50books_poc | Luci Tapahonso, Jacqueline Woodson

21. Luci Tapahonso, Blue Horses Rush In

No one could have told me that growing older would be this way: that children would turn on parents and disappear into gritty border towns, or run the abandoned downtown streets of Denver or Phoenix; that families could split into hardened circles over one sentence uttered in anger; that sons and daughters would leave with friends for Europe or New York; that they would leave for boot camp, or a college where they are one of five Indian students, and that parents would not know all they endured.

This is a book of poetry and prose with the coherence and resonance of a novel. I came away from Blue Horses Rush In feeling that I had just been to visit family; had been welcomed into a circle by a fire and included in storytelling that linked brother to sister, mother and father to son and daughter, cousin to cousin to the nth degree. Originally from Shiprock, New Mexico, and now teaching at the University of Kansas in Lawrence, Tapahonso is great on food - cornbread and fry bread and savory mutton stew - and good on landscape - the San Francisco mountains veined with snow under rich stars, the sweeping highway traffic. And she is wonderful, pitch-perfect, on family stories. She is careful to disclaim in her preface that the narrative "I" does not always refer to her, which is a relief, as the everyday tragedies described here should not be piled on any one person. What is sobering, though, is that they are drawn from life, meaning that each of them has fallen on someone. So as not to overwhelm, Tapahonso is careful, too, to balance raw grief with the small daily pleasures of love.

Her name is She-Who-Brings-Happiness because upon being carried,
she instinctively settles into the warmth
of your shoulder and neck.
She nestles, like a little bird, into the contours of your body.
All you can say is, "She's so sweet, I don't know what to do."

22. Jacqueline Woodson, If You Come Softly

sanguinity was kind enough to recommend Woodson when I had a minor temper tantrum over some didactic and unsubtle Young Adult fiction I'd been ploughing through. There could not be a better antidote. If You Come Softly can't be accused of shying away from issues; its substance, essentially Jewish and black relations, is little short of incendiary.

"I don't like white guys with locks. I mean - it's just so obviously an appropriation -"
"He's black, Anne."
She didn't say anything. I could feel the air between us getting weird. Maybe a minute passed. Maybe two.
"Really?"
"No," I said, growing annoyed. "I'm lying."

Anne is Ellie's favourite sister, a San Francisco lesbian and generally a likeable character; but from this point Ellie barely speaks to her again. Woodson's characters are complicated and contradictory. Their problems are real and frightening.

Once when he was about ten, he had torn away from his father and taken off down Madison Avenue. When his father caught up to him, he grabbed Miah's shoulder. Don't you ever run in a white neighborhood, he'd whispered fiercely, tears in his eyes. Then he had pulled Miah toward him and held him. Ever.

The accommodations they come to are compromises, at best. And yet they're neither saints nor devils. They're people, muddling through an imperfect world. And at moments you can feel the warmth of their breath, the bass of their pulse.

Then he asked me if I ever forgot I was white.
Sometimes, I said.
And when you're forgetting, what color are you?
No color.
Then Miah looked away from me and said, We're different that way.

What did Barthes call it? Punctum. That moment when a fictional character glances out of the book at you and casually stabs you in the heart.