In five years, Jesmyn Ward lost five young men in her life—to drugs, accidents, suicide, and the bad luck that can follo
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Gorgeous and heartrending. One of the best-written books I’ve read in a long, long time.
(ETA I just told Kris: “That is one holy shit gorgeous book, and at the same time I don’t think I’ve ever read a book which showed so unrelentingly what it’s like to live in the modern apartheid of US racism. It reminded me of James Baldwin and “Araby.” Wow. Give her a prize. Give her all the prizes. Shit, give her Jonathan Franzen’s house while we’re at it.”)
I wonder now if I will ever see the title of a new book by Jesmyn Ward that does not thrill me at the same time it fills me with trepidation. Ward’s talent is such that we read what she writes even when we do not want to. Her despair and distress cuts like a blade. She wants it to hurt. So that we know. And we do, now. Has there ever been anyone who could tell this story in this way?
”I never knew Demond when he was younger. I came to know him as an adult, when he was old enough to have sharp sm
This is a book about grief, about grief that is unending and wide reaching. It’s also a memoir about rural poverty and race, and the all too inevitable conclusions to the lives of five young men in Ward’s life. The prose is bursting with pain and beauty and truth. This is a book everyone should read. Where it falls short is that it doesn’t do enough to rise above the grief. Ward only briefly addresses the issues of race and poverty and how they indelibly shape too many lives, particularly in the