The Hoop and the Harm

I’d give this first-person novel five stars for intent and dialogue, four stars for intrigue and overall readability, and (sadly) three stars for structure.

Intent: As the author says in his end note, “With memories from my playing days, through this novel I feel deeply empowered to challenge a norm that traditionally celebrates stoicism and deplores athletes—specifically, male, teen athletes—for presenting as emotionally vulnerable, ‘weak,’ or lacking self-belief.”

In short, at least half the book involves a stressed-out player seeing a shrink – the scenes featuring either the therapy sessions themselves (which maintain intrigue and pace) or the backflashes they yield. Indeed, the unfolding story of Udoka’s life is fascinating—from star-struck basketball player wannabe to over-pushed high schooler from a broken family who is nursing some trauma. (Though it reads like a young adult novel, note that the character is in college by the end, making it a new-adult crossover.)

The shrink’s tips are golden nuggets within themselves, quite apart from the drama of the story.

Win from within. Be a better you; focus on a better you. Compete with a previous version of yourself and aspire to surpass it—again and again… Failure doesn’t exist. We sometimes get too strung out on this idea of success versus failure. Success gets placed on this steep, gold-plated pedestal, while failure is viewed as something that should be avoided, punished, feared. When really, failure is subjective to one’s own expectations—just like success, accomplishment, and self-worth are.

Dialogue: I love the lively give and take between the players. It’s handled well and offers dollops of humour while also highlighting a people-of-color aspect.

“Yo, that’s me!”
“Eh, this is dope!” added Francis.
“Hell yeah, it is!” Keele exclaimed… Peep the slo-mo! This’ll get you mad likes on the ‘net!”
“What about you?” I blurt out. Can I guard you? Am I better than you?”
“Hell nah!” he exclaims. “Nobody’s checkin’ me! Nobody’s better than me! Not you, not a single chump in here!”
“Yeah, right.”
Keele glares at me and goes, “No shit! That’s what I believe! Imagine if you felt the same about yourself, Yoos. Imagine where you’d be if you got rid of that doubt, man. There’s no place for it. ‘Cause if we’re one-on-one—you ‘gainst me—you best believe I got no sympathy for you. Playing scared with all that weak stuff. You’re just my prey at that point!”
“Yea… that’s facts.”
“Yea, fam,” he goes.

Intrigue and readability: Readers need not be basketball-familiar, though it will help, as there are plenty of action scenes that lay the jargon on thick with no asides or glossary to explain the lingo. (For non-bb-ers, there’s an element of fun in guessing meanings.)

Regardless—anyone, and especially people with a passion for sport, can relate to the highs and lows, the determination and fervent hopes, coach-shouting, ego, secret fears, and crisis of confidence. Subplots involving family rifts, a girlfriend, and a past tragedy deepen the ride. Love of the sport is fully embedded and beautifully portrayed, including the touching use of “Her” for the basketball itself.

Breathe, I tell myself, feeling the shrieks from the crowd. This game’s in the palm of my hands, just like the leather skin and round seams of the ball itself.

Two precious seconds remain.

Within the clock’s final ticks, I take one last bounce before stopping on a dime, inches behind the art. “Shoot it!” screams Maythorn. I fight past my hand-checking, jersey-tugging defender. He doesn’t hinder my poise—not even in the slightest. Sweat trickles down my cheeks. Doubt or no doubt, this game’s mine to win.

Final second.

Over a pair of defenders and their outstretched arms, I let Her go—a fingernail from deflection. She ascends like a work of art. I watch Her float in what seems like slow motion. She kisses the backboard before circling around the basket, slowly, as though She’s too wary to enter.

Suddenly, the buzzer sounds.

Unfortunately, however, the novel is riddled with both missing and deliberately misleading information (which is not the same as strategically revealed plot points that keep readers guessing till they get it).

It kicks off with a prologue that’s a three-page letter addressed to “you” by someone anonymous. That means the reader, with zero context, wonders whether it’s addressed to the reader, the main character, or someone else, and whether it’s from a girlfriend, relative, or friend. The answer is supplied at the very end of the novel with no hints along the way, which is way more annoying than clever.

Similarly, the first chapter’s initial pages lay on the psycho-babble before we even know whose head we’re in or his name, age, and point of view. It goes on to introduce five characters we hardly see again and mystery texts with no clue till novel’s end who they might be from.

Without spoilers, let’s also just say a major character is not who he is implied to be (deliberate misconstruing is far more likely to confuse and annoy readers than elicit an “aha!” at the end), occasional mentions of a stack of letters offer no hints as to how they might fit in till the very end, and pop-up emails from the girlfriend offer little in the way of plot-building. (Nor is she clearly tied to a certain disappeared character, unless the reader catches one throwaway line and their matching last names.)

Worse, since when would the protagonist not look up the fate of a player who was apparently murdered in front of him (the “due to trauma” doesn’t work), and the fate of a brother who disappears for a while? Handy for the plot, but hardly believable in this day and age of internet research. Not to mention that at the very end, we are not allowed to know if a certain “hooded” character was killed or not (frustrating, not intriguing).

Still, other than some wonky structure and overenthusiasm for being too clever by half, The Hoop and the Harm is a rewarding read.

It’s also a courageous undertaking, mixing intense sports scenes and authentic-feeling athletes with therapy and complicated self-reflection on the part of an adolescent who needs it, accepts it (not readily at first), and benefits from it.