DuEwa Frazier’s Quincy Rules

Quincy Rules with DuEwa pic

Title: Quincy Rules

Author: DuEwa Frazier

Pages: 192 (on Kindle)

I wasn’t certain what I’d find as I flipped (more like tapped) through the 192 pages of DuEwa Frazier’s novel, Quincy Rules. One thing was certain, I had no concerns that the book wouldn’t be a pleasant reading experience, and after completing the first chapter I found myself, like Biff Tannen,  pushing my way through the line of teen bibliophiles to take my rightful position as DuEwa’s ‘greatest fan.’ I was addicted.

Quincy Rules isn’t necessarily a complicated story, yet through each page, it effortlessly becomes something more than expected; a  heavily infused story filled with complex elements of real life. It becomes a story of one’s internal drive, the need to tirelessly seek the unknown, remaining steadfast to one’s convictions, and persevering by any means necessary. The story is essentially about an admirably smart and equally mature 15-year-old, Quincy, who lives in Maryland with her mother, stepfather, and brother. Although her life is free of common teen controversies, Quincy is consumed with thoughts of the missing piece to her personal puzzle; her father, who sends her cards and letters with no return address but steadfastly opts to be a mystery, or does he? She has never met him, despite endless inquiries to her mother,  but his contact, although mysterious, is constant. And this is where DuEwa Frazier’s skills begin to shine.

Determined to put an end to this mystery and finally meet the man who seemingly knows her but is unknown, Quincy, with the help of her best friend Delaney, develops a plan, of sorts. From combing feverishly through the phonebook and the hiring of a private investigator, to raising money to put an ad in the daily newspaper, Quincy surges forth, driven, determined and relentless.  In her search, she comes across her father’s possible childhood address. There she meets Jaclyn Stackhouse, a  colorful old lady, sweeping outside the house.  They engage in conversation and Quincy presents a picture of her father, Paul. Jaclyn, unmoved by Quincy’s presence or the photo, proclaims the picture to indeed be of her son…Richard. To further confuse matters the kindly lady refers to Quincy by the name of Richard’s daughter, Samantha,  and stubbornly refuses to believe Quincy’s assurance that she nor her father are who Jaclyn thinks they are. From this moment forward, Jaclyn becomes a character of many facets, and the reader is propelled into a game of illogical logic. To preserve the importance of this grandmotherly character, I will refrain from saying anything more about her. Her character can be a definite spoiler.

Frazier uniquely leaves open ends throughout the story, and encourages predictions and possibilities, making the reader think, or at the very least, wonder about the meaning of this developing maze.  She keeps the mysteries flowing, as the story becomes more revealing. Additional characters are introduced, (one is a substitute teacher who still has me wondering),  thus beginning a steady motion in unexpected directions and the aforementioned open ends. The reader can only imagine what amazing angles will be established. The possibilities for story prediction are indeed at full throttle and in doing so, has us begging for a sequel.

At the end of Quincy Rules, DuEwa Frazier does something enlightening, masterfully uncommon and brilliantly engaging; she poses ten questions about the novel and immediately changes the dynamic from a casual to an inclusive read.  Brilliant!!! This technique had me (many years removed from being considered YA) answering the inquiries with the enthusiasm of a teenager, and delving as if lured, into literary, social, and emotional elements that I would have otherwise dismissed. That is DuEwa’s genius. She writes in a style that encourages (I’d even say ‘forces’) the reader to think, anticipate and predict, only to do it all again upon completion of the reading. Quincy Rules is a wonderful, well paced, and highly recommended novel. As an educator, I believe it should be an investment for every elementary, middle, and high school English / reading department. I can only imagine the world of discussions it would create.

Thank you, DuEwa Frazier!! Waiting for the sequel!



The Cook Up: A Review

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Title: The Cook Up

Author: D. Watkins

Hardcover: 272 pages

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing (May 3, 2016)

I am selfishly at a crossroads, perhaps a little flummoxed, maybe just enough of an editor to notice the small stuff. For just over a year, I have been reading the work of D. Watkins voraciously; from his articles in Salon to the two books he released. He is, in many respects, an urban (metropolitan) Charles Dickens, telling and retelling stories that are completely American, based on an America that is well known yet so foreign to most of America. It is for this reason that when reading his 2016 release, The Cook Up, the story of crack dealing and use in Baltimore, on my Kindle, that I was disappointed by the number of editing errors that appeared throughout the book. Still, The Cook Up was a tremendous literary voyage.

His colorfully entertaining but wholly true tales of drugs and life in Baltimore was an exploration in ‘A’ plus ‘B’ equals ‘C’ sociology. Its characters, customs, and profound and unexpurgated vibe are, for me, some of the best emotional story-telling about real world issues in the little-big town of Charm City. Watkins pulls no punches; he instead battle-rams his points directly into your chest, with no apology. He writes about his world– the world he knows best– and his books, articles, and interviews leave no doubt about who he is and where he’s from.

The Cook Up is drugs, sex, and cars, music, relationships, murder, blood, tears, and losing one’s soul to the unknown; a memoir dotted with sandman bluesy sorrow and ‘thug life’ elation. It exposes the pain of being African-American in a city (country) that recognizes orange jumpsuit numbers before learning [and aknowleging] government or neighborhood names. It exposes the pain of being African-American in a city that remains divided by color, class, and education.

Watkins is keen on relationships, forthright in the complicated  variables that produce those relationships, and if you are confused, read the following exchange for clarity:

Guy (Baltimore City police officer) and Tatter Man (Watkins’ cousin)

My younger cousin Tatter Man, who never broke the law in his life, came through the block to get some money from me for his prom one night. I hit him with the cash and we walked down to the Chinese spot to get some shrimp fried rice and gravy, Tatter walked out the door in time for one of Guy’s sweeps.

“What the — is that your dinner? yelled Guy to a confused Tatter.

“Yeah, I got some rice, what?”

“Boy, you being smart!” Guy responded as he knocked Tatter’s food to the ground. I watched from the window as Guy used his boot to smash the rice into the concrete.

The Cook Up is another wake-up call in the age of  Trumpian political philosophy. It has exposed and, perhaps, reawakened the sleeping giant that lingered in waiting. Watkins speaks the language of his community, his friends, and those who want to be heard but have been silenced by irreversible circumstance. It is a story well known, with a history that still longs for a comprehensive audience. Thanks to Watkins, that audience is discovering the history.


The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace


Author: Jeff Hobbs

Publisher: Thorndike Press

Hardback · 639 pages

The Short Tragic Life of Robert Peace rested in my Kindle, behind several other books I intend to get to for several months. But, it was the picture of a young Robert Peace, standing on the porch of what I assume was his mother’s home, that peaked my interest. I saw a young man who could be my cousin, brother, even son and I decided to open the book and read the first few pages. It opened to dialogue, common, honest, and familiar: Hot car, hot day, with the air-conditioning off because of what it does to the power, fuel consumption, and / or mechanics of the vehicle. This was the primary indicator that the story would not only be about social development but the economic deficiencies that directly affects the unacknowledged caste system that permeates throughout this country.

The resonating question, not only from my reading but the readings of others, was: Did Hobbs really know Peace, or was this an opportunity for him (Hobbs) to write a book that would put him on the literary map? Here, from my perspective, is the reason: The Short… presented scenarios that were predictable; pulled directly from the headlines of any metropolitan newspaper, internet feed, or the evening news.  The full title, for example (The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace: A Brilliant Young Man who Left Newark for the Ivy League), reveals the story’s premise and total outcome before the first word is read. Although this was a peeve, it was not enough to halt my desire to read Robert Peace’s epic tale.

Hobbs addresses the socio-economic issues with as much patience and care as his literary imagination and talents would allow, but here is where [I felt] the disconnect began. Hobbs, perhaps without full acknowledgment, or maybe without full knowledge, emphasizes the economic struggles of the people of Newark, relaying to the reader that this place, nicknamed “Brick City,” was a certain Brick Wall. With a host of characters and personalities,  he provides a semblance of proof through images of drug abusers, baby makers, miscreants and a healthy sprinkling of fence-sitters.

Peace was “Brick City.” He was the embodiment of this sometimes chaotic but highly loved town. His life was metaphorical, pathological and sardonic. The stereotypic elements were glaring, and for the greater percentage of the book, a darkness loomed, even when Hobbs tells of Peace’s escape through extensive travel. The sometimes overly academic passages seemed to be laced with apologetic innuendos, beginning from the first chapter, continuing through Hobbs’ admission of his prosperous life and ending with a tragic, lump-in-the-throat finale.

Perhaps Robert Peace’s downfall was that his father was imprisoned for a heinous crime, his mother struggled financially, and that he was cursed with an academic gift in a place unable to adequately appreciate or fully understand those gifts. He was caught between two worlds and the balancing act proved deleterious. But his mother and father (even from prison), (Hobbs tells of their not being married, but indirectly together), kept him on a relatively straight path. Despite family, intellect, honest friendships, the ability to reach beyond his grasp and acceptance to the Ivy facades and secret societies of Yale, Peace found his greatest solace in an endless consumption of marijuana. And the story, at this point, became one of inexplicable addiction by a man-child who had the world on a string.

But something greater than the environment and experience drove Peace to become who he was. He, with his multidimensional genius mind, became, from my perspective, a madman; an obsessed scientifically talented phenom who chose to live in a life undefined rather than apply his skills to the mission that would ultimately give meaning to his existence. Taking odd, low-end employment, using and selling cannabis (he created a more potent strain of marijuana by extracting and adding THC “oil”), and wasting time trying to figure out next steps. Regardless of how long he lived, his life because of his lifestyle would still be considered short.

When Peace’s end came, Hobbs drew on drama, but the actions and movement of the story were so sudden, so climactically awkward, that the effects, in some parts, were lost. Hobbs still had the ability to draw us in; to keep us wanting to turn the pages and find out the already known. Rich or poor, we are, in many ways, Robert Peace.


Erica Buddington Does it Again: Boroughs Apart — REVISED REVIEW

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Author: Erica Buddington

Length: 143 pages

Publication Date: December 30, 2015

There is an absolute possibility that any fan of Erica Buddington will find Boroughs Apart a slight but welcomed departure from her many earlier works despite the similar ‘signature’ DNA. Buddington writes about love, and she does it “lovely.”

Expressed with immeasurable depth, Buddington captures in Boroughs Apart the emotion of this present era noted for social messiness and peppered with the social media anonymity.  But don’t be mistaken, Buddington’s stories are not solely engorged with relationship fluff, nor are they entangled in the idea that love always ends happily, although, regardless of the outcomes of her many stories, there is always a ‘happy ending,’ even in the face of emotional adversity. This is her beauty.

Buddington’s literary voice is further strengthened in this ambitious 2015 novella. She has written a plethora of enticing stories, but this novella is special. There is an accuracy in her descriptions and a measurable honesty in her feelings and voice. It’s visual. It’s heartfelt. It’s familiar. Boroughs Apart is more experimental than her previous works, vibing on being a virtual time-driven maze of sorts; the well-known unknown. She has presented the theme of unrequited love reincarnated as a present day passion mirroring unrelenting love from a generation past. Yes, it is a complicated story but comfortably and simply well crafted.

For clarity, this is not Of Micah and Men (the last Buddington book I reviewed), but it continues the theme of cool, sweet breezes and summertime passion in the metropolis. It is a departure from many of her creative endeavors, thematically, standing forthrightly and independently. It’s daring and cunning, puzzling and measured. It’s sensual without being blinded by sexuality and comfortable like still photos of a Caribbean sunset.

As stated in a previous commentary, Erica Buddington, as a writer, is relatively transparent which is brilliant. We know where she is going yet we still look forward to sitting ‘shotgun’ during the ride anyway. She points out the subtle beauty of things we may otherwise overlook and makes us pay attention closely enough to commonly unseen objects, which penetrates, and remains, a permanent part of our memory. Knowing where she gets her inspiration isn’t too challenging if you follow her revelations, but what sparks that inspiration is like a pinata; a box of chocolates; a warm bed on a cold night — simply something unexpected and pleasantly welcoming.

The story is principally about Evan, the 30-year-old ‘son of money’ with: “…Sahara sand brown, eyes the color of the sky when everything felt wrong,”  and Ella: brown complexion (I believe), “…shoulder length dreads, bright yellow summer dress, and huge Sankofa earrings,”  and their one degree of separation.   They meet the way Borough strangers do; with an abruptness that is potentially sour but tastes as sweet as New York candy and they ultimately become the unlikely victims of Cupid’s arrow. The story, from this point, moves along quickly.

Ella, a junior curator,  arrives unknowingly at Evan’s home to assess a painting. This meeting segues into the essentials of the story. An earlier meeting between them, although brief, is now in ‘confirmation’. Fate, one can assume, must have brought them together, as the past lords of missed opportunity assured that their moment wouldn’t be lost. Thematically, this is crucial, and Buddington nails it from the start. Oddly, their chance meeting is more revealing than either assumes but eventually Evan and Ella will realize that they are living an unlikely parallel to the lives of people close to home; both homes.

Boroughs Apart is a keenly ambitious work and, ideally unpredictable. Does it spark the imagination of anyone who has ever asked the question: What can happen if a stranger walks into your life who isn’t a stranger at all? Yes, it does in a way that isn’t foreign, forced or ubiquitous. But, as I have come to note in Buddington’s writing,  this interrogative summation proved too simple a prompt for her, and she ventures into the hollows of complicated webs and surreal themes. In Boroughs Apart, she guides us into the worlds of people we’ve seen but never got a chance to know; the people whose social status allowed them to float where others could barely walk. She took us into those homes we’d only admired through shade-less windows, standing and gawking, hypnotically,  at the Renaissance brilliance and tasteful wealth while we’re speechlessly consumed. Buddington shows Harlem’s beauty and the virtues and vulnerabilities of even its wealthier children.

Because any additional commentary will be a spoiler, I will say, as casually and nonchalantly as I possibly can, that the meeting of Ella and Evan has historical significance and unexpected ramifications; the kind of mysterious close encounter between strangers that cannot be calculated but is wholly welcomed.

Boroughs Apart speaks ominously of unrequited destiny, dysfunctional family privilege, chance love, and hope at the possibility to re-love what seemed eternally lost. It is the stories of two families, brought together by fate and coincidence. It is a most vivid example of her beautiful mind and imagination. One thing is for certain, it is ambitious and doesn’t take away from the magic that she has cornered and the talent that she truly possesses. In Buddington, who is also a visual artist,  there is joy in the story and bright colors on the canvas, reflecting the realities that we all know or will one day discover; the unquestionable evidence of a soul’s memorial, and a belief in the worthiness of holding on to hope and embracing faith.

Every Little Step: My Story — A Review

Author: Bobby Brown with Nick Chiles

Length: 341 pages

Released: June 13, 2016

Every little step

I’ll admit, I am an incorrigible fan of biographies, but I’ve discovered that biographies are usually one of two things: profound hits or astronomical misses; often filled with so much fluff the story gets lost in loads of overzealous and gregarious bull.  So when a copy of Every Little Step was made available to me, I was excitedly hesitant. I questioned whether I’d even read this book, after all, I knew this story. In fact, the entire world knew this often sordid, perhaps morbid, story. For over a decade Bobby Brown, and ultimately Whitney Houston (as a couple), were headline fodder. Their lives were broadcast as a national or romantic tragedy on the evening news, supermarket tabloids, and sadly, their short-lived reality television show, Being Bobby Brown.

Already steeped in a methodically, if not intentionally, developed controversy, Bobby Brown became infamously iconic through the dismally painted images he willfully projected:  Pop singer, reality star, Whitney Houston’s husband, and father. His nauseating story  played out in the media but never gave us a full image or explanation of the man. We often wondered if he knew himself or if he was simply a chameleon who changed his colorful façade to meet the moment. The jury is still out, even after reading Every Little Step.

Bobby built a reputation as a ‘bad-boy,’ but it limits the shallow depth of a much more complex character. He carried it — that bad boy image — and indeed, after thirty public years of wearing that proverbial and penetrating mask, it became his honest demeanor, bolted in a safe and protected by demons resembling padlocks.  His world revolved around extremism, over indulgence, and the therapeutic attempt to conceal pains that clawed at his being. He states:

To some degree, I understand. That’s how public images work. They slap a label on you, and that’s who you are– the facts be damned. Early on, I cemented my reputation as the “bad boy of R & B.” And it stuck. For the most part, I embraced it–for thirty years. It was fun — when I was young and foolish. But now that label; feels too one-dimensional.

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It was easy to lose himself in sex, drugs, and music, to falter as a father, husband, and musician, to flounder in the land of Oz, just long enough for the world (and himself) to believe it. Being Bobby Brown (both the show and the person) was a platform; a diving board on the deep end of the shark infested pool. He jumped, after Whitney, according to legend, jumped first. Unfortunately, they hadn’t realized, until the currents pulled them further from safety and sanity, that they couldn’t swim.  There wasn’t too much more we wanted or, perhaps, needed to hear. Yes, another biography, I decided, that would become a ‘half read.’

But then the surprise. With Nick Chiles’ word wonderment, Brown’s biography sizzled then unexpectedly exploded. Despite a plethora of predictable and almost surreal events, Every Little Step astonishingly delivered. Readers are taken through the maze of “life according to Bobby Brown” and are presented the opportunity to amble through the jigsaw pieces of his madness.  Revealed during this trek is what had long been hidden and many essential curiosities are answered, yet some of the revelations seem too convenient and occasionally it is questioned whether the book represents a real person or the person he really wanted to be. Indeed there is proof of his antics and some clues that point to real occurrences, but some of the events are forced and seem to be included more for dramatic effect than comprehensive information.

Every Little Step can essentially be summed up as the story of two luxurious ships. One is fantastically pristine with a wooden deck that glistened like polished gold under the Pacific coast sun and the other, of equal magnificence, but moving in circles under a dismal and constant shade of gray, attempting to share a small Roxbury-Newark pond. Which ship represented who is up for individual interpretation. But little can be gleaned from the book which merely highlights the highlights.

Every Little Step was mammoth, larger than the superstar players that controlled their kingdom with mythological fervor. Bobby and Whitney’s roles were almost, perhaps mostly, make-believe; bitter, blind, ignorant, faithful, prophetic, and destructive. The dissolving of the family and the under-appreciation of their height of fame was certain to disappear. It was only on loan; only temporary, and they had no idea. So much, according to the book, was squandered, and the chaos from years of their animated immaturity and abuses cover each page like locusts in a wheat field. There were moments when we didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, cheer, or turn our backs. We did all the above because we had no choice.

We know this story, maybe better than we should. But like most fairytales happier endings exist, and Bobby, seeing the possible end of an unforgiving road, attires himself in battered armor, relinquished his worldly possessions, and sets out to start again. Sadly, and almost as if by a sinister curse, the whole of his former life is inexplicably extinguished, and once again with all the glitter gone, he is back where he started with nothing but material proof of where he’d been.


The Book of Harlan: A Review

Author: Bernice McFadden

Print Length: 354 pages (Kindle); 400 pages (hardcover)

Publisher: Akashic Books; Reprint edition (April 11, 2016)

Publication Date: April 11, 2016

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“The thing worse than rebellion is the thing that causes rebellion.” –Frederick Douglass (printed in The Book of Harlan, page 281, Kindle)

There are rare literary moments when a reader is given a gift so magnificent that it defies adequate definition; when Seshat embraces and guides the writer’s pen and thoughts,  leading them through overgrown,  encumbered historical paths toward a promised land — a place that is quietly pure, emotionally significant, and afforded to few. Fortunate for us, Bernice McFadden has ambled along that path, bathed in the elusive light of wisdom and promise and has stamped down the thorny and entangled frondescence so that the beauty at the end of that path may be embraced. Her hands and mind have indeed been kissed by Seshat.

In The Book of Harlan, Ms. McFadden reveals the holy grail of conflict: a plethora of social, emotional, political, racial, and religious issues, marching into the controversial realm of each without apology. Readers are afforded the fortunate opportunity to commune with a literary presence (Ms. McFadden) endowed with an indescribably beautiful vision.

The myriad of images in The Book of Harlan are vivid, and Ms. McFadden’s love of subtle details burst like a floral symphony after a warm spring rain. The colors of each line, page, and chapter are explosively bright, and in her essential and historical brilliance, Ms. McFadden (previously I stated that she is in the class of Walker, Morrison,  Angelou, and I must add Kincaid), presents the novel with the eye of a gifted cinematographer. The reader is, as a result, graciously endowed with an indescribable, and lasting emotional connection.

At the start of the book, the reader meets Emma Robinson and the Robinson family. Quickly it becomes obvious that the family has some capital means and their confident, almost arrogant, air belies their acknowledgment of their good fortune:

“The Robinson family traveled the city in a shiny black buggy, pulled by not one horse but two horses.” (page 3- Kindle)

Their residence is a house reminiscent of the surreal, quaint country dwellings often planted on several country acres where the loudest sound one hears is the evening’s wind. McFadden states that they [the Robinsons] lived among the Black elite of Macon; “the doctors, lawyers, teachers, and ministers, and not a maid or ditch digger among them.” (pg. 3)

Emma is the youngest and the only girl.  Stereotypic as a teenaged character, she seems to hunger for an existence of greater adventure. This ‘hunger’ she expresses in silent vividness by her admiration of  Lucille, her friend and a jazz / blues singer who is offered a “glamorous” life on the road. Emma’s strict upbringing and denial of these raucous endeavors, causes her to long for it more. Emma meets and confirms a mutual attraction with Sam Elliot, a good-looking, quiet and easy-going carpenter from Kentucky, and her life heads in a different and completely unpredictable direction. Sam is smitten and spends every possible moment in pursuit of Emma. His intentions are honest. His love for Emma is real. But, as would be expected, her family is distrusting.

McFadden takes the story along the path of secretive affection and through the chambers of lost virginity. The Robinson family’s resolve is tested by Emma’s unplanned pregnancy, quick marriage, and decision to move (the first of many) from Macon to DC  after the birth of she and Sam’s child. It is after the birth of Harlan that the novel truly becomes The Book of Harlan.

The short chapters are like staccato movements; breath, awakening, flow, ebb, pure, constant, short and intentional.  Ms. McFadden provides intensity, conflict, resolution, and intrigue; most evidently beginning with the horrific, fiery suicide of Darlene, the sister of Harlan’s best friend. Beautifully, Ms. McFadden uses Darlene (who is characteristically flat) as a powerfully appropriate apparition for the events in Harlan’s life (my thoughts). In my opinion, she played a vital role in the tribulations of Harlan’s life, including throughout his adulthood.

Harlan opts to pursue music and drops out of high school. He joins and performs (poorly) with Lucille’s band and is introduced to marijuana, under the promise from fellow musicians that it will make him play better. And it does…. tremendously. This sort of internal conflict from external influences is Ms. McFadden’s sweet spot; the place where her glow begins to shine even brighter.

Midway through the novel, Harlan befriends Lizard, a Jewish musician whose Blackish demeanor and period-influenced style grants him the ability to evade inquiries about his ethnicity. Their bond is quick, affectionate, and brotherly, and together they form a band.  After finding and flexing their chops in the US, they are offered an opportunity to perform in Paris. War was declared at the time of their travel, and the climate of the book changes, becoming, at that very moment, far greater than the sum of its parts;  reflecting tension and chaos, joy and pain, and a level of sorrow so massive that it remains, even in present reality, immeasurable. We feel, deeply, the details of this tension.  Ms. McFadden ensures that we do; pummels us with a constant barrage of elation and fear; extracting the elements of each until there is nothing recognizable left, like a conductor building a crescendo from the quiet of piano. In the hush of night, after otherwise tense but ordinary affairs, Harlan and Lizard are accosted, bludgeoned,  and abducted by Nazi soldiers. The novel, already very alive, transforms further, raising the reader’s blood pressure and leaving them desperately gasping for air and clutching at the rocketing pain in their chest.

Harlan’s return to America after several years of unnerving events in Europe presents its own symphony of challenges. The many events experienced by Lizard and Harlan after their abduction, introducing to some and confirming for others the historically excluded conflict that occurred between Nazi soldiers and people of African descent, exceeds my ability to give it the justice it greatly deserves. Ms. McFadden packs the novel with so much of her magic that no review or critique could ever effectively capture its depth. With each word and turn of the page the intensity builds, and the transition and tone of the story, from this point to the very end, epitomizes literary exactness. And it is here that I feel more than compelled to discontinue my summary.There are no short cuts. Yes, this is a must read type of novel.

This review/commentary has, for reasons I cannot explain, been the most challenging I have attempted. Perhaps it was the details within the book or my personal admiration for Ms. McFadden’s work that made commenting difficult. Perhaps I made the greatest faux pas, by reading the reviews of others and commenting on their comments.

Maybe it was because of this….

I have never written a review by summarization or through extracting too many details from the story, but for reasons unknown I was entranced by a deep need to do so with this book. Perhaps, to me, Harlan is an exceptionally familiar character,  reminding me subtly of my grandfather, or uncle, or a distant cousin, or the man down the street. Perhaps I see Harlan within myself; searching, finding, losing, and reborn. Maybe Harlan is many, or perhaps he embodies such layers of complexity that he is no one at all.Whoever he is to you is correct. His facets are many. Bernice McFadden and Seshat made him that way. After reading The (AMAZING) Book of Harlan, I am certain, with absolutely no doubt, that you will agree.




Loving Donovan: A Review

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Author: Bernice McFadden

Title: Loving Donovan

Publish Date: January 27, 2003

Pages: 226 (Hardcover)


Terri McMillan writes in the introduction of Bernice McFadden’s novel, Loving Donovan:

“…I was struck by how much Bernice tackles in this seemingly straightforward story of romance. And while she addresses difficult topics such as pedophilia, domestic abuse, homophobia, abortion, depression, suicide, she writes with such finesses that she doesn’t leave the reader in total despair. Saddened at times, yes, but throughout it all, Bernice gives her characters hope.” (page 8)

Bernice McFadden masterfully takes her readers on an embraced journey that blurs the lines of time, space, and sometimes, sanity. The prologue exposes the beginning of an end, yet, as few writers can, remarkably exposes, comfortably, the trials of the human soul with emotional truth absent of punitive venom (although there is plenty of bite) and vulgarity. Each part (calling them chapters minimizes the overall nuance) of Loving Donovan carries readers across waves of family, community and social history. It tells the story of love: good, bad and in between, of longing and wanting and of realities so well-known that the characters will lose their fictitious names and take on the names of people you know.

Loving Donovan is a love story, of sorts, but it is so much more. It is a story of women who love too hard and men who are selectively blind to, or openly unsure of, how this thing called love was supposed to be achieved. It is the story of sexual lust and tension and deviation and uncertainty. It is the story of joy and blues, and joy in blues and sometimes, just blues. It is the story of love:  familial, manipulative, abusive, unrequited, and lost (including the inability to fully love oneself). Perhaps this definition or description does not do the brilliance and emotion of Loving Donovan justice, but McFadden has opened long shut doors and reveals details once hidden.

In the ‘part’ of Loving Donovan, entitled “Age Eight,” McFadden writes:

Millie don’t know why he act the way he do, say the things he say, and don’t seem to know either, ‘cause when she ask him , he just shrugs his shoulders and says, “Baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I spent the rent money, stayed out till dawn, had my hand on Viola Sampson’s knee… Millie, baby, I just don’t know.” (Page 21)

This passage is the overarching mantra of most of the men, even when they are silent. They simply do not know why, in any capacity, they do [some of] the things they do. This, from my purview, is not intended to universally denigrate men and is not, in my opinion, an attack on their character, but instead, in its complex simplicity, utters the truth (as aforementioned, McFadden opens doors once hidden) about simply complex relationships, knowledge of self, and misunderstandings of love. Equally, McFadden holds the women in the novel accountable, perhaps not as dramatically, but certainly enough for the reader to ask, “what in the hell were you thinking.” It seems that, for the most part their minds are occupied by thoughts of the men who should love them back, the way they deserve to be loved.

Loving Donovan parallels, essentially, the lives of Campbell and Donovan; their upbringing, their similarities and differences, and how a narrow space between them is indirectly shared  without awareness of each other’s presence. Their eventual bond is seemingly inevitable, coincidental, as they come through mazes of events that shape them into adults. They are the products of storied lives; experiences that build and destroy and leaves scars.  The scars run deep and they, especially Donovan, struggle with the monsters within.  Campbell, however, cautiously but simply looks for the”penguin” and found (was introduced to) Donovan. In the search for happy finishes, the reader will instead find beginnings, middles, and endings that explore and reveal romance in the real world; the uncertainty, difficulty, confusion, frustration,  and agape of an undefinable emotion.

Bernice McFadden magnificently captures the full lives of her characters in Loving Donovan without adding filler. Each ‘part’ is straight forward, clean, and familiar. I was lost in the lives that McFadden so gingerly and intentionally breathed life into. In the end, Donovan became a ghost, disappearing into the realm of eternal goodbyes and Campbell fell into the bottomless well of emotional despair until the bottom rose to meet her (she cuts her hair — a symbol of change and surrender). She was lifted slowly from that abyss, and although granted a new happiness, is still secretly lured to the edge, from which she’d carefully glance down into its darkness, hoping that Donovan returned to resume their story.

McFadden writes:

The love she had for him never changed, never shifted or waned, just lodged inside her, wrapped around her heart.

She still looks for him behind the smoke-glass windows of Benzes…

Her heart still hopes when the phone rings…

And finally…

Campbell has a better understanding of love and the paths God and the universe have laid out for her, and it allows her to muse that perhaps she and Donovan will meet again in another life, on another plane…

…she as the sand, him as the sea…

…him as the moon, she as the stars…

…penguins… (pages 255-256)

This was a beautiful journey, one that is unforgettable, familiar and awakening. In the literary styles of Angelou, Walker, Morrison, and Brooks (just to name a few), McFadden is a voice that resonates and becomes fodder for evening conversations. Although, thematically, love is the subject, the truest love is that which the reader will unquestionably feel for McFadden as a writer and her novels, as national treasures.

BERNICE L. McFADDEN is the author of nine critically acclaimed novels including Sugar, Loving Donovan, Nowhere Is a Place, The Warmest December, Gathering of Waters (a New York Times Editors’ Choice and one of the 100 Notable Books of 2012), and Glorious, which was featured in O, The Oprah Magazine and was a finalist for the NAACP Image Award. She is a three-time Hurston/Wright Legacy Award finalist, as well as the recipient of three awards from the BCALA. McFadden lives in Brooklyn, New York. The Book of Harlan is her latest novel.(from Amazon)