street attorney, Philmont Castle, in a Harlem park. Knowing how the police think about a young black man finding a white corpse, he hides his identity from the cops.-------------- Intrigued by the victim¿s hand holding tightly an inverted cross with an enigmatic inscription, Eddie wants to know who killed the man, why, and why was a wealthy lawyer in Harlem. Over the next two decades Eddie and his beloved Aurelia Treene serendipitously investigate the murder of Philmont Castle with clues taking them to the highest powers of New York and DC while the Palace Council conspirators have reached the zenith in the early 1970s and will kill to remain there.--------- Although at times over the top of the Washington Monument, PALACE COUNCIL is an exhilarating action-packed political thriller starring real historical persona from Langston Hughes to Richard Nixon and two wonderful lead protagonists. The story line is fast-paced, but it is the strong cast (real and literary) who make this a superb tale as a variety of social issues like de facto racism replacing de jure racism is realistically portrayed. Fans will appreciate Stephen L. Carter's strong conspiracy historical thriller and seek his two excellent previous works (see NEW ENGLAND WHITE and THE EMPEROR OF OCEAN PARK).--------- Harriet Klausner
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Stephen L. Carter is one of the most brilliant mystery writers, whether he's writing about politics or legal or academic worlds. Once you start reading this book, you will not be able to put it down. Even though the story encompasses 20 years, the action flows and is very fast-paced. I love anything Stephen L. Carters writes and this book was no exception.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 20, 2010
This was a most exciting book. It depicted so many historical settings in Harlem and brought back many memories to a "dyed in the wool" subway child. I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to get a feeling and understanding for Harlem and its many faceted lives.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 15, 2009
Boring and a ridiculous plot. This is the third book I have read by Stephen Carter and the last. The first was quite book, the second fairly good.
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Posted September 14, 2009
It was kind of hard for me to keep up with the story line. It went in too many different directions. I enjoyed New England White a lot. This was along those same lines.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 26, 2008
What a captivating story- I enjoyed every page. Excellent combination of well developed characters and thrilling plot. I knew nothing of the author and have not read Emperor of Ocean Park or New England White (although I will soon!)...went into this book blind and immediately fell in love with Eddie, Aurie and their whole world. This is definitely a book you will not want to end.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 27, 2008
Stephen Carter has a great way of weaving his political tale with history and famous characters. I love stretching back in my recliner with an oversized enjoyable book. In fact, I hated for it to end.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 2, 2008
Posted July 2, 2008
Stephen L. Carter¿s third novel tracks an ambitious young writer and social commentator as he interacts with his friends, family, fans, and many famous names in American politics. The reader might envision Denzel Washington as a very intelligent Forrest Gump who happens to know all the right people during the tumultuous years between 1952 and 1975. Far more of the intricate plot than I care to reveal here is already visible on this page. Let¿s just say that Mr. Carter has written one hell of a fascinating saga of thrilling intrigue. The main element of the book that fascinates me is the way the author has so adeptly combined what is almost a non-fictional, historical storyline with an extensive fictional saga of the exploits of key members of several wealthy, influential families. Stephen Carter is clearly a high-level intellectual who is fascinated by The Sixties and all the changes that did or did not have a lasting effect upon the American social and political landscape. Palace Council is every bit as much fun to read as some of the better Harold Robbins novels, and with its covers crammed with real movers and shakers of our lifetimes, the poignancy drips off the pages.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
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