The Conjure Man Dies by Rudolph Fisher

My book group read this recently republished crime novel from 1932, written by a Harlem physician who died at a young age and never got a real crack at making a name for himself. It is written with a black dialect, and is surprisingly not dated, with the exception of some Bubber Brown and his friend Jinx Jenkins have come to consult N’Gana Frimbo, a Harvard-educated psychic who’s known throughout Harlem. In the middle of their session, Frimbo cries out, “Why do you not see?” and collapses, to be pronounced dead soon after by neighboring physician John Archer. Frimbo, whose friends and clients ranged from his landlord, undertaker Samuel Crouch, to drug addict Doty Hicks and Spider Webb, a numbers runner who works for Crouch’s friend Si Brandon, the king of Harlem crime, was privy to many secrets, and any number of people might have wanted him dead. But how could anyone have beaten him unconscious and suffocated him by forcing the handkerchief Archer discovers down his throat when he died in the middle of a session with Brown and Jenkins? The novel meanders between lots of options, with the black detective Dart and Dr. Archer playing ideas off each other. The medical facts that are presented are on point and unannoying, all still ringing true today. If you are a fan of either Harlem history or crime fiction, I would recommend this.