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Black in Time
Written by John Jakes
 Originally published in 1970
171 pages
Many will be familiar with the idea of Historical Fiction: at its worst, this term brings about writing that is unmistakeably about a certain time or place – and the consistency of facts and contemporary events will conspire to cover any flare ups of modern thinking – and yet this writing will likely fail to say anything of any merit. Science Fiction (as nebulous a concept as this is) can suffer from similar constraints: the author spends so much time conjuring up a brave new world, and then forgets to put any people in it.
The selection of a particular genre to work within invariably limits the author to a finite set of possibilities. The mixture of two genres may serve to revitalise the work with regard to both component parts.
This is not the case for Black in Time, for which I suggest the appellation "Historical Science Fiction".
The story, as it is, can be dealt with in a few sentences. There are three prantagonists (for want of a better word): a black militant, a white supremacist preacher, and a black sociologist (the hero) who has been using a time machine to research black identity in the late Roman Republic. Following some shenanigans too broad to be dealt with here, the black militant commandeers use of the time machine to travel back in time and expedite the emancipation of the African-American populace (firstly by trying to prevent the Islamic conquest of North Africa, later by attempting to assassinate Mohammed during the Hegira, and so on, with later efforts concentrating on North America). The white supremacist is simultaneously1 trying to prevent the emancipation of the African slaves. There are disruptions in space and time, &c &c. Obviously things work out, and our sociologist becomes a bit more politicized.
There are many reasons to dislike this book. The characters are finest cardboard at best, the plot faintly ludicrous, the worthy additions to my knowledge of black history perhaps a little too trite2 and as a whole so reliant on exposition that the whole thing chugs along rather painfully.
But I felt obliged to keep turning the pages. But then that’s the problem with page turners: when you’ve turned the final page, there is nothing left to do. Good fiction should flourish in the cracks of the mind like mould.
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1 And this is where stories on time-travel always get confusing.
2 For instance, it is still unclear to me whether Mohammed’s life was saved by a time-travelling 20th century sociologist. |
