Chain-Gang All-Stars
by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah
Chain-Gang All-Stars follows two women in love, Loretta Thurwar and Hamara “Hurricane Staxxx” Stacker, but it’s far from a love story. The catch is that they’re both incarcerated and participating in a program called CAPE, Criminal Action Penal Entertainment. CAPE allows prisoners to opt in to a deadly and highly publicized spectator sport in which they act as gladiators. Arenas hold matches that pit prisoners against each other until someone is killed. If a prisoner survives long enough, they win their freedom, an event that has been orchestrated exactly once, to keep viewers believing that it’s possible. Thurwar and Staxxx are the program’s current stars. We can only follow them both because they are “links” in the same chain gang and don’t have to fight each other. In order to get viewers invested in these fighters, the show gives links a small amount of space to form relationships, whether friendly or adversarial and, of course, charges a premium for twenty-four hour access to footage of the prisoners’ lives. The novel is a brutal look into the American prison-industrial complex, taking every aspect of the system to extremes. In this America, privatization of prisons, systemic racism, capitalist greed, and a new technique for inflicting pain on prisoners have all added up to a televised bloodsport.
Adjei-Brenyah uses the main romantic plot to highlight the human relationships that evolve despite a program meant to dehumanize them. Because we are rooting for both warriors, Adjei-Brenyah ensures that we are really rooting against the carceral system he describes. Unlike viewers, who see the imprisoned as reality TV stars, readers of Chain-Gang All-Stars see human beings thrust into close quarters with people they shouldn’t trust. Prisoners are rewarded with “blood points,” which they can spend on things like better food, for every person they kill, inside the arena or out. But they build friendships and romances anyway. They come to agree on a reluctant truce, in some cases, just to be able to sleep at night. We see Staxxx and Thurwar keep a few secrets from each other and yet refuse to let this come between them. Time is precious and love is rare.
The novel uses two other stories to illustrate why people would sign up for CAPE in the first place. One is subjected to an experimental facility in which no prisoner is ever allowed to make a sound. When he finally joins CAPE, he begins to sing to stay sane. Another has become mentally crippled after he’s forced to spend most of his time in solitary confinement; he’s also repeatedly subjected to unimaginable pain as a tool called “the influencer” attacks his entire nervous system. In fact, he starts to suspect that he cannot be killed at all, he has endured so much. Both men have clearly been coerced into joining a program that justifies itself by telling the world that everyone participates willingly. This mirrors the dehumanization of prisoners that happens in both our world and the novel—reduce a person to a crime, and everything becomes justifiable.
The true strength of this novel lies in its ability to seamlessly transition from one character’s point of view to another, so we see the perspectives of the chain gang members, the fans, the protestors who are against the whole thing, and even the board members who are behind it. Adjei-Brenyah juggles these storylines so adeptly that it’s easy to keep track of everyone and their personal stories, which sometimes become intertwined as the plot moves forward. Exploring so many points of view only serves to make the story more believable.
The system works because viewers of the show see prisoners as commodities with sponsorships, allowing distance but investment in the sport, while the guards who see these people up close almost never actually interact with them. Rather than handcuffs, Adjei-Brenyah invents devices implanted into wrists that act like magnets which can root prisoners to the ground, force them to move, or pull their wrists together. They glow in different colors to illustrate commands, such as blue for silence. They also inflict enormous pain if a rule is disobeyed. Again, viewers don’t have to see actual chains, making the whole thing more palatable, while guards need only press a button to indicate their orders, keeping their hands clean and giving the impression that any pain is the fault of the prisoners themselves. Chain gangs even march long distances to pre-determined campsites without supervision entirely, because these devices are so effective. Viewers don’t have to see guards and guards don’t have to see prisoners.
The novel contains many facts about the prison system within the fictional world and pulled from our reality, but it all feels like important context. This constitutes a remarkable feat of world-building. For example, everyone uses the phrase “soldier police,” a reference to the militarization of our police force, but it’s never overtly explained, as it’s simply part of the lexicon. But Adjei-Brenyah also quotes the often over-looked clause in the Thirteenth Amendment to the US Constitution that legalizes slavery within prisons.
Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction. [Emphasis mine.]
The characters we know and, in some cases, love, have all been subjected to grueling work with little or no pay. This mirrors what really happens under the penal labor system in the US and the actual history of chain gangs, which are still legal in Maricopa County, Arizona. If, outside the novel, we have already come this far in our despicable treatment of suspects and prisoners, it’s not so hard to fathom a fictional system that goes even further.
The protestors we follow belong to the abolitionist wing of the movement against CAPE. They’re committed to finding an alternative to the societal pipelines that lead to high rates of crime, especially among Black people and other minorities, as well as an alternative to the prison-industrial complex itself. This is a mirror to abolitionist movements taking hold in the US that are dedicated to the same principles. But it’s not just a faceless movement. Chain-Gang All-Stars gives us a small group with one character as its clear core, and her personal connection to everything becomes evident as the plot progresses. Again, readers are given these connections even as the executives in charge fight to keep everyone separated.
Chain-Gang All-Stars kept me riveted to the narrative while also illustrating the horrors of the prison system, fictional and real. It does all of this without sacrificing pacing or plot. I cared deeply about the main characters and found myself unable to look away from even the ugliest secondary characters. I learned a lot but never felt like I was being taught. Adjei-Brenyah keeps building suspense until he reaches an ending I could not predict.