Book Report: All the Sinners Bleed

10. S. A. Cosby, All the Sinners Bleed (2023) (7/7/24)

This is Cosby's third book (I reported on the other two here and here), and it's a doozy—but I've grown to expect that from this writer, with his complex plots and imperfect, striving protagonists.

This story, set in coastal Virginia, begins with two killings: first, of a well-liked geography teacher at the Charon County high school, and then of his killer, a young Black man who is spouting religious mumbo-jumbo, clearly out of his head. It turns out, the teacher had his (very) dark side—and there is yet another man who, as events play out, appears to be responsible for many, many murders of Black youngsters. Into this morass strides our hero, Sheriff Titus Crown, who has demons of his own from his time as an FBI agent. As a Black man, he also suffers the racism of this very Southern locale. In the course of his investigation we meet various characters—uppity good ol' boys, various ilks of preachermen, Titus's love interests both present and past, his father and brother, a local county supervisor, Titus's own deputies—all of whom fill in the complicated nature of this rural county. (Though I did sometimes grow confused as to who was who, there were so many characters.)

As with Cosby's other books, it's a mystery/thriller, but it's also much more than that. Titus has a strong moral center, but he is also a flawed human being, and both those sides play against each other. That is what Cosby does so well.

Here's a passage I flagged, a conversation between Titus and his girlfriend, Darlene:

     "I guess a lot of people are scared. Not just people that voted against me," Titus said.
     "Daddy getting those shells ain't like him saying he don't think you gonna catch this guy, Titus. But this is Charon. Stuff like this doesn't happen a lot. People don't know what to do," Darlene said.
     "I'm so sick of people saying 'this is Caron' like everyone around here is a goddamn virgin and no one has ever stepped on a sidewalk crack or stole a grape from the Safeway. Let me tell you something I learned in the Bureau. Doesn't matter where you are from or where you live, people are people. They can be jealous or hateful or twisted and sick. They steal and they lie, and lie about stealing. They fuck each other's husbands and wives or sons and daughters. They go to church every Sunday and hoot and holler about brotherhood and living in Christ, then they come right out and call you or me a porch monkey before they go home to beat their kids. Then have the nerve, the unmitigated audacity, to point at somebody else, at some other town, and say, 'No, those are the sinners, those are freaks, not us, not Charon.'"
     "Titus, I didn't—" Darlene tried to say, but Titus ignored her.
     "Flannery O'Connor said the South is Christ-haunted. It's haunted, all right. By the hypocrisy of Christianity. All these churches, all these Bibles, but it's places just like Charon where the poor are ostracized. Where girls are called whores if they report a rape. Where I can't go to the Watering Hole without wondering if the bartender done spit in my drink. People say this kind of thing doesn't happen in a place like Charon. Darlene, this kind of thing is what makes places like Charon run. It's the rock upon which this temple is built," Titus said. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stomped into the kitchen.