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Jamie Quatro has never shied away from unsettling her readers, and her latest novel, Two-Step Devil, is no exception. Known for her provocative exploration of faith, morality, and human frailty, Quatro once again delivers a narrative that challenges Southern Christian norms. Her characters don’t merely wrestle with sin; they hold it close, grappling with contradictions that blur the lines between sacred and profane.
In Two-Step Devil, Quatro crafts a story in three acts, each more daring than the last. The first introduces the Prophet, a 70-year-old recluse living in rural Alabama in 2014. Disillusioned with organized religion, the Prophet channels his connection to the divine through vivid, unsettling paintings that cover the walls of his cabin. Yet, he is haunted—not by doubt, but by the Two-Step Devil, a spectral antagonist who mocks his faith and purpose. When the Prophet encounters Michael, a teenage girl drugged and bound at a gas station, his impulsive attempt to rescue her sets the story into motion.
What follows is a fragile and fleeting bond between the Prophet and Michael as she recovers under his care. Their time together is marked by quiet understanding and tenderness, but it cannot last. Michael’s journey takes center stage in the novel’s second act, a harrowing account of her life in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Narrated in Michael’s hurried, fragmented voice, this section intertwines memories of her traumatic past—including childhood sexual abuse and coerced trafficking—with her attempts to navigate a world that offers no sanctuary.
The novel’s third act shifts dramatically, casting the Two-Step Devil as its central figure in a theatrical, fourth-wall-breaking structure. The devil delivers gleefully chaotic monologues, addressing both the reader and the Prophet, who fades into the background. Veering wildly from scripture, the devil deconstructs Christian narratives with biting irreverence, exposing the inadequacies of rigid moral binaries and calling for a deeper reckoning with faith and evil.
Two-Step Devil is a fierce indictment of dogmatic adherence to religious rules, a demand for nuance in the face of unrelenting absolutes. While the novel’s ambition is undeniable, its execution can be uneven. Michael’s section is deeply affecting but often harrowing, while the devil’s theatrical asides, though clever, risk becoming self-indulgent. Yet, Quatro’s mastery of prose anchors the story, offering moments of profound beauty: “When God looked down at the planet, he was seeing what people saw when they looked up: darkness, with a few brave lights trembling here and there. The darkness was evil and the lights were God’s children staking a claim.”
Quatro’s greatest strength lies in her ability to provoke thought and discomfort in equal measure. Her exploration of the South’s entanglement of religion and politics challenges readers to confront the limitations of simplistic notions of good versus evil. With Two-Step Devil, she cements her place as a bold voice for a reimagined South, one unafraid to interrogate its deepest convictions and darkest truths.