Book Review: Dying Eyes Don’t Lie

Dying Eyes Don’t Lie, Keith Mosley, Amazon KDP, February 10, 2025; Paperback & eBook

Reviewed by Susan Gaspar.

In the first pages of “Dying Eyes Don’t Lie,” author Keith Mosley writes this about his protagonist, Chicago cop Albert Yelsom: 

“He did not join the police force to serve and protect the citizens of Chicago. He joined so that he would have a license to kill the person who murdered Otha …” 

From that point forward, you’re in for a high-speed ride with plenty of bumps, twists, and turns. Equal parts police procedural, supernatural thriller, and heartfelt drama, Dying Eyes Don’t Lie is an immersive piece of fiction. 

Yelsom is a likeable hero: battle-weary, highly respected, and diligent. With both guts and heart, he is completely dedicated to his work but haunted by ghosts of his past, notably his deceased cousin Otha and his missing birth mother, for whom he’s searched without success for years. There is also something special about Yelsom—a strange shamanic power that allows him invisible access across time and space. Drawn in by his troubled backstory and mysterious ability, readers are fully invested by the end of Chapter One.  

Speaking of chapters, there are fifteen in total, and they are rather lengthy for a novel of this ilk, although each is broken up into smaller sections that read like quick scene changes in a made-for-TV movie (it’s easy to envision this book as a television mini-series). These scene switches happen frequently, keeping the pace brisk and the stakes high. Mosley’s casual, slang-filled dialogue is fitting for the world in which these hard-boiled characters reside. 

The city of Chicago (especially the South Side) features prominently in the story, as does New Orleans. These two cities share a strong cultural and spiritual connection, and Mosley uses this to add local flavor with mentions of specific events, businesses, and traditions. There are visits to jazz clubs and soul food restaurants, and symbolic references that pull at you if you’ve spent time in either city: Garrett’s Popcorn, the Bud Billiken Parade, Po-Boys, and haint blue paint, to name a few. 

In the midst of all the action, there are circumstances and perspectives that may challenge some readers. This is inevitable in a story that features fundamental human divides including race, politics, motivations for criminal behavior, and the Mason-Dixon Line. As a white woman raised in the north, my own experiences with the American South have been solely as a curious, enthusiastic tourist. It’s enlightening to read narrative from the viewpoint of a Black man with Southern roots, and I felt like a fly on the wall, noting that people are pretty much the same everywhere in spite of outer appearances and life experiences. 

In this regard, there is raw dialogue that jumps off the page: 

“I had a visitor… asking questions about you.” 

“Who? Was they white?” 

“No, they’re black. What’s color got to do with anything.” 

“A lot.” 

I mention this because Dying Eyes Don’t Lie might, in some spaces, be categorized as Black fiction. And it is, but that’s not why it succeeds. Universally appealing, anyone who appreciates a high-stakes tale of intrigue will enjoy its pacing, atmosphere, and characters—of which there are many. Frankly, I couldn’t keep all of the peripheral characters straight in my mind, and I finally gave up on it. No matter—the action keeps churning and, as long as you hold on, you won’t be lost.   

As the story arc begins to settle, Yelsom’s long, heated chase shifts from a rugged, justice-seeking road to a softer, heartfelt search for connection and wholeness. The book’s wild ride slows enough that you catch your breath and feel the full weight of Yelsom’s past trauma soothed by the unwavering embrace of a powerful community and the resilient ties to family. 

I don’t want to give away the novel’s secrets, and there are too many plot twists to mention, but the hope-filled, uplifting ending perfectly closes the circle on this story of struggle, sacrifice, and loss. At first mysterious, edgy, and driven, the book’s final scenes provide a simple peace – and we could all use some of that now.