“This Grace jones lookalike with a degree in French is a splendid creation” said the Sunday Telegraph. “It is refreshing to find a heroine who has both a rock-solid moral centre and a sense of humour” said Donna Leon (in the Sunday Times, in the days when she reviewed crime novels for them). “This year’s most original fictional detective” said Good Housekeeping “sharp funny and beautifully underscored with jazzy prose riffs. “A rapid fire, staccato mystery” added the Guardian.
Such was the chorus of praise that greeted the publication of Rhode Island Red in 1997 here in the UK when Charlotte Carter’s first Nanette Hayes book was published by Serpent’s Tail in their Mask Noir imprint. Similar praise greeted Coq Au Vin in 1999. “An author for the future” said UK’s Time Out; “Spread the word’ said Crime Time. The rousing Drumsticks followed in 2001.
Now all three books have been republished, first by USA’s Vintage Crime/ Black Lizard in 2021, and here now, in the UK by Baskerville, the new literary crime and thriller imprint from John Murray.
Back then, like most sentient beings, I was attracted by both Nanette the character but also by Charlotte Carter’s pungent writing. There was also that clear devotion to the great figures of jazz that runs like a vein through the body of each story, embodied in the song titles that aptly head each chapter. The combination was such that when Serpent’s Tail asked me to interview her, I did not hesitate. We did not meet on that occasion; a scheduled UK trip was thwarted by a fall and a collision with “a heavy object” but our later lengthy email chat was published in January 2002 by the now defunct Tangled Web.
But we met later in London and again in New York. This rather shorter conversation picks up on a few themes that we have discussed over the years: the female contribution to jazz, the rising tide of hip-hop and its derivatives, the valiant rear-guard action from Columbia University’s WKCR radio station (a sort of local equivalent to the BBC’s Radio 3), changes in New York governance (she lives in walking distance of Ground Zero) and so on. About the only thing missing is our annual celebration of the birthday (7 April) of the immortal Billie Holiday, commemorated by 24 hour programming from KCR (as it is known locally).
But first I wanted to note a UK phenomenon of recent years, just perhaps a local response to that defiant opening statement from Nanette that begins Rhode Island Red: “Ask any Negro. They’ll tell you; a woman does not play a saxophone. Except for me.” Yes, the emergence in British jazz in recent years of notable musicians like Nubya Garcia, Cassie Kinoshi and Camilla George…
I also heard one recently with New York resident Myra Melford’s all female and somewhat avant-garde Fire and Water Quintet (though she was German – and white). I have this theory that a coterie of Nanette Hayes readers all those years ago somehow brought them into being. What do you think?
Now I’ve actually been pointed to a lady who ticks two major boxes—she blows tenor and she sings: Camille Thurman. Has performed with several big boys, e.g. Wynton Marsalis. But it seems that in general you are right—there are numerous sax-playing women around.
It’s great news that the three books are available again, both in the USA and here. Do you think that the fact that Nanette was always implicitly ahead of the curve on key social issues has helped to re-establish her as a character?
You know, I read a really kind, flattering piece when the books came out again in the States. It used some of the same language that you do to convey that Nanette, and by extension, I, have been confronting colorism, racism, feminism, and a few other things for the past 20 some years. Whatever emerged from the Nan books as well as my other stuff must have done so kind of organically, since I was never out to take a stand on anything. (In a later** short lived series I wish I’d had better editing and better luck with, I have a very young black woman character in the thick of the political turmoil of 1968 America; she is certainly wrestling with all those issues, while dropping her share of acid.)
You may recall my saying years ago that it was a drag how editors don’t want black writers to write about anything other than race, and then, when I was given free reign to write a pretty experimental novel, what did it really come down to?— race. Ha ha. A lesson there, right? Well, being fair to myself, race is hardly the only territory in that book.
** Jackson Park (2003) Trip Wire (2005)
I read all of the Nanette series recently and found Nanette once again every bit as “attractive, sexy, free-thinking and impulsive” as I wrote before, the writing as sharp, funny and fluent. But, you have been revising them, I hear. What aspects did you think required something of a tweak?
I’m sorry you reread them before this incarnation. The truth is, one can’t literally rewrite the book when a reissue is made. But yes, I “tweaked” a few things— often just deleting over the top language that smelled phoney, things that were, as I told another interviewer, too too terribly much. I also gave a minor character a few pages in the spotlight, and clarified some plot points in one of the three books, added a flashback in another—things like that.
Nan prefers “bebop to hip-hop’ an opinion we both share. The vibe however, certainly in the UK has tilted towards the latter. But are there aspects of today’s music scene that Nan might lend an ear to?
Maybe. The tilt isn’t just in the UK, it’s all over the globe. But you’re talking to someone who knows next to nothing about hip hop. I’d have an awful lot of homework to do. Maybe Nanette takes a peek into that world through a man she has a fling with? Or the kid brother of one of her friends? I have thought about doing something like that. She could certainly make a lot of snarky jokes, but not out of malice. And I guess I’d have to have her learn something valuable in the end.
I don’t know—I doubt that anyone gives a shit whether I like hip hop. Anything negative I’d have to say about it is old hat by now.
One remarkable thing about the rap/hip hop performers who have risen to the top and entered the mainstream – well, at this point they are the mainstream — so many of them are fabulous actors. There has to be some rationale for this but I’m hanged if I know what it is. I’ve been dazzled by Mos Def on the stage and on film. He’s one of the most brilliant actors I’ve ever seen anywhere. Queen Latifah’s wonderful. Method Man is so impressive. Goes without saying that Tupac had it; the James Dean of his generation? The list goes on.
How is WKCR (plus Charlie Parker and you) surviving after the death of Phil Schaap?
KCR, diminished by his death but soldiering on, is still a beacon. I miss PS a lot, trying as he could sometimes be. The “Bird Flights” [daily, early morning 90 minutes devoted exclusively to Parker] are all reruns, of course, but no less rewarding listening. Phil had, and shared, his unbelievably exhaustive knowledge of everything Bird. No end to what I learned from him. In fact he seemed to have exhaustive knowledge of any musician you can name. And he seemed to be the guiding hand when it came to all the jazz programming on the station. I hope there’s someone there to pick up the torch. I’m really concerned they might disappear.
Of course jazz isn’t the only music one hears on KCR. They have a roster of hosts who feature fantastic classical music too. And there’s good country music to be had, presented by folks who seem to have the same kind of scholarly dedication that Phil had.
Singers (and great musicians) are unique and no one will ever replace Billie, Ella – or Betty Carter. Cécile McLorin Salvant is the current critical rave. Someone you enjoy?
Yes, Cecile is the It girl, isn’t she? Deservedly.
I have so much affection and respect for great singers of every stripe. Very early in life –and keep in mind I was raised on the South Side of Chicago—so… music– I lived in a big house with several generations of family. There was an uncle who was a Charlie Parker fanatic. I listened to the Grand Ole Opry with my granddad, and Patsy Cline was a huge star at the time; I came to love her, still do. My father was mad for Dinah Washington. By late adolescence/teenage, I had the folk music bug, and I am so happy now to have seen people like Phil Ochs and Josh White in concert. I had all of Nina Simone’s and Odetta’s albums. I saw Bob Dylan live for the first time a couple of years after high school. With the exception of Dylan, these aren’t musicians whose records I turn to very often now – I think maybe it has to do with resisting the pull of nostalgia, and not nostalgia of the happiest kind. Do I periodically trot out Joni Mitchell, Hendrix, the Band? You bet. (Buying wine in the liquor store a few years ago, I heard announced on the radio: Jack Bruce has died. I burst into tears.) Again, not all the memories of that time are good ones, but all that hippie-era music is in my bones along with my people’s stuff; I am a shameless boomer.
Whilst the success of writers like Attica Locke and, more recently, S.A. Cosby is most encouraging, is there other evidence of more black crime writers emerging?
Perhaps you can tell me. I wish I could guide people to some other exciting black crime lit. I am embarrassed to admit I haven’t kept up the last couple of years, with mysteries or much of anything else. My time during the majority of the Covid nightmare went to streaming every crime series known to man, and many of the comedies as well. (I became a rabid fan of (FX series)“Archer.”) Since going to the movies was out of the question, I had to content myself with looking at films on a shrunken screen, but look I did.
The two you mention, both Southerners, are sensational, and so distinct from each other. I haven’t read further than the first novels of either. But I’m glad for them. Cosby is very hot right now, it seems. A film in the works, I believe. I think there’s a Chester Himes feel to the writing. Attica Locke’s output is daunting, and enviable. I’ve tried to set some writing in the South, more a brief reference to an occurrence in a southern town than an attempt at painting a complete picture; I couldn’t come anywhere near her specificity. Also, It seems to be a thing with us—U.S. writers of colour, I mean—connecting characters and events in the present with the troubled past peculiar to black forebears. Maybe an insipid observation. Sorry. Anyway, there are some 60 books stacked next to armchairs, my nightstand, my desk. I have just started Lauren Wilkinson’s American Spy .
I’m covered in shame about the books I’ve neglected. But now it’s as though the spell has been broken and I’m turning back into a literate person.
Eric Adams is the fifth New York Mayor in Nan’s lifetime – and he’s black. What are your expectations?
That guy loves the camera. Maybe too much. There didn’t seem a realistic alternative to him when it came down to the wire. Adams isn’t to be blamed for all the intransigent problems, but so many of his plans seem to backfire. I guess the titans know very well how little he will be able to do, that they’re allowing him to think he’s in charge as a sop to the minorities. And of course we’re all furious about the recent gun and abortion rights betrayals. We always think the right wing morons can never get a toehold here, but I think it’s possible the authoritarian wave is going to wash over us like it was high tide in Malibu.
So what’s next? A new Nanette Hayes novel, I hear. Older and wiser? But no less funky or funny, I hope. Or perhaps anything that might succeed the wonderful Walking Bones (2002) …
A new Nanette Hayes book, and the beginnings of some short fiction featuring her, is/are at present still a twinkle in my eye. Nan has a friend who is an older woman, a singer of some reputation, and part of the book I am imagining is her story. But, don’t look for a new one to appear anytime soon, certainly not next year.
What is scheduled to appear in 2023 is a one-off that may indeed be close in spirit to Walking Bones. Penguin/Random House (not too shabby, as my brother in law commented) is publishing Beauty in the Blood. Don’t be put off, but the novel has a paranormal edge, kind of in the way the great Robert Stone novels have a psychedelic edge. (Believe me, I don’t compare myself to him in any other way.)
To continue, the reader is taken to a variety of places— the murderous swamplands near a ruined plantation in the American South at the end of the Civil War, the hippie scene in 1970s California, a typical underclass black neighbourhood in the wake of Dr. King’s assassination, contemporary, upscale Manhattan where a beautiful 30-ish woman lawyer is involved in a hypersexual love affair, and rapidly going mad—and that ain’t all. Each locale, in each era, features satellite characters who help tell the story of a woman who has, in every sense, lived a thousand lives. Did I mention the sex?
Charlotte Carter, thank you very much
