Messiahs
Messiahs
By Marc Anthony Richardson, The University of Alabama Press, $17.95.
“But the heart can be opened by words…”
Marc Anthony Richardson’s Messiahs focuses on two lovers whose names we never learn, a Black man who was formerly on death row and incarcerated and an East Asian woman who is the mother of a dead child and has been disowned by her family. They live in a dystopian America in which one can become a proxy, someone who takes the place of their relative’s capital sentence, as an act of “holy reform”. The man is a former proxy for his nephew, who was falsely convicted and would have been on death row if it weren’t for his uncle. The woman is asked by her mother to serve as a proxy for her brother, despite their relationship and family tumult. The lovers, secluded in a cabin in the woods, reckon with the tragedies of the past and have to figure out how to move forward.
The writing style is experimental; Messiahs is composed of long sentences that almost take up the entire page and moments in which you are unsure whether something is really happening or it is happening in a character’s mind. There are chapters that consist of a single, prolonged paragraph and word choices such as “chiasmus” and “juvenescence” that may require readers to consult a dictionary. Its assemblage often seems like a constant shift in subject matters. The novel goes from the man situated in the cabin’s bathroom, contemplating the existence of God, to flashbacks of his time in prison in a mere few words. One moment, the woman is having a psychedelic dream of drowning in the ocean and, the next, she’s back in bed with her lover. Though Messiahs’ unorthodox structure may make some readers turn the other way, it is rewarding for those who dare to take on the challenge, myself included.
The novel’s setting is dystopian, but the way Richardson captures the criminal justice system and the lived experiences of someone who was imprisoned resemble America’s reality today. Something I appreciate about the author’s writing is that it doesn’t shy away from being honest about the disturbing ordeals and consequences of going through imprisonment. The man’s lover had to accompany him everywhere he went because of a “debilitating fear of large spaces, of being beaten… Even the first time they made love was difficult.”
Prison cells are described to be as small as parking spaces. The man goes into detail about unhealthy bowel movements as a result of eating prison food. The falsely accused nephew, who is a young Black man, was examined under the scope of a white jury and was coaxed into admitting a crime he never committed because all he wanted to do was to go back home to his mother.
Finally, there is the psychological terror of being on death row. The first time I read how “all death row inmates die a slow and painful psychological death before the state executes them… their minds gone before their bodies”, I had to sit and think for a bit. Is justice really achieved by the death penalty? Does this make the state just as bad as those convicted of crimes? Should we change our definitions of crime and criminal? Is another way of achieving justice possible? Richardson doesn’t offer any straightforward answers, but he does expand our thinking beyond black and white.
While many people have never been in the shoes of the main characters, there are still qualities readers can identify with. Maybe that is why the characters are nameless - Richardson enables us to relate to people we typically wouldn’t imagine we’d have anything in common with.
There is a moment when the man ponders a series of “what ifs”. He tries to envision what would have happened if something was different, or what his present would look like if something never occurred in the first place. The woman fears being a burden to her lover and revealing to him all she has undergone. She has to create her own future because of what she has lost. These characters, with their own distinct and respective identities and pasts, represent the complexities of the human condition.
Desolate is an apt word to describe the tone and events of Messiahs. Still, the antithesis to desolation manages to shine through: hope. While the lovers cannot change the past or overthrow the state’s policies overnight, they find solace in one another and allow each other the opportunity to cope with their realities and to forge the rest of their lives. I felt encouraged to do the same after finishing the last page and closing the book. Readers may feel encouraged to reflect our actual American penal system and to further educate themselves on the matter.
Lily Alvarado
Lily Alvarado (she/her) was born and raised in The Bronx, New York. Currently, she is an undergraduate student attending SUNY Plattsburgh. There, she majors in English Literature and Gender and Women's Studies and is completing her certification in Professional Writing. When she's not working on an assignment, she can be found doing yoga, taking long walks in nature, or caring for her bearded dragon, Riley.