Promising ... This is an ambitious first book and, perhaps to his credit, Franklin never lets a single theme or narrative element overwhelm it ... The story is ostensibly told in a close third-person voice, a blurry synthesis of Smith’s perceptions and Franklin’s editorializing ... Third-person smudging distances the reader from Smith, rendering his plight less involving ... Nevertheless, Franklin has plenty to say, and he articulates it forcefully.
It’s fine for a character with means to be a little low-energy, but he veers close to bland ... At its most gripping, Great Black Hope investigates these ideas head-on rather than gesturing at them ... Franklin is certainly a beautiful stylist, but often his sentences feel like they’re trying very hard to make you think so ... The momentum Great Black Hope starts with, the idea that Smith is usually protected because of his family, but not because of his race, and the far-reaching corners of addiction, all but fizzles out in its last few pages.
This is a book about New York that’s part love letter, part reckoning; a tale of glamorous club kids and their sometimes bleak inner lives; and an account of the way privilege and race intersect ... For the most part he grounds his lyrical writing with granular details, from sidestreets and brand names to vivid late-night conversations, in a book that really convinces. This fine debut probes grief, friendship, hedonism and the hard edges of the city as it walks a young man towards a second chance he knows others may not get.
