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Okay, let's begin.

Who wants to start?

Yes, Brittany. Kick it off.

I don't have a thought on the reading,

I just think that
that word on the board is wrong.

Well, I think it still has two G's in it,
last I checked.

It's not funny.

We shouldn't have to stare
at the N-word all day.

Uh, listen.

This is a class on the literature
of the American South.

You're going to encounter
some archaic thoughts, coarse language,

but we're all adults here,

and I think we can understand it
within the context in which it's written.

Well, I just find that word
really offensive.

With all due respect, Brittany,

I got over it.

I'm pretty sure you can too.

Well, I don't see why.

Right.

Now, does anyone else
have any thoughts on the reading?

Well, it made
some of your students uncomfortable.

When did they all become
so goddamn delicate?

- This wasn't an isolated incident.
- What?

Last month you asked a student
if his family had been Nazis.

Yeah, I did. He's German.
We were reading The Plot Against America.

And trust me,
by the way he was squirming, they were.

- Oh, my God!
- Oh.

Uh, Monk, you are a very talented writer.

We're fortunate to have you here.

What? He hasn't published in years.

I have written three novels
since the last time you published.

Yeah, this is true,
and the speed with which you write

only proves that good things take time.

Oh, go to hell, Monk.

- Relax, Mandy.
- Yeah, relax, Mandy.

And anyway, my new book is with Ecco

and my agent says
they're very excited about it.

Well, that's great to hear.

- What's it about?
- Can we stop stalling, Leo?

Um, listen, Monk...

we'd like to give you a break.

- What do you mean, break?
- Just some time off.

Mandatory time off.

It's just, you're already going to Boston
for the festival, right?

Why don't you just stay there for--

Because I hate Boston. My family's there.

Well, you need some time to relax.
You're on edge, man.

You're under the impression
that time spent with my family

will take the edge off.

- I'm fine.
- You're not fine.

I saw you crying in your car last week.

He punched the steering wheel.

Wow. You know,
if you spent less time spying on me,

you could probably write
a dozen more novels

that people buy in airports,

- with their neck pillows and Cheez-Its.
- Oh, here we go. Okay.

- No, no, no, no.
- You want to go, dirty doggy?

Okay, well, enjoy Boston.

You can get my book at the airport.

Oh, and good luck with Ecco.

Hello?

Welcome back.

How's it feel to be home?

Great.

Already had a guy in a Bruins jersey
ask me if I think I'm better than him.

That's good luck here.

That's Boston's version
of a ladybug landing on you.

Any news?

Patrick at Ecco is passing.
But who fucking cares?

He's an old alcoholic.

- What is that? Nine now?
- He says,

"This book is finely crafted

with fully developed characters
and rich language,

but one is lost to understand

what this reworking
of Aeschylus" The Persians

has to do with
the African-American experience."

There it is. There it is.

- They want a Black book.
- They have a Black book.

I'm Black, and it's my book.

You know what I mean.

You mean they want me to write about
a cop killing some teenager

or a single mom in Dorchester
raising five kids.

Dorchester's pretty white now, but yes.

Jesus Christ. You know,
I don't even really believe in race.

Yeah.

The problem is that everyone else does.

Anyway, have fun at the book festival.

And just don't
insult anyone important. Please.

Writing from
a historical perspective

doesn't mean that you can't

make work that doesn't resonate
with today's audiences.

You know, I think of things like
Game of Thrones as proof that

nerds like us
can still find great success.

Unfortunately,
we're going to have to end it there.

Thank you to our authors

and thanks to all of you for attending.

Um, uh, i-is it just me,

or was this small
even for a-- a book festival?

Yeah, it's because
we're up against Sintara.

Who?

Sintara Golden.

You haven't read her?

No. What-- What's her book called?

Raves everywhere.

The Post, Bookforum.

The London Review of Books said,

"We's Lives in Da Ghetto
is a heartbreaking and visceral debut."

Plus, a little birdie
told me that, perhaps,

there's a TV adaptation in the works?

No comment.

Okay. It was worth a shot.

Tell us, what was your life like
before you were an author?

Well, I did undergrad at Oberlin

and moved to New York
the day after graduation.

And a couple months later,
I was an assistant at a publisher.

And did that
assistant experience shape your writing?

Absolutely. Yeah, I was a first reader.

Meaning, I would read
all the manuscripts in the slush pile

and send them up the ladder
if they were any good.

Some of them were great, most were not.

But the feeling I couldn't shake was that

no matter how good the books were,

most every submission was from
some white dude from New York

going through a divorce,
and too few of them were about my people.

And so I think, "Where are our stories?"

You know, "Where's our representation?"

And it was from that lack
that my book was born.

Would you give us the pleasure
of reading an excerpt?

Thank you.

"" Yo, Sharonda,

where you be goin' in a hurry likes that?'

D'onna ax me
when she seed me comin' out the house.

'Ain't none ya business

but if'n you gots to know,
I's goin' to the pharmacy.'

I looks back at the door
to see if Mama comin' out.

'The pharmacy? What for?' she ax.

'You know, ' I says.

'Nah, ' she say.

'Hell, nah! Girl, you be pregnant again?'

'Might's be, ' I tells her.

'And if I is,

Ray-Ray's gonna be a real father
this time around."'

Thank you.

Yes!

- Hi, I'm here to see Lisa Ellison.
- Hi.

Uh, do you have an appointment?
We're about to close.

No, I'm-- I'm her brother.

Oh, there she is.

Hello, Monk.

Hi, Lisa.

Okay, you're in a boat,
the motor cuts out,

but you're in shallow water,

but you're wearing $600 shoes,

but... your ride to the airport
is just pulling away from the beach.

Why, oh, why is this a legal issue?

I don't know.

- It's a matter of row versus wade.
- Oh, my God!

I think that's one of my best.

Wow.

Okay.

- When did you start smoking again?
- Mmm.

Right after the divorce.

- I always hated Larry.
- Oh, I know.

You told me right when we started dating.
Do you remember how mad I got?

"It's not your business
who I fuck! Who I fellate."

- I definitely did not say "fellate."
- I thought you did.

That's how I heard it anyway.

It's good to see you.

- Yeah, it's good to see you too.
- Hmm.

How's work?

It's not very glamorous.

I go through a metal detector every day.

- Well, what you do is important.
- Well...

Meanwhile, all I do is
invent little people in my head,

then make them have
imaginary conversations with each other.

Books change people's lives.

Has something I've written
ever changed your life?

Absolutely.

Absolutely.

My dining room table was wobbly as hell

- before your last book came out.
- Oh, my God! All right.

- It was, like, perfect.
- Yeah. Oh, God.

- I'm telling you and--
- Take me back to Logan, please.

- Logan cannot help you, Monk.
- Oh, my God!

Welcome home, baby!

Hello!

Hello?

- Mr. Monk!
- Lorraine!

Oh. What did--

You know how that makes me feel.
It's just Monk.

Oh, don't do that to me.
You know I'm too old to learn new names.

- How you doing, Miss Lisa?
- I'm good.

- You look good, Mr. Monk.
- No, I look fat.

Oh, that's the California talking.

I took you to Arkansas right now,
you'd be a beauty queen.

- Is that my Monkie?
- Uh, that's frightening.

Oh.

- Hi, Mother.
- Oh.

- You look fat.
- Ah, I know.

You ready
to go to dinner, Mrs. Ellison?

Uh, I just need my purse
and my black cardigan.

All right, I'll get it.

- Are you all right?
- Oh.

You overeat when you're depressed.

I'm not depressed.

I've just been not sleeping well lately
and so, fell off my exercise routine.

- Mmm, so you're not depressed.
- Here.

You just bear
all the hallmarks of depression.

Uh... I missed you.

Is Larry coming?

No, Mother.

Larry and I are separated, remember?

- Of course I remember.
- Okay.

I just thought he might join us.

To see your brother.

Uh, okay.

I mean, is it really such a big deal?
Everyone forgets things.

Doesn't mean she's sick necessarily.

People forget dentist appointments.

She forgets I'm not married anymore.

That's weird.

What do you suggest we do?

Why do I have to decide?

- Because you're a doctor.
- So are you.

I'm not that kind.

Okay, my point is,
you are an intelligent adult.

And I'm tired of being
the only person that takes care of her.

Well, I don't recall anyone
assigning you that responsibility.

No, you and Cliff just fled west
as soon as you could

and left me as caretaker by default.

- My work's there.
- "My work's there." Yeah.

Apologies that it prevents me from
keeping up with the family melodrama.

If you lived up the block,
you wouldn't know what was going on.

I'm stuck here taking care
of that old house and finding

love letters from Dad's affairs.

- His what?
- His affairs.

You didn't know he was having affairs?

Uh, no. How did you?

Well, he was an ob-gyn

that was traveling constantly,
but his patients were in Boston.

He said he was going to conferences.

He was making house calls.

Do you know that I saw him kiss
a white woman in the park in high school?

- How white?
- What do you mean, "How white?"

Like Brahmin white or Southie white?

I don't know. She had thin lips.

She looked like a bad kisser.

Did you tell Mother?

No! I wasn't going to blow up our lives--

She's coming back.
Mom. Mom.

- Mom. Mom. Hi.
- Oh, yeah.

How you doing?

Our waitress isn't wearing a bra.

Okay.

I didn't notice.

See this shit?
This gonna take us out of the ghetto.

But there are rules in the house.

Rule number one,
never leave this product in the house.

Rule number two, get your own crew.

Number three,
got to have discipline in your crew.

Rule number four,
don't praise a nigga too much.

Otherwise he's gonna think you're soft.

Rule number five, don't show no love.

Love will get you killed.

See this, it's like a bitch.

You fuck a bitch,
don't let a bitch fuck you.

You a man who don't need nothing
or no one to get you through.

This bitch?
This bitch will take your soul.

Y'all niggas ain't got no fam--

Excuse me, uh, Ned.

Do you have any books
by the writer Thelonious Ellison?

Yeah, uh, this way.

- Uh, here you go.
- Right. Yeah.

Wait a minute. Why are these books here?

I'm not sure.

I would imagine that
this author Ellison is Black.

That's me. Ellison. Yeah.

He is me, and he and I are Black.

- Oh, bingo.
- No bingo, Ned.

These books have nothing to do
with African-American studies.

They're just literature.

The Blackest thing
about this one is the ink.

Uh, I don't decide
what sections the books go in.

No one here does.
That's how chain stores work.

Right, Ned.

You don't make the rules.

I'm just going to put them
back after you leave.

Don't you dare, Ned.

Do not you dare.

Ned.

Monk, what are you doing?

Mom's only going to get worse.

They say mental exercise is good.
That's why I got her that gardening book.

Does growing cucumbers
count as mental exercise?

- I hate when you do that.
- What?

You share your condescending
opinion as a question

trying to disguise the condescension.

Why don't you just say that
you think that gardening is idiotic?

- Uh, because that's not what I was doing.
- Bullshit.

Bullshit. Bullshit.

Maybe we can hire a nurse
a few times a week.

- Who's going to pay for that?
- You-- You can't afford it?

Not after the divorce, I cannot.

Well, it will hurt, but we'll probably
have to sell the beach house.

Yeah, we definitely need
to sell the beach house,

but that money is going to go
to pay back the reverse mortgage

that our mother
took out on the other house.

Yeah.

Look, I can send some money home, but it's
not going to be much. Can't Cliff chip in?

- Cliff's not in a good place, okay?
- Who is? Okay?

Monk, Becca took everything.

And the kids are getting teased at school.

- I didn't know.
- Well, maybe you should call him.

I'm sorry I've always been so distant.

You couldn't help that.

You were always Dad's favorite.

And that made Cliff and I bond,
and you resented us

for having that bond, and then,

I don't know,
you just became self-sufficient.

- We've never talked about this.
- We never talked about anything.

Is that surprising?

Look at our parents.

Mmm.

The only emotions I remember from Dad...

were boredom and rage.

Is boredom an emotion?

Great.
It's Detective Dictionary.

Oh!

You haven't called me that in forever.

Oh, God!

- What? Oh, come on!
- Oh, God!

Lisa? You okay? Hey.

Hey, help! Help!

"If you are reading this,

it's because I, Lisa Madrigal Ellison,

have died.

Obviously, this is not ideal,

but I guess it had
to happen at some point.

Hopefully, I ex--

Hopefully, I expired

under the heaving thrusts
of a sweaty Idris Elba,

or perhaps in a less dignified manner,

under the heaving thrusts
of a sweaty Russell Crowe.

Irrespective of how I went,

I ask that those closest to me

not mourn all that much.

I lived a life that made me proud.

I lo--

I was loved

and I loved in return.

I found work that aroused my passions.

I believe I gave more than I took.

And I did my damnedest
to help people in need.

And on top of all that,

many a friend wrongly
accused me of having Botox

because of how tight my skin
stayed well into my 50s.

What more could someone ask of a life?

I love you all.

Thank you for being here today.

Goodbye.

Lisa."

Cliff?

Are those human remains?

You guys have a permit for that?

Just shut the fuck up, Phillip!

Cliff, you don't talk to me like that.

Fuck you. I just did.

- What?
- You want me to beat your ass?

- I'm just--
- Get the fuck out of here.

I will eat your sweater vest for dinner.

- No-- Yep.
- Bitch. Go.

- One...
- Get the fuck out of here, Phillip.

- I'm just--
- Two...

- Three.
- Always been a fucking douche.

Where is everybody?

They're exhausted.

I gave Lorraine something
to help her sleep.

Mother's taking a bath.
Then I'm going to dose her too.

You think maybe I can get
some of that later tonight?

Yeah. What, you're not sleeping well?

Uh, normally, I sleep fine,
but just lately.

Yeah.

Does seeing a dead body
ever become normal?

I don't know. I haven't seen many.

Really?

I'm a plastic surgeon.

If I'm looking at a corpse,
then something went very awry.

Right.

Yeah. Made me feel for Mother.

Can't imagine what she must've
gone through finding Dad,

you know, like that.

I know.

So much death.

When was the last time
we were here together?

Uh... ...maybe ten years.

Yeah.

The kids were still little.

Yeah.

How is your family, by the way?

You actually care?

Of course. Why would I ask?
Why would you ask me that?

I don't know, Monk. You never really call.

- I get busy.
- Yeah, everybody gets busy.

You drift away.

You want to know how my family is?

My wife left me
'cause she caught me in bed with a man.

She took my house, half my practice.

My kids fucking hate me.

And I still live in fucking Tucson.

What's wrong with Tucson?

Oh, my God! There's one gay bar
and it's full of college kids.

One of them asked me if I was Tyler Perry.

That's terrible.

I mean,
Tyler Perry lives in Atlanta, right?

Fuck you, man.

Shut up.

Nowhere near Tucson.

Oh, boy.

- Did you know Dad had affairs?
- Oh, for sure.

How?

You could just tell.

Lisa told me she saw him
kissing a white woman once.

Ah, why did I have no idea?
Why am I the last to know?

Because you loved him too much.

Enemies see each other
better than friends.

What the hell did you give her?

It's oxycodone. But knocks them right out.

You gave her opioids to sleep?

Yeah. You ever seen a heroin addict?
Those guys take naps standing up.

It's dangerous.

Look, I'm keeping an eye on her.
I'm a doctor.

- So am I.
- Right.

Maybe if we need to revive a sentence.

Uh, well, um,
why do you have synthetic smack anyway?

What is that?

Whoa.

Oh, shit.

Mother?

Mother?

Mother.

Hey.

Hey. What are you doing? Hey.

Mother.

Hey.

Come on.

Come on.

Well, I'm not sure, to be honest with you.

It's going to depend
on what the doctors say.

Yeah, I'll touch base when I know more.

Thanks so much for being understanding.

Hey, um, Leo. Uh, one more thing.

I was wondering if maybe
we could treat this as a sabbatical

as opposed to a leave of absence?

Whatever happens with my mother,
it's going to cost some money.

No, I understand.

No, it's not your fault.
I'll figure something out.

Yeah.

Thanks for your help.

Okay. Bye-bye.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh. Uh, you don't have to do that.

Oh, no. I do.

It's tomato season.
You can't let them go to waste.

Ooh. A crime around here.

Thank you.

That's what neighbors are for, right?

Welcome to the neighborhood.

I thought the place was vacant.

Uh, it has been for a while.
We just got here last night.

Oh. Figured the place was haunted.

They said some old man
blew his brains out there a while back.

Yeah.

Oh, my God. I--

I'm a fucking idiot.

Please forgive me.

Well...

Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that.

What'd she do for a living?

She was a doctor.

Um, most of my family, doctors.
Basically, I'm the outcast.

Huh.

What do-- What do you do for work?

I'm a lawyer.

Public defense. Quincy.

Mmm. Very honorable.

Yeah. It's very hard,
but can be rewarding.

May I ask you something
that I'm sure a lot of people ask you?

How do I feel
about defending guilty people?

Yeah.

- I love it.
- Why?

I have to. And they're all guilty.

- Really?
- Yes. But that's okay.

People are more than their worst deed.

- I guess I agree with that.
- Mmm.

I'm sure you do. You're a writer.

I don't follow.

Well, writers have to be nonjudgmental.

You can't write interesting characters

and be critical
of every bad decision they make.

Right?

Maybe you should be the writer.
I don't feel like much of one lately.

You blocked?

It's just...

...I don't think anybody
wants to buy what I write.

That's not true.

I-I didn't want to say anything, but,
um, I actually read one of your books.

Hmm. Which?

The Frogs.

Oh, so you were the one.

I liked it.

You're talented.

You're ex-expecting company?

Yeah.

Oh.

Hello.

- Hey.
- Jelani, uh, this is Monk.

He and his family
own the house across the street.

Nice to meet you.

Yeah, it's a pleasure.

Are you staying for dinner?

Uh, n-no, I--
I need to go check in on my mother.

- Cool.
- Uh, thank you, uh...

...for the wine and, uh...

good night.

Good night, Monk.

What time's your flight?

11:00.

You think, uh, maybe you could change it?

Think it would be useful to have you
at Mother's doctor's appointment today.

I can't. I got to get home.

Fine, but you think you can chip in
for her care once we find out what's what?

It's probably going
to be pretty expensive.

Things are tight right now, so...

You thought about firing Lorraine?

Lorraine is family.

Well, shit, Monk.
I don't know what to tell you, all right?

So you can't do anything?

I will check with my accountant
when I get back, all right?

It's 8:00 in the morning.

I'm not flying the fucking plane, Monk.

Well, do you think you could be so kind

as to go inside and see
if Mother is ready to head out?

Oh, all right. Hey.

- Mother!
- Don't yell, man. Be civilized.

You're just like our dad, man.

'Till you do right by me, Monk.
I swear to fucking God.

Clown.

You want to see civilized?
Mother!

Morning.

Hey. Morning.

Listen,

about last night, uh...

Oh, it's okay.

You don't have to explain.
I had a good time.

No, I--

Jelani, uh, he's, uh, my ex.

He's going to be.

We're in the middle of breaking up and...

it's hard.

I get it.

I'd like to see you again.

Do you think that you'll be
around town next couple of days?

You know, grab a drink?

Yeah, I'd like that.

Yeah, me too.

Drive safe.

Thanks.

Mr. Ellison?

We're ready.

Her MRI shows
early signs of neurodegeneration.

There's a slight decrease
in the size of the temporal lobe,

which suggest Alzheimer's.

I'm very sorry, Mr. Ellison.

But at some point, she'll probably
require around-the-clock care

for her own safety.

- Hey, young nigga.
- Hey!

Hey, whoa, whoa.

Don't shoot me, partner. Come on now.

Van Go.

That you?

Yeah, it me, nigga.

Shit. What, you drunk, motherfucker?

Where you runnin' to?

Just leave me alone, man.

How yo' mama?

What you say?

I said, how yo' mama?

Oh, shit.

They ain't tell you, huh?

What you talking about, punk?

Hey, what you talking about?

Think about it, Van Go.

Lookit my face.

Lookit my midnight black complex--

No, that's not right.

What did you want to say?

You can say it better than that, right?
Come on. What do you want?

Think about it, Van Go.

Lookit my face.

Lookit my coal black skin.

And then lookit your own.

Look at my Black eyes.

Now look at your own.

Look at my big Black lips.

And look at your own.

I's your daddy whether you like it or not.

Shut up, okay? Shut up, man! You lying!

No, no, that's the truth, nigga.

Where you been, huh?

Where you been?

I've been where I always be.

Surviving.

You ain't worth a piss.

Your mama ain't worth a piss.
So here I am.

What do I say now?

I think now will come
some sort of, you know,

dumb, melodramatic sob story

where you, uh, highlight
your broken interiority.

Something--
Something like, I don't know, uh...

I hates this man.

I hates my mama.

And I hates myself.

I've seen my face in his.

I see the ape that all them stupid girls
were afraid of, yeah.

I can see my long arms hanging down.

And I see eyes that don't care
what happens tomorrow.

I...

I see myself

rockin' back on my heels,
just like this, baby.

Just waitin'.

And waitin' and waitin' and waitin'
and waitin' for something

that I'm not even gonna recognize
when it comes!

Death is my only cure.

I heard that before.

I been hearin' it, and I'm hearin' it now.

I see--

I see my mama cryin'.

I see her screamin' in my dreams.

I see my babies.

I see my--

I see my daddy.

I see myself.

What the fuck?

- What the fuck you do that for?
- 'Cause you ain't shit, nigga.

And you made me.

So 'cause you ain't shit, I ain't shit.

'Cause you ain't shit, I ain't shit!

I gots to bounce.

Peace, motherfucker.

Peace.

What the fuck was that for?

You're watching
Black Stories Month on WHN.

Celebrating the diversity
of the African-American experience.

Join us for more
riveting cinema, heartbreak and drama.

Hello?

"I be standing outside in the night.

A police chopper go by
and shine some lights in some backyards

and I think,
'Shine that light on me, motherfucker,

shine me some fucking light
so I can see where the fuck I be at."'

- Are you serious?
- You notice I didn't put my name on it.

Yes, Stagg R. Leigh.
I did notice that. Well done.

But I still can't send this out.

You said you wanted Black stuff.
What's Blacker than that?

It's got deadbeat dads, rappers, crack,
and he gets killed by a cop in the end.

I mean, that's-- that's-- that's--
That's Black, right?

- I see what you're doing.
- Good, because it's not subtle.

I mean, how's that book so different than
some of the other garbage they put out?

- That's not the point.
- Well, it's my point.

Look-- Look at what they publish.
Look at what they expect us to write.

I'm sick of it.

And that's an expression
of-- of how sick I am.

Monk, I'm trying to sell books,
not be a part of some crusade.

- Who do you expect to publish this?
- No one.

I just want to rub their noses
in the horseshit they solicit.

Okay. What do you want me to do?

I want you to send it out.

Can I say it's performance art?

No. Send it straight.

If they can't take the joke,
then fuck them.

All right, but I'm only sending it to
a couple of places. This thing scares me.

Scares you? Why?

Because white people
think they want the truth, but they don't.

They just want to feel absolved.

Well, fortunately, that's not my problem.

- Okay.
- Bye.

I'm surprised you reached out.
I thought you were just being nice.

I'm never just being nice.
I'm too old for that.

You know, I like you so much, in fact,

that I went out and got
another one of your books.

Really? Which one?

The Haas Conundrum.

What'd you think?

I liked it.

Susan has really great dialogue.

And I love the aunt.

Wow. I mean, you write women well.

Huh. You think so?

- Yeah. They're not hothouse flowers.
- Thank you.

- I appreciate that.
- Mmm.

I could've done with
less footnotes, though.

I, uh-- I got to run.

Well, how's your mom?

In and out.

I'm afraid to be away for too long.

- Yeah.
- But, um...

I'll, uh...

I'll call you.

Hold on a minute.

Sign my book.

What's your name again?

Mmm.

Mr. Monk?

What's going on with the lights?

Uh, Miss Lisa used to pay the bill.

Did you?

How much?

Well, I can handle the electrical bills,
but these care facilities are expensive.

The best one nearby

is 5,600 a month,
and that's for a shared room.

It goes up to 6,900 a month
for a private room.

Why you looking at the best one?
She wasn't the best mother.

Look, I'm not here to re-litigate
our childhoods.

Of course not, because yours was great.

Goddamn it!
Are you going to help me or not?

Won't Medicaid cover it or something?

That's not how it works.

- You don't know this?
- No.

Hello.

Mmm. Mmm.

- Who's that? What are you doing?
- I've taken a lover.

You've taken a lover?

You got a problem with that, homophobe?

Listen, I'm not offended that
you've taken a lover, Cliff.

I'm offended, Cliff,
that you call it taking a lover.

Mmm. You can eat shit, nigga.

I'll take my lover right now.

Hey, where you going?

There you are.

Traffic was insane. What's up?

Sit down.

Have a seat.

We sold your book.

Holy shit!

- I thought it was DOA.
- Not The Persians.

No. Get out!

Paula Baderman from Thompson-Watt.

- She always passes.
- Not this time.

They want to preempt for 750,000.

No one's ever offered that much to me.

- This is you.
- No, it's not, Arthur.

- You wrote it.
- As a joke.

Well, now it's the most lucrative joke
you've ever told.

- And I'm not selling.
- Why not?

Because it's trash, Arthur.

You didn't even want
to send it out the other day.

But look who's
suddenly overcome his fears.

I know. I broke the first rule of sales.

Never underestimate
how stupid everyone is.

Well, I'm not participating
in making them any stupider.

Well, you haven't thus far,
which is admirable,

but you also haven't made any money.

Doesn't your mom need help these days?

Check this out.

I don't care how drunk we get,
I'm not selling it.

That's not what I'm doing.

Johnnie Walker Red, 24 bucks.

Johnnie Walker Black, 50 bucks.

Johnnie Walker Blue,

$160.

You see the metaphor?

No.

These are all made by the same company.

The red is shit,
the black is less shit, the blue is good.

But fewer people buy the blue
because it's expensive.

And at the end of the day,
most people just want to get drunk.

For most of your career,
your books have been blue.

They're good, complex.

But they're not popular
because most people want something easy.

Now, for the first time ever,
you've written a red book.

It's simple, prurient.

It's not great literature,
but... satisfies an urge.

And that's valuable.

What I'm trying to illustrate
is that just because you do red

doesn't mean you can't also do blue.

You can do it all.

Like Johnnie Walker.

In fact, you got Johnnie Walker beat,

because you don't even
have to put your real name on it.

Jesus!

Do we drink now?

- Hello?
- Hello, Paula.

Arthur! So wonderful to hear from you.

Um, I hope that you are
with the man of the hour.

I am, indeed. He's right here next to me.

Mr. Leigh?

Uh, yeah, this is he.

Oh, really?

Uh... yeah, goddamn it.

- Right. Right, okay, um--
- Motherfucker.

Yeah, I was a little confused at first,
but...

We're both very excited
to discuss Thompson-Watt's offer.

Yes, well, first of all, let me just say
that all of us here at Thompson-Watt

are thrilled with My Pafology.

It is about as perfect a book
as I have seen in a long, long while.

Just-- Just raw and-- and real.

And, Mr. Leigh, is this, um--
Is this based on your actual life?

Yeah, you think some bitch-ass college boy
can come up with that shit?

No, no. No, I don't.

No. You know, that kind of...
...visceral energy cannot be taught, right?

Stagg-- May I call you--
Now, is Stagg a pseudonym?

Yes, uh, it is.

Mr. Leigh can't use his real name
because he's a...

Well, he's a wanted fugitive.

Oh, my God! Wow.

That's why this couldn't
be a video conference.

Are you crazy?
What if they fact check this?

Fact check? There's barely money
to pay editors anymore.

Just go with it.

Yeah, I did a 12-year bid,
but no going back.

Nah' mean?

Yeah. Yeah, you know, um--

I-- I've been, uh, reading a lot
about the, uh, prison abolition movement.

Oh, no. God!

Sorry to rush, Paula,
but can we talk business?

Mr. Leigh values his time
outside of a cell.

Of course.

I'm sure you're both very, very busy,
so I will get right to it.

Um, you'll notice that our offer
is unusually large,

and that is because we believe
Mr. Leigh has written a bestseller.

We think it is going to be
the read of the summer.

Yeah, I'm sure white people
on the Hamptons will delight in it.

Yes, we will.

They-- We-- It's going to be huge. Huge.

I love it.

Is that little Thelonious Ellison?

My God! Maynard!

Everyone still call you Monk?

Well, everyone but you.

Well, it's a beautiful name.

I-It seems sinful not to use it whole.

Well, I'm glad someone appreciates it.

I heard about your sister. My condolences.

Thank you.

I don't think I've seen you since

before your father passed?

Yeah, it's been a while. I live in LA now.

Oh, Hollywood.

Hey, do you write for that NCIS?

Just books.

Well, you should try to write for NCIS.
It's popular.

Well, maybe I will.

Hey, so, how you been?

Oh, I-I'm good. And you?

- Yeah--
- Mr. Monk.

What would you like for dinner?

Maynard!

Hi, Lorraine.

It's been a dog's age.

Well, I guess it has.

You look well.

You too.

Well, I best be getting back.

- It's good to see you, Thelonious.
- You too.

Lorraine.

Mmm-mm-mm.

Ain't nothing to smile at.

Oh, there she is.

Behave yourself.

Hey. Hi.

- Got this for you.
- Oh, thank you.

Lorraine, this is Coraline.

- Hey.
- Welcome.

- Yeah, hello.
- Hello.

Mother, perfect timing.

This is Coraline.

Hello, dear. I'm Agnes.

Such a pleasure to meet you.
I brought you these.

Dahlias are my favorite.

There's a whole world inside them.

- Lorraine?
- Yes.

Mother, you sit here.

All right.

And, Coraline, why don't you
sit across from Mother?

Oh, sure, sure.

Okay.

I'm happy you're not white.

Me too.

Yeah, it was pretty funny.

Well, I think you--

I think you remind her of my sister.

Mmm.

Well, do you think we look alike?

N-No, but you're both self-assured

and funny,

and you're both...

fantastic kissers.

Oh? Ooh.

Mrs. Ellison?

Mrs. Ellison?

Mr. Monk!

Mr. Monk!

- I just-- I just--
- What's wrong?

- I just stepped outside for a moment...
- What's wrong?

...to have a cup of coffee with Maynard.
I was right in front.

- Where's Mother?
- I don't know!

- What?
- The backdoor was open.

- She gone.
- What?

We should split up. Here.

I-I got more in the car.

Mother!

Mother!

Mother!

Mother!

Mother!

Mother.

Mother!

Mother! Hey!

Mother! Mother! Hey! Hey, stop!

Hey! Where are you going?

Lisa's out there
roughhousing with the cousins.

Somebody's going to get hurt.

Stop.

Um, I will-- I will go tell her. Okay?

- Yeah, but then--
- I'll take you back to the house,

and then I will go tell her.

- But they're out there.
- I know, I know.

- Okay, you sure?
- I will tell her.

- Okay.
- Now, come on. It's too cold out here.

- You should...
- Okay.

- Lisa doesn't swim very well.
- I know. I know.

Okay. Almost there.

All right.

Good.

- Good.
- Here we go.

All right.

Okay, Monkie.

All right.

And this is our library.

It's full of all the classics.
And we try to get some new releases too.

Do you like to read, Mrs. Ellison?

No.

That's not true.

She loves to read.
She taught me to love reading.

Perhaps we can get
some of your son's books in here,

and you can lead a book club.

Hmm.

- I'm sorry.
- It's fine.

It's hard for a lot of the residents
at first, but she'll settle in.

Right.

Um, I appreciate all your help,

but how soon do you think
we can get her in?

Uh, in about a month.

You can start the paperwork today
if you'd like.

Great. I'd like that.

You know, I'll go check on your mom, okay?

Thank you.

- Hello?
- Hey, Thelonious.

How you doing? My name is Carl Brunt.

I am the director
of the New England Book Association.

Hi, Carl. I-- I know who you are.

Oh, good. Then perhaps you'll also know
that each year my organization bestows

the somewhat pretentiously named
Literary Award.

Every writer knows
the Literary Award, Carl.

Especially those of us who haven't won it.

Yeah. Yeah.

Well, that's sort of related
to why I'm calling.

Like many American institutions,
mine was recently rattled by the notion

that our lack of diversity
had led to a blind spot in our work.

So, you know,
we're kind of trying to remedy that.

And to that end,
I was wondering how you might feel

about being a judge
in this year's award ceremony?

Um, let me say first, Carl,
that I'm honored you'd choose me

out of all the Black writers you could
go to out of fear of being called racist.

Yeah, you're very welcome.

But I-- I think this
sounds like a lot of work.

Yeah, I can't deny that. You're going
to have to read dozens of books.

We could offer you a modest stipend.

- Even so, I'm not sure.
- Okay.

One other crass perk I reference when
people are kind of on the fence like this

is that this will allow you
the opportunity

to literally judge
these other writers for once

rather than just figuratively.

All right, I'm in.

Well, fantastic. Okay.

Great. So you're going to be
one of five judges.

Uh, the only one we have confirmed
so far is Sintara Golden.

Are you familiar
with Sintara Golden's work?

Vaguely.

Oh, she's great.
You're gonna love her, man.

I brought you lunch, Mr. Monk.

Oh. Wow.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

Well, I have a favor to ask.

I was wondering if I might be able
to take the afternoon off.

Maynard just came in from the beach

and we thought it might be
nice to visit a museum.

Yes, of course.

I'm free today,
so I can look after Mother.

Lorraine.

Hmm?

You really like him, huh?

He's a fine man.

Yeah.

Page seven. It's got, like, 12.

The guests of honor.

Hello, Mrs. Ellison.
Looking beautiful as ever.

Hello, Arthur.

Mmm.

Layne, would you take
Mrs. Ellison to the kitchen

and set her up with some tea?

Right this way, ma'am.

Mother, I won't be long.

Take your time.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hmm.

Not the pods, the good tea, for guests.

- What is this? I told you to dress street.
- I did.

Fucking Sesame Street.

What's this, uh, guy's name?

- Willy?
- Wiley. Wiley Valdespino.

He specializes in
Oscar-baity "issue" movies.

He did the, uh,
Middle Passage one last year.

- Somehow I didn't see that.
- Of course not. You're not lobotomized.

But if he adapts your book,
you stand to make a lot of money.

Why can't we just do a phone call?

Well, he said if he's going
to cut a check this large,

then he needs to meet in person.

All right.

- What do I need to do?
- Just make him like you.

When I talked to him,
he seemed thrilled that you're a fugitive.

Just, you know, play that up.

But what if he recognizes me?

- You?
- Yeah, the real me.

Monk, you're not that famous.

And nobody in Hollywood reads.

They get their assistants to read things,
and then summarize them.

The whole town runs on book reports.

- You sure you can look after my mother?
- She won't leave my sight.

You'll just be across the street, anyway.

- Across the street.
- You should go. You'll be late.

He's waiting for you.

Well, if he, uh, wants the stereotype...

...maybe it's better I'm late.

Stagg, I presume?

- That-- That's me.
- Hey, I'm Wiley.

Nice to meet you, brother.

Sorry about the bougie restaurant.
My assistant picked it.

We can go somewhere else
if you're uncomfortable.

- This is fine.
- Okay.

What are you drinking?

I'll have a chenin blanc.

All right.

Of your driest.

Well, what's funny?

Ah, it's just a strange order
for a guy like you.

Why is that?

Well, you don't see many convicts
drinking white wine.

Y-You know many convicts?

You'd be surprised.

I spent a month in the joint myself.

It was some interstate commerce shit.

It was a short stay,
but I'll tell you what,

that experience grounded me.

The people I met in there
allowed me to see

a whole world of underrepresented stories
from underrepresented storytellers.

Can I ask what you were in for?

I-- I don't like to talk about that.

You feel me?

Was it murder?

You said that, not me.

You know, I gotta tell you,
before you showed up,

I was a little worried
you might be a phony.

A lot of fakes in Hollywood.

Well, I'm not from Hollywood.

Yeah, yeah, no.
That's obvious. That's obvious.

Clearly, you're cut from
a different cloth than your average, uh...

screenwriter.

Let me ask you,
I know they sent you some of my stuff.

Did you have a chance
to see any of my movies?

So-- I'm sorry, what did you say?

Have you seen any of my movies?

- Uh, uh, no.
- Okay.

Well, look, what I like to do,

is I like to pair genre
with real-world pathos.

It kind of elevates things.

You might be interested in this one
we're about to shoot, actually.

It's about this white couple.

They get married
on an old plantation in Louisiana.

Then all the slave ghosts come back,
and they murder everyone.

- Dear God!
- I know. I know.

It's great, right?

It's called Plantation Annihilation.

Ryan Reynolds is going to get decapitated
with an Afro pick in the opening scene.

- He's a friend.
- Gotta go.

Mother. Mother. Mother. Mother!

Mo--

Some ad exec on the third floor
had an aneurysm.

- Awful.
- I know.

Imagine exploding your brain trying
to think of a toilet paper commercial.

I assume Wiley isn't interested.

I sprinted out of there
like a complete maniac.

Actually, he's offering
$4 million for the rights.

- What?
- Yeah, man.

He called you the real deal.

Said you took off
the moment you heard police sirens.

The dumber I behave, the richer I get.

Now you know why my parents
moved here from Puerto Rico.

I mean, we can't be expected

to read every novel
all the way through, right?

What? No, people have
worked hard on these books.

And we have to respect that.

Well, hard work doesn't demand respect.

I mean, you know,
people worked hard on the Third Reich.

Yeah, well, I feel that we owe it to them
to read every page.

That is such horseshit.

I mean, most of it's going to be
that Knausgård autofiction crap, anyhow.

I tell you something right now,

I'm not reading 600 pages
about some pretentious jackwagon

discovering masturbation.

Sorry.

Okay, look, I think we're all
experienced enough

to assess the general quality of something
within a hundred pages.

If you want to read beyond that,
that's your prerogative.

Well, how do you feel, Monk?

Uh, I agree with Sintara, actually.
I think 100 pages is sufficient.

You know, this is all a crock, anyway.

I mean, pitting art
against other art for awards,

I-like it's not subjective.

It's absurd.

Then why did you agree to be
a judge if you feel that way?

Well, because it's either me
or some other Brooklyn hack

who doesn't think there's a world
beyond the Hudson River, Ailene.

It's the East River
if you're in Brooklyn, Daniel.

You know what, art is subjective.

But I think this is an opportunity

to highlight books
that may otherwise be undervalued.

Book sales are plummeting right now.

So, perhaps this award can give someone

a real chance
at a career in this industry.

Hear, hear.

Um, where do you want this, Mother?

Thought it might look nice
here with this natural light.

I don't care.
I never liked that painting, anyway.

Okay.

Uh, well, I'll bring some more art
from home next week.

And you just tell me the pieces you like,
and I'll-- I'll bring them.

We've got your lunch
ready for you, Mrs. Ellison.

It looks great. What is it?

It's roasted turkey
and Havarti on 12-grain.

Sounds delicious.

Mrs. Ellison prefers white bread.

And she doesn't like the crust.

As much as this place costs,
y'all should get the sandwiches right.

I'll make sure that we take care
of that from now on, okay?

And enjoy your lunch, Mrs. Ellison.

I'm getting married.

- Shut up.
- What?

I didn't say nothing earlier.
I was just so sad.

But Maynard asked me yesterday.

Lorraine, that's amazing.

- I mean, let's celebrate.
- Mm-mmm.

Just too much excitement.

I don't like being
the center of attention.

Well, you deserve it, Lorraine,
and Maynard is a lucky man.

Do you think you'd be willing
to walk me down the aisle, Mr. Monk?

I'd be honored.

Wow. Wow.

We are wildly excited
to help you get My Pafology out.

The, uh-- The marketing team has all kinds
of great ideas to help you sell it.

Great. We're excited to hear.

Um, John Bosco is
the head of the department.

I will let him tell you more.

Hi, Stagg.

- Hello.
- Nice to finally meet you, my man.

Listen, I love the book.

And we are going to sell
many, many copies.

There's already so much buzz
because of the movie deal.

And we just want to keep
that momentum going.

I spoke to Wiley yesterday.
He says Michael B. Jordan is circling.

We heard.
We think he would be absolutely perfect.

You know, this book,
it's awards-bait with a capital B.

And we're thinking
that if Michael does sign on,

we want to put him on the cover
in one of those, um, scarves,

I guess you would call them,
tied round his head.

A do-rag?

Do-rag. That's it. Do-rag and a tank top
with the muscles showing.

Ooh, somebody call the fire department.

Shit. Sorry. Your dad. Sorry.

So listen, for a release date,

we're thinking of rushing it, so that we
can get it out in time for Juneteenth.

Juneteenth?

We're thinking of making
a big holiday push.

Black people will be celebrating,
white people will be feeling,

let's be honest,
a little conscious-stricken.

We think it's going to be
a huge moment for your book.

So, Stagg, are you so, so happy?

We think it's great, John, really.
Amazing.

Yeah, it's-- it's, uh...

Oh, it's great.

And, you know, I've got an idea
I want to share with you two.

Oh, well, I mean,
we always love to hear great ideas.

- Yeah, cool.
- Yeah.

I want to change the title.

- I don't...
- Okay.

Um, well, just to be clear,
we really do love My Pafology.

- We love it.
- It's got that whole Irvine Welsh

- proletariat vernacular thing.
- Yeah.

No, that's why I think you're
gonna love this new title even more.

Well, okay, you know what,
we're always happy to hear, uh, new ideas.

- What did you have in mind?
- Fuck.

Uh, um, I'm sorry. Pardon me.

Fuck.

I want to call it Fuck.

- What are you doing?
- Screw these idiots.

- Stop it!
- No!

So, Stagg, what about, like, Damn?

- Mm-hmm.
- Damn? Or Hell?

Nah, Fuck.

Okay, that's cool.

Uh, but maybe we could
do that with a P-H instead

- because that would be more palatable...
- Yes. Yes.

- ...to our sellers.
- I don't care about all that.

And if you don't change the title,
the deal is off.

- Yeah.
- Whoa, whoa.

- No, there's no need to be-- be hasty.
- No, no, no.

You know what?

Why don't we-- Just give us a second

and-- and a moment,

and we will get right back to you, okay?

- What are you doing?
- What are you doing? This is ridiculous.

Do you know how much money
we're talking about?

I don't care, I'm shutting it down.

- Shutting it down.
- Come on.

- Are you there?
- Please, just--

We're here.

Let's do it.

What?

Yeah. We discussed it,
and we think it is very in-your-face

in the best way possible.

It is very, uh...

- Black?
- That's it. Yes, that's it.

I'm happy you said it and not me.

- Oh, Fuck! I love it. Oh, my.
- It's fucking great, Stagg. Yes.

You know, it's so brave, actually.

- I'm exhausted.
- Yeah, me too.

I got to stay up a few more hours
reading these books for...

Hey.

Hey.

Hey. Hey!

Monk, bro. Shit.

What are you doing here?

What am I doing here?
What are you doing here?

What do you mean, what am I doing?
Why are you in town?

I came to see our mother.

Ain't that what you been
calling me about for weeks now?

What happened to your eye?

- I got in a fight.
- Yeah.

Well, get out of the pool.
You're making a mess.

I don't want to get out of the pool.
I'm a grown-ass man.

This your girlfriend?

Yeah, you scared the shit out of her.

I'm Coraline.

Hi, Coraline.

At least she's not white again.

Your wife was white.

My wife was a beard. Beards don't count.

Well, get out. You fucking menace.
You'll wake the neighbors.

You know, fuck your neighbors!
And fuck your clean pool!

It's all just a part
of your superiority complex, anyway.

Whoa! Fucking asshole!

You are a goddamn child!

It's probably a bad time to tell you,
but I did piss down there.

Fuck.

Funny, huh?

- I'm sorry, Monk.
- Don't get mad. Don't--

Get out of here.

You want a piece of me?

It's funny, huh?

So I'm lying in bed with him,
butt-ass naked,

and in walks Claude
carrying the frozen yogurt.

- No.
- Yeah.

I forgot I'd shown him
where I keep the spare key.

So he just throws the yogurt at us
and then he wallops me right in the eye.

- What was the other guy doing?
- Ah, he couldn't stop laughing.

He said that's what he does
when he gets nervous.

- Okay.
- You really going for it these days.

I only been gay for, like, five minutes,
I got to make up for lost time.

Yeah. Well, good for you.

I mean, the whole world's falling apart.
Might as well have some fun.

- I appreciate that.
- Yeah.

You know, you're quite beautiful.

Thank you.

What do you see in my brother?

- He's funny.
- Mmm.

- He's not funny. No.
- No, not ha-ha funny.

Like, sad funny.

- Okay.
- Like a three-legged dog.

I see it now.
Like somebody dying on a toilet.

Exactly.

- Exactly.
- Invariably, you-- you-- you go too far.

- You think? I don't think I go far enough.
- It's becoming hurtful.

- Aw.
- See? See?

You know, "Invariably,
you-- you-- you go too far."

Yeah.

You got a kiss, man. Look at you.
Just by being pathetic.

- God bless you.
- Hey.

- That is like a three-legged dog.
- Hey.

Oh, this-- This is nice.

Yeah, it's not bad.

What do you got there, pergola?

- No, that's a gazebo.
- Same difference.

- All right?
- To the left.

Excuse me.

Huh.

Hey, Monk?

How the hell can you afford this place?

I, uh...

Well, there was some money
Lisa left for Mother.

Thought the divorce cleaned her out.

Well, I'm not familiar with
what her finances were like,

but if you're so interested in the bills,

perhaps I can start sending them to you?

- Ah, it's fine. Where we going?
- Right here, 44.

Surprise!

We've had a difficult morning.

We had to sedate her
after she tried to strike a nurse.

- Has she done that before?
- No.

She has a different demeanor every day,
sometimes every hour.

But maybe she'll feel better tomorrow.

I'm sorry, I need to go.

Yes, of course. Thank you.

The gardener cut these
right off the bush for your mom.

- Sweet, right?
- Yeah, that's great.

How can you afford this place?

I mean, you're not a drug dealer
or something, are you?

No, I'm a writer.

And you're my girlfriend,
not my bookkeeper.

I always knew you weren't a queer.

- She doesn't know what she's saying.
- I'm going to wait outside.

You sure you don't want to stay
for Lorraine's wedding?

It's better if I go.

It was nice to meet you, Cliff.

This family will break your heart.

Welcome back. I'm Kenya Dunston.

And today, we're going to discuss
a new novel that just debuted

at number one

on The New York Times bestseller list.

It is just a remarkable,
special book, and it's called...

Cover your kids' eyes and ears.

We are lucky enough
to have the author with us today.

And for those of you
who are just joining us,

please know that
Mr. Stagg R. Leigh is coming to us

from an undisclosed location

as he is still on the run
from authorities.

Oh, Stagg, tell us,
is this novel a true story?

Not factually,

but it's the true story of what it's like
to be a Black man in America like me.

And it ain't pretty.

Amen to that.

During my time in prison,
I learned that words belong to everybody.

So this book is my contribution
to this wonderful country of ours

where a Black ex-con can become rich

simply by telling the story
of his unfortunate people.

Hmm.

Yes. Yes.

- Yeah.
- Get this.

The FBI called Thompson-Watt today
to try to get Stagg R. Leigh's identity.

- What?
- Don't worry.

They're not going to give him up.

Give who up?
It's me, I haven't done anything.

They don't know that.

- Look, this has gone too far.
- Relax.

The fugitive stuff's getting us
mountains of free press.

Plus, as you said...

...you haven't done anything.
It's not like they can arrest you.

I wish I could go back
to not selling books.

I don't.

Bye.

Is everything all right?

Yeah.

I'm just a little stressed out.

This, uh, book award stuff
is a bit more work than I expected.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Shit!

It's no biggie.
Got more forks in the kitchen.

- What's this?
- Mmm.

My friend got it for me.

- Have you read it?
- Of course not, have you?

Yeah.

And what did you think of it?

- I liked it.
- What did you like about it?

- Um... I--
- It didn't offend you?

You just said you didn't read it.
What's your problem?

- No, you answer my question.
- You answer mine.

My problem is that
books like this aren't real.

They flatten our lives.

What do you mean?

I mean, that-- that--

You know, my life is a disaster,

but not in the way you'd think
reading this shit.

They-- These things reduce us
and they do it over and over again

because too many white people,
and-and people apparently like you

devour this slop like pigs at a dumpster

to stay current
at fucking cocktail parties or whatever.

Okay, um...

You got a lot of opinions for someone
who hasn't published anything for years.

And you've published what exactly?

Okay, what is wrong with you?

- Why are you acting like this?
- I'm not acting like anything.

You've been acting
like a weirdo for weeks.

You've been obfuscating, sneaking around.
You're fucking unknowable.

Maybe you think being an enigma
is chic and artsy.

I just think it makes you an asshole.

Well, um, you don't understand my life,
and you can't, so just leave it at that.

One day, maybe you'll learn that
not being able to relate to other people

isn't a badge of honor.

- I think you should leave.
- You know what I think?

You should leave, Monk.

Nonsense.

- You guys need any help with that?
- Nah, we're good.

I thought you could use a little brawn.

We got it.

Mr. Monk.

You mind I keep the soda maker?

You don't like the bubbly water
anyhow, right?

- It's all yours.
- Thank you.

Um, hey, wh-what about this?

No. I always hated that color.

It's just the one your father bought.

Thelonious, this just came for you.

Okay, thanks.

This is the last of it.

Goodbye, Mr. Monk.

Bye, Lorraine.

Drive safe.

Guess I'll see you at the wedding.

All right.

I'll take that there.

Thompson-Watt apparently
raced to publish it.

Yeah, I heard that
they ran 300,000 copies already

and they're reprinting more soon.

I mean, it's going like gangbusters.

Christ on a crutch! It better be good.

Hey, I heard the writer's a fugitive.

Well, that would explain the title.
He didn't go to charm school.

No, I think that
that background is a plus.

God, I am thrilled

to read a BIPOC man
harmed by our carceral state.

Wait. A-Are you one of those
"defund the police" nuts?

Yes, and I wouldn't expect you
to understand.

Well, I hope someone you love
doesn't get raped or murdered.

- Can we not talk about this now, please?
- Look, look, look.

Criminal or not,
I don't think we should add it.

Uh, we're already weeks into the process,
and I don't know about any of you,

but I've got more than a dozen books
I haven't even opened yet.

It was published before the submission
date, I think we have to accept it.

Yeah, it's just one more.

And from the looks of it,
it should be a quick read.

A quick fuck.

I've had a couple of those.

Bye, guys. Bye.

Hi, Monkie.

You look beautiful.

Oh, hello.

Monkie, do we know these men?

No, Mother, this isn't the Alzheimer's.

These are actual strangers.

- Who are you people?
- We're Cliff's friends.

Of course you are.

We met him a few days ago.
I'm Kenny, this is Alvin.

- Are you Monk?
- I am. How did you know?

Ooh. Well,
Cliff said Monk's a real tight-ass.

Hmm. Did he? Delightful.

Mother, you sit here.

Lorraine?

- Do you like scrambled eggs?
- I love scrambled eggs.

- What the hell are you doing here?
- You first.

Oh, shit, the wedding.

- Ah!
- Oh, fuck!

I didn't go to the airport.

That day I left, I...
...needed some time to myself.

Time to one's self implies,
by definition, time alone.

Oh, Christ, here we go.
Detective Dictionary.

- Ah! Mr. Cliff.
- I'm sorry, guys, I'll handle it.

You need to leave.

- Don't bother to clean up, just go.
- Oh, no, it's all right, just...

Please stay. It's a celebration.

It's good to see you, Cliff.

Good to see you too, Maynard.

I, um...

I-I don't want to impose.

You can't impose. You're family.

Okay.

I'll, uh...

I'll go clean up a bit, yeah?

Congratulations, you guys.

Can we make y'all some breakfast?
I can whip up a killer smoothie,

and Alvin used to work
the omelet station on a cruise ship.

That sounds lovely. Thank you.

- It's very kind of you to let them stay.
- Oh.

It's always easier dealing with
other people's families than your own.

I regret to inform you
that in a couple hours,

this will be your family.

Piss her off?

Yeah.

Shut her out?

Yeah.

Dad shut everyone out too.

He lied all the time.

Look how that turned out.

I find myself
getting very angry these days, like Dad.

These days?

I've been thinking a lot lately about, um,
how Dad died not knowing I'm gay.

- I think he suspected it.
- Mmm.

He may have, but he didn't know for sure.

He never knew the entirety of me.

And now he never will.

And that makes me...

It makes me real sad.

Well, what if he had known
and rejected you?

At least he'd be rejecting the real me.

I know that sounds crazy,
but, there'd be some relief in that.

It doesn't sound so crazy.

People want to love you, Monk.

I personally don't know
what they see in you, but, uh...

they want to love you.

You should let them love all of you.

It was dog shit.

I mean, some mollycoddled chump,
faffing on about his dead mom.

Who cares?

Okay, so that means
that Bury Me Standing is fourth.

Let's talk about Fuck.

- Uh, could we not?
- Personally, I adored it.

Oh.

It was like gazing into an open wound.

I agree. I think it's the strongest
African-American novel

I've read in a long time.

I mean, since yours.

- Of course, Sintara.
- Thank you.

You know, I-- I actually liked it
much more than I was expecting.

I mean, this is a gutsy piece of work.

- And necessary for the times.
- Mmm.

Uh, what did you think, Sintara?

I found it to be pretty pandering,
actually.

You did?

Yes. Did you not?

I very much did.

I thought it was simplistic
and meaningless.

Well, of course, it was simplistic.

I mean, i-it's the language of the gutter.

You know, not some prissy graduate thesis.

"Language of the gutter." Jesus Christ.

I think our blood sugar's low.
How about we take a break for lunch, huh?

- Fine by me.
- Okay.

- Okay.
- Really?

Okay.

- Oh, I'm sorry.
- Oh, no, you're fine.

- What, I'm not interrupting?
- No.

Sorry.

Do you mind if I ask you something?

Sure.

Um, what about Fuck
did you find pandering?

Oh, uh...

I can't really
put my finger on it, but, uh,

it's not different
from some of what's out there,

but it just felt...

"soulless" is the word
that I'm going to use.

- You said you agreed, right?
- Yeah, I-I-I do.

I think it seems written to satisfy
the tastes of guilt-ridden white people.

Yeah, the kind of book
critics call important and necessary,

but not well-written.

Exactly.

Okay, so-- A-And please
don't take offense at this,

but how is Fuck
so very different from your book?

Is that what this is about?

- You-- You think my book's trash?
- No.

To be honest, I-I haven't read your book.

I've read excerpts,
and it didn't seem so dissimilar.

I did a lot of research for my book.

Some of it was actually
taken from real interviews.

Maybe you've been up in
your ivory tower of academia for so long

you've forgotten
that some people's lives are hard.

Your life?

You went to an exclusive
bohemian college.

You had a job at a fancy
publishing house in New York.

So what? I-- I don't--
I don't need to write about my life.

I write about what interests people.

Well...

...you write what interests white publishers
fiending Black trauma porn.

They're the one buying the manuscripts.

Is it bad to cater to their tastes?

If you're okay feeding
people's base desires for profit--

I'm okay with giving
the market what it wants.

That's how drug dealers excuse themselves.

And I think drugs should be legal.

But y-- you're not--
You're not fed up with it?

You know, Black people in poverty?
Uh, Black people rapping?

Black people as slaves?
Black people murdered by the police?

- Whole soaring narratives about...
- Okay.

...Black folks in dire circumstances

who still manage to maintain
their dignity before they die?

I mean, I'm not saying
these things aren't real,

but we're also more than this.

And it's, like, so many writers like you

can't envision us
without some white boot on our necks.

Do you get angry
at Bret Easton Ellis or Charles Bukowski

for writing about the downtrodden?

Or is your ire strictly
reserved for Black women?

Nobody reads Bukowski thinking
his is the definitive white experience.

But people, white people,
read your book and confine us to it.

They think that we're all like that.

Then it sounds like your issue
is with white people, Monk, not me.

Well, maybe, but I also think
that I see the unrealized potential

of Black people in this country.

Potential is what people see

when they think
what's in front of them isn't good enough.

So, what are we talking about?

We're starting again.

I'll be right there.

Hey, can I speak to Arthur?
Yeah, it's Monk.

Hey. I'm-I'm fine.

Listen, y-you think you can set up
another meeting with Wiley?

I've got a new idea for him.
Different kind of movie.

Thanks.

I think it's Fuck for me.

- Yeah, me too.
- Yeah, I agree.

I disagree. I'm sorry.

I think it would be a mistake
to award this book anything.

Well, it's two versus three,
so Fuck's the winner.

Fuck is the winner.

You know, it's not just
that it's so affecting.

I just think it's essential
to listen to Black voices right now.

Mother.

Did you...

Did you know that Dad was cheating on you?

He was bad at keeping secrets.

Why didn't you leave him?

He would've been
even more lonely without me.

You thought he was lonely?

Your father was a genius.

Geniuses are lonely

because they can't connect
with the rest of us.

You're a genius, son.

Well, I certainly don't
feel like one half the time.

That's because you've always
been so hard on yourself, Cliffy.

And now for the final award
for the evening.

I promise to leave you alone,
let you eat after this.

But, before I announce the winner,

I would like to acknowledge our judges,
our incredibly diverse group of judges

who've sacrificed valuable time
so we could all celebrate here tonight.

So, if you put your hands together,
they did a fantastic job.

Okay.

Without further ado...

...this year's Literary Award goes to...

Oh, I knew it.

By Stagg R. Leigh, Fuck.

Well, I'm not sure if Mr. Leigh

is going to grace us
with his presence here tonight.

He's notoriously cagey about attention.

Oh, hold on.

Oh, okay. I see some business.

Someone's coming. Oh, Thelonious Ellison.
One of our esteemed judges.

Weirdly walking toward the stage.

No idea why.

Hey. What's going on?

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

I have a confession to make.

Wait, wait, wait. Smash to black?

No fucking way, dude.

What's wrong with that?

There's no resolution here.
What's he going to say?

I don't know.
That's what's interesting about it.

No, he should say something.

What did you say?

Nothing. I walked out of the ceremony,

and the next day I called you to say
I wanted to write this movie.

Well, Monk, the character,
should say something.

Well, I don't want him to make some

grandiose speech spoon-feeding
everyone the moral of the story.

Th-There is no moral.
That's the idea. I like the ambiguity.

Okay, look. You're a good writer,
and this is almost there.

But novels aren't movies, okay?

Nuance doesn't put asses in theater seats.

We need a big finish. What is this?

It's the seltzer you asked for.

Why is it all wet?

Condensation?

Condensation. Okay.
You're a fucking weatherman now.

You want anything?

Uh, no, I'm fine. Thank you.

This is Monk. We're gonna
make a movie with him

- if he can get the third act right.
- Nice meeting you.

- Y-You as well.
- Get me a flat white.

And, hey, never again.

All right. What other endings
you got in that big brain of yours?

How about if...

This year's Literary Award goes to...

By Stagg R. Leigh, Fuck.

I'd like to apologize.

I haven't been myself lately.

What about that?

Will she forgive him?

I don't know.

The real Coraline
won't return my phone calls.

Maybe the movie Coraline
is more forgiving.

No. It's too pat.

Makes the whole thing
feel like a romantic comedy.

We don't want to make a romantic comedy.
We want to make something real.

Give me something real.

I mean, we could just...

Hey, what's going on?

Excuse me.

Beat it.

I have a confession to make.

Stagg Leigh, on the ground now!

- There he is!
- No, no.

I'm-- I'm-- I'm not Stagg Leigh.

He doesn't exist.

I'm Monk. Thelonious Ellison.

You're a fugitive! On the ground now!

No. No, no, no.

That was all a marketing gimmick.
It was all a lie.

- He's got a gun!
- No, no! No, no!

He's dead?

They smoke him?

It's perfect.

Yes! That is...

That is perfect!

Time to pick out your tux, my brother.
We're going to the big show.

Hey, come transcribe this. We got it.

Fuck!

Hey.

So?

They gonna make your movie?

Unfortunately, yes.

Hey! You know what?

Good luck finding someone
handsome enough to play me.

- I think they have.
- Who they got?

Tyler Perry.

You got me. That's good.

All right.