About 15% of the way into it, I put The Fantasies of Future Things aside. I wasn't sure where it was headed and didn't know if I wanted to go along for the ride. I am SO glad I picked it back up again.
I'd requested a review copy of The Fantasies of Future Things because the context in which it takes place seemed so ripe with possibilities. The novel is set in Atlanta after the city was chosen to as host for the 1996 Olympics. The central characters are two young, gay, Black men working for a real estate development company that sees an opportunity to make some quick money by "revitalizing" a neighborhood—in the sense that seizing property by eminent domain, razing the homes on that property, and throwing together new homes that can be rented or sold at much higher profits counts as "revitalization."
Jacob is a recent graduate of Morehouse College, originally from Brooklyn, interested in a career in real estate, but not interested in spending his initial time out of college cold-calling people to see if they're interested in selling their homes. Daniel is a local boy who was never destined for college. To the white developer trying to put this project together, they seem like exactly the kinds of faces that should be facing toward the community to lead to—$$$—success. Maybe if the company looks Black enough it won't actually have to provide real support: job training, small business incubators, job training—for the community that's being displaced.
Originally, the book felt too didactic, a "tale of good and evil" with a predictable narrative arc and ending. But when I picked the novel back up after my hiatus, it quickly grew richer and less predictable. Both Jacob and Daniel are wrestling with conflicts emerging within their own families. They're attracted to each other in alternating pulses of hot-hot-hot and hoping-for-something-more. They're also so preoccupied by issues in their own lives that they have trouble seeing one another as anything other than means to an end.
Doug Jones, the author of this debut novel, doesn't tie things up neatly at the end—for which I am deeply grateful. The novel ends with possibilities, not certainties, and those possibilities have a shakiness at their hearts that makes these characters' futures difficult for readers to imagine with any confidence.
If you enjoy problem novels that wrestle with larger issues while exploring the specifics of individual lives, you're in for a treat here. You'll feel both affection for and exasperation with the central characters—and the cliff you're left at the edge of will feel like the most genuine resolution that's possible in that moment.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via NetGalley; the opinions are my own.