Archive for May 2021
I don’t remember this, given that I was less than a year old, but here’s the Memorial Day story that was removed from My Father’s House to reduce the size of the book. In those days it was called Decoration Day. It was also the time of green growth for the new house at 187 Stafford AVenue.
As winter departed, Carl watched the weather. Bu mid-May the temperature ranged from lows in the 40s to highs in the 90s. Rain was not as frequent as he would have liked. Natural rainfall is better for young grass seed like that planted the previous fall, but on dryer days the water hose kept the potential lawn moist. Everyone had a turn at the daily task of holding a finger against the stream to create a lightly broadcast spray. By Decoration Day on Saturday, May 30, 1930, marking the beginning of the first summer at 187, the lawns both front and back were rewarding the effort with green shoots thickening like an adolescent boy’s growing beard.
Jennie prepared a warm picnic lunch that would become a Decoration Day tradition: Meatloaf and escalloped potatoes. This year she made apple pie for dessert. But there was deep sadness as those who had given their lives were memorialized. Grieving Swannie’s death, Carl and Jennie found happiness in the knowledge that Mona was lucky, being born at a time when peace, at least, was guaranteed.
Like a prisoner set free, Carl celebrated the summer by exchanging his suit and tie for work clothes as soon as he got home from work. After the meal he headed to the garden, not recognizing the fall of darkness until it wrapped itself around him like a thick blanket.
“You seem like you’re praying when you’re working out there,” Jennie commented.
“It is prayer.” Carl never worked the soil without remembering the barrenness of Torsäs.
Rising from bulbs pressed into the soil in the fall, there were the beginnings of multicolored tulips, yellow daffodils, and delicate white irises with leaves revealing gentle lavender veins. A burst of low-lying deep purple crocuses began to form a delicate wall along the tidy ridge separating the developing green grass from the lawn’s periphery.
In the future there would be geraniums and zinnias, and dreams of phlox to come up in the next spring season. The shadier areas anticipated a multicolored array of impatiens.
From the nearby woods Carl and Harvey brought home small cedars forming a future partial wall marking the end of the property. For this first summer, marigolds would form a protective defense around the trees.
By July an automatic sprinkler replaced the individual finger to disperse water widely and delicately. All that was now required was judicious movement of the hose every half-hour or so. Truth be told, the whole family appreciated the days when a long, gentle spring rain came.
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This book is the perfect capstone for the intensive work our local racial equity Zoom group has been doing for almost a year exploring the history, sociology, social psychology, morality, simple humanity and systems behind the Black Lives Matter movement. As so often is the case, fiction conveys the truth more effectively than a plethora of facts: the complexity of the issue, especially as it plays out currently; the personal identity struggles in effectively living in two worlds; the identification of structural restraints; the role of violence; the ways that love plays out; and so much more. But don’t be scared away by my rather academic focus here. The fact is this book is superbly entertaining and gripping. I was especially impressed with the writing style which leaves me with no surprise that it became a movie. The smooth-flowing attention to descriptive detail is perfect for a movie script. But so carefully done that all the reader experiences is a sense of being deeply “in” the scene. Surprisingly, though there are many pages in The Hate You Give, it is a relatively quick read, maybe because it is so riveting. Obviously I found this to be worthy of six-stars if such an option were available.
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This novel certainly doesn’t need another review to add to the 47,255 already entered on amazon. So I choose to make a few more personal comments evoked by this gripping and lovely book. First off, the last couple of novels I read and reviewed introduced me to lives very unlike the one I have led. This one, on the other hand, helped me settle in to the more familiar – the protected life of one who had no real experience with people of other races or economic standing. In the process I was lost in a well-told story that drew me into long reading sessions when I should have been doing something else.
I even broke a booklovers rule, having earmarked two pages with thoughts that provoked me. On page 269 (paperback), “She’ll be raised in a home that truly doesn’t see race. That doesn’t care, not one infinitesimal bit, what she looks like. What could be better than that?” No, I won’t go into a rant, but I will mention my friend’s comment – my friend who adopted and raised two little boys, not without some major problems. “Babies are not life savers to be handed out to those who want something sweet.” What does it really mean to love someone?
Finally at the end on page six of A conversation with Celeste Ng: “Now we’re starting to be aware of the problems with not ‘seeing race’; ignoring race means ignoring longstanding problems and history, as well as ignoring important aspects of a person’s identity. I hope readers, encountering that allegedly race-blind mindset in these pages will reflect on the ways our views have changed – and on the ways they haven’t changed as much as they might need to.”
Love, individuality, freedom, cultural constraint, creativity, sex. – life. All there in this one six star story.
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