(This pretty much duplicates my Amazon review.)
THE DEVIL AND PRESTON BLACK (D&PB) is a story that will be familiar to anyone who has ever faced the choice between pursuing their passion and creativity and the need for buckle-down practicality (i.e., a real job).
Black is a likeable character with the best of intentions. He has a dream but he also has family problems, lack-of-family problems, friendship problems, and of course, problems with the women in his life. All of these relationships and problems are woven seamlessly into the plot. There’s a wonderful push-pull in his love life that reminded me of the Holly Golightly situation in Capote’s BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S.
In his late 20’s, Black faces that crossroads familiar to anyone who dreams of becoming a rock star, movie star, star quarterback, top chef, top model, novelist, champion thrasher or the next Monet: Do you pursue your impossible dream or grow up, give it up and join the rat race? Black faces his now-or-never opportunity: Go for it, or turn back and join the ranks of the muggles and mundanes?
This isn’t the first novel to explore such territory. Tom Perotta’s THE WISHBONES comes to mind. (Started it twice and never made it to page 40.) And for the record, I should state that I own four guitars, two amps, a bagpipe chanter, a smelly nine-button accordion and a didgeridoo. If you’re not a musician (and I don’t really consider myself one), your mileage may vary. For me, Black’s story brought to mind the struggle of so many singer/songwriters I admire like Dave Alvin, Richard Thompson, Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle. These are ‘second-tier’ artists who produce far superior music, but who don’t have Hollywood looks, glitz or gimmickry that promoters and star-makers look for. They’re safe from becoming the next Justin Bieber and probably better off for it.
And speaking of music, one of the most difficult things for a writer to achieve is articulating the magical spell that music weaves over us. Writing about music is like writing about sex—it means something to everyone but resonates differently for each of us. The difficulty is finding that commonality and painting it in a fresh, meaningful way. And for me, the glowing highlight of D&PB is how Miller handles the music.
Most writers can mimic the clichés and jargon of music reviews. They open a window for us to look inside and you shrug and say ‘Yep, that seems like making music.’ But Miller builds a door, drags us inside, sets us down, and makes us listen, makes us feel. We get Preston Black’s perspective as both listener and as a performer. This is no small feat; even writers who are capable musicians fail miserably at this. In D&PB, not only do we feel the music, but we also feel Black’s passion and drive and that’s a lot of what pulls us through the novel. If you’ve ever been in a garage band, tickled a few keys, plucked a string or two, or played air guitar with your mom’s broom, you’ve probably shared Black’s wannabe rock-star dream. Miller captures that mania and drive beautifully. It’s the force behind Black’s character, tempered with flaws and enough baggage to fill an SUV.
But you don’t have to be a musician to enjoy this novel. Music aside, Miller does an outstanding job of bringing this West Virginia/Pennsylvania milieu (both off-the-grid rural and urban) to vivid life. (I almost got heartburn from the pepperoni rolls and he thankfully spares us from scrapple.) The narrative and dialogue is sprinkled with colorful colloquialisms and clever similes reminiscent of the best Southern writers. It’s a story that could easily have taken place in Manhattan, LA, Paris (and a less creative writer would probably have placed it there), but I found it all the richer for the colorful and charming world it presents for us to explore. There are very few novels that make me feel like I’ve really been somewhere and lived someone else’s life. This is one of them.