With ‘The World Doesn’t Require You,’ Rion Amilcar Scott Invents A Masterful, Spellbinding Collection

An ingenius follow-up to 'Insurrections'

The World Doesn't Require You Book Cover The World Doesn't Require You
Rion Amilcar Scott
Fiction, Short Stories
Liveright
August 20, 2019
Hardcover
384

Established by the leaders of the country’s only successful slave revolt in the mid-nineteenth century, Cross River still evokes the fierce rhythms of its founding. In lyrical prose and singular dialect, a saga beats forward that echoes the fables carried down for generations—like the screecher birds who swoop down for their periodic sacrifice, and the water women who lure men to wet deaths.

Among its residents—wildly spanning decades, perspectives, and species—are David Sherman, a struggling musician who just happens to be God’s last son; Tyrone, a ruthless PhD candidate, whose dissertation about a childhood game ignites mayhem in the neighboring, once-segregated town of Port Yooga; and Jim, an all-too-obedient robot who serves his Master. As the book builds to its finish with Special Topics in Loneliness Studies, a fully-realized novella, two unhinged professors grapple with hugely different ambitions, and the reader comes to appreciate the intricacy of the world Scott has created—one where fantasy and reality are eternally at war.

Aspiring writers should proceed with caution when reading Rion Amilcar Scott’s second collection of short stories, The World Doesn’t Require You. One cannot delve into these magnificent, genre-bending narratives without sinking into a pool of envy and wonder at the imaginative power of his craft.  Like Scott’s debut, Insurrections, this collection features the fictional city of Cross River, Maryland, a town founded in the wake of the country’s only successful slave revolt. Its inhabitants—a motley cast of characters, from gangsters, sirens, and robots to two unbalanced professors studying loneliness and a down-and-out musician who happens to be the youngest son of God—battle with religion, deities, the transcendent power of music and the balance of fantasy and reality. Spanning decades from past to future, Cross River envelops all in its mythos and the brutal nature of its origins.

Scott’s writing zips with electricity, melding vibrant dialogue with pristinely structured prose. His linguistic playfulness, manifesting in asides, razor-sharp deployment of AAVE, and—in his novella, Special Topics in Loneliness Studies—the liberal usage of footnoting and a break from traditional prose structure with the inclusion of PowerPoint slides and photographs, hums with barely contained mayhem. Music comes as staccato bursts on the page, marrying rhythm and language in ecstatic waves—a feat reminiscent of writers such as Junot Díaz and the late Toni Morrison. While Scott allows the world of Cross River to take shape as it must, containing shadow play of the real world, he maintains a formidable level of control over his sentences and narrative structures. Nothing feels out of place as the reader moves from one story to the next, era to era.

Scott’s world-building rests on the specific experiences of African Americans in a Southern border state, but The World Doesn’t Require You fits easily into conversation with the work of William Faulkner and Gabriel García Márquez who created fantastic variations of their own places of origin, namely Yoknapatawpha County and Macondo. Márquez’s particular strand of magic realism—a genre born from centuries of violent political upheaval—presents itself in Scott’s fiction, a frenetic contribution to the “Big Bang” realm of speculative fiction. In this fluid sub-genre, characters often struggle to come into being in the midst of systemic trauma. The collision of forces that brings matter into existence is a gut-wrenching experience, one that leaves those in its wake reeling and overflowing with powerful energy. In “The Temple of Practical Arts,” Scott writes:

Through music, through the land, we were shapers of the world’s destiny, or at least we were training to be. After the Temple we were beggars, wanderers, hustlers, street buskers pitied by passersby and harassed by police, half-formed angels cast from Heaven. We became the stuff of nightmares. None of us, it turns out, were actually the luminous demigods we’d seen gazing from our mirrors…The Kid ruined this place, the Temple. He ruined us. Transformed us all from little symphonies into the faded plucks beneath the bleeding fingers of God the spent guitarist. The last thumps in the dying heart of God.

— excerpt from Rion Amilcar Scott’s The World Doesn’t Require You

These stories are foundational myths—a subtle re-writing of conventional narratives, and Scott’s references are multifaceted. There are obvious markings of certain literary predecessors, but we also see nods to hip-hop, academic discourse, and a subtle homage to the horror stylings of Jordan Peele. It’s impossible not to get caught up in Scott’s masterful command of these elements. And as for Cross River, we can only hope he will bring us there again.

Readers.com
Leah Rodriguez
the authorLeah Rodriguez
Contributing Editor
Reader. Writer. Cat enthusiast. Trying to put that BA in English to good use.