From the Publisher

From the wildly popular author of the groundbreaking debut The Portable Promised Land comes an inventive and hilarious first novel about an African-American utopia threatened by the darker side of human nature.

Welcome to Soul City, where roses bloom in the cracks of the sidewalk along Cornbread Boulevard, musical genres become political platforms, and children use their allowance money to buy records from the Vinyl Man. Its an unusually peaceful and magical American community with a strong heritage and sense of unity--at least, thats how journalist Cadillac Jackson first finds it.

When Jackson visits Soul City on a magazine assignment, a mayoral election is imminent and candidates from opposing parties are battling to control the citys soundtrack. Amidst the increasingly hostile campaign, Cadillac falls for Mahogany Sunflower, a beautiful Soul Cityzen, and begins a struggle to shed the embattled African-American identity hes been taught to adopt, in order to exist in a community where the content of his character really does determine a black mans identity. What he discovers reveals as much about himself as it does about human nature and the meaning of race in America.

Publishers Weekly

In a swamp of political mudslinging tomes, this charming and quirky fairy tale for grownups comes as a restful change. Stem-cell clashes? Foreign policy? Forget it. The mayoral race in Soul City hinges on one issue and one issue only: which candidate will make the best DJ, pumping the hippest music into the speakers that hang from every lamppost in the city. The citizens of this grooving utopia, which boasts "more mojo than any city in the world," are entirely separated from the rest of America, and they like it that way; it leaves them free to devour Granmama's biscuits by the bushel, drive around in cars that play only the driver's favorite singer, and attend St. Pimp's House of Baptist Rapture. When Cadillac Jackson, a journalist from Chocolate City magazine, arrives to write an article about the election, he promptly falls in love with the seductive Mahogany Sunflower, but even more so with the city itself the only place left in America where black really is beautiful. Imaginative, buoyant and slyly funny, this satire by magazine writer Tour (The Portable Promised Land) is a delight to read and a pleasure to hum along to. Agent, Sarah Lazin. 5-city author tour. (Sept. 2) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

In this highly entertaining debut novel, Tour expands on the magical characters he introduced in his story collection, The Portable Promised Land, pulling together aspects of African American culture within a utopian setting called Soul City. Cadillac Jackson, a reporter for Chocolate City Magazine, arrives in the city to cover the mayoral election and falls in love with a woman named Mahogany, whose family can fly like birds. She is one of many distinct characters, including the boy preacher, Lil' Mo Love, who tells amusing stories about a slave who continually outsmarts his white master; Cool Spreadlove, who wins the mayoral election and spins his soul music throughout the city; and Ecstasy, who runs a hug shop where citizens pay for a rejuvenating embrace. Numerous literary and musical anecdotes run through this imaginative story, which ultimately examines African American stereotypes against a political backdrop of power and greed. This is a cleverly written page-turner whose only disappointment is that it has to end. Highly recommended; public libraries should order additional copies. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 5/15/04.]-David A. Berone, Univ. of New Hampshire Lib., Durham Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Well, what other name would you give paradise?It's not clear exactly how to react to a debut novel that's purportedly meant for adults yet whose first page introduces journalist Cadillac Jackson getting off the train in Soul City (where he's been sent by Chocolate City Magazine to cover the mayoral elections) and fully intending to check out the sights that include the world-famous 100-foot Afro pick and the "crazy" sermons delivered by Revren Lil' Mo Love. Is this the start of a bad dream that our protagonist is going to wake up from? No, dear reader, music journalist Toure (stories: The Portable Promised Land, 2002) has his story and he runs with it, for better or for worse. True enough, Cadillac keeps his clear intention of probing into the city to see what's going on with the mayoral election, but obviously that's really just a stratagem allowing him to tour the length and the breadth of this slice of paradise: where the biscuits are made with droplets of heaven-sent butter, the music is everywhere and always the best (Ellington, Prince, Marley), and there's a gorgeous Jimmy Choo-wearing femme fatale by the name of Mahogany Sunflower for Cadillac to fall in love with. There's evil, too, of course, personified in places like the nearby thug paradise of Whatevaworld and in the figure of vile billionaire tycoon John Jiggaboo. The battle for the soul of Soul City is joined only somewhat late in this thinly imagined romp, which keeps its bouncy spirit even while failing utterly to function as a racial metaphor in the manner of a Colson Whitehead or Suzan-Lori Parks, though it seems to wish to. Not half as imaginative as it may think, yet still fun in a grandly silly fashion.

Product Details

• Read a Sample Chapter

Read a Sample Chapter

Soul City

Little, Brown

Chapter One

Cadillac stepped out of the station onto Groove Street and saw men cooling down the block with walks of such visible rhythm, physical artistry, and attention to aesthetics that it looked like a pimp-stroll convention. Across the street a barber was clipping and snipping at a prodigious fro in an open-air barbershop, clipping with the arrogance of a famous painter wielding his brush, snipping whether in or out of the fro, turning those scissors into a snare. On the corner a street sweeper swept with a theatricality that transformed his duty into modern dance.

On Mojo Road a flock of girls double-dutched, pigtails bouncing, the rope cracking at lightning speed, while the three in the middle danced in the air, never touching the ground. They seemed to be levitating, but those ropes were moving so fast it was difficult to tell exactly what was going on. Maybe the ropes were whipping up a mini-sonic boom that created a pocket of air that the girls could surf for a moment, like an invisible magic carpet. That made no sense. But what he saw made no sense either: six- and seven-year-old girls in rainbow-colored tights with ropes zipping under their bent legs eight, nine, ten times before they touched the sidewalk. They touched down less from gravity than from boredom, as if they'd been just hanging out in the air.

He checked into his hotel, the Copasetic on Cool Street, then walked from Nappy Lane to Gravy Ave to Cornbread Boulevard. The sidewalks were forty to fifty feet wide and the streets were abuzz with all-age minifestivals of hair braiding, marble shooting, bubble blowing, puddle stomping, roller-skating, faithful preaching, "God's coming!," mommies strolling, babies toddling, groceries spilling, lots of flirting, and gossip flying. On Bookoo Boulevard the Vinylmobile crept by, offering old albums for a few dollars, and children poured from homes to chase it as children elsewhere chase ice cream trucks. The Washeteria on Badass Ave had its own DJ so you could dance while you dried. And it made perfect sense that in a world where bad means good, the traffic signals used green for stop and red for go.

On Irie Way and Downhome Drive he found flowers leaping up through the sidewalks. They were American beauties and African violets, more vibrant, fragrant, and giant than any he'd ever seen. He bent and saw their roots were buried beneath the concrete. The flowers had confronted the pavement and punched through it, undeterrable in their desire to get closer to the sun. Bent low, he could see the little speakers that had been built into the sidewalks all over town. First he heard Satchmo think to himself what a wonderful world, then Bob spoke of redemption songs, then James proclaimed he was Black and he was proud. There was an easy vibe to the place, as if everything in the world were possible and there was all the time in the world to do it, for Soul City minutes were ninety seconds long. Cadillac tried to scribble a few words that would capture the scene, but nothing came.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Soul City by Toure Copyright © 2004 by Toure. Excerpted by permission.
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