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| Categories | United States |
| Author | Tara M. Stringfellow |
| Publisher | The Dial Press (April 5, 2022) |
| Language | English |
| Paperback | 272 pages |
| Item Weight | 1.05 pounds |
| Dimensions |
6.3 x 0.9 x 9.52 inches |
I. Book introduction
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • READ WITH JENNA BOOK CLUB PICK AS FEATURED ON TODAY • A spellbinding debut novel tracing three generations of a Southern Black family and one daughter’s discovery that she has the power to change her family’s legacy.
“A rhapsodic hymn to Black women.”—The New York Times Book Review
“I fell in love with this family, from Joan’s fierce heart to her grandmother Hazel’s determined resilience. Tara Stringfellow will be an author to watch for years to come.”—Jacqueline Woodson, New York Times bestselling author of Red at the Bone
Summer 1995: Ten-year-old Joan, her mother, and her younger sister flee her father’s explosive temper and seek refuge at her mother’s ancestral home in Memphis. This is not the first time violence has altered the course of the family’s trajectory. Half a century earlier, Joan’s grandfather built this majestic house in the historic Black neighborhood of Douglass—only to be lynched days after becoming the first Black detective in the city. Joan tries to settle into her new life, but family secrets cast a longer shadow than any of them expected.
As she grows up, Joan finds relief in her artwork, painting portraits of the community in Memphis. One of her subjects is their enigmatic neighbor Miss Dawn, who claims to know something about curses, and whose stories about the past help Joan see how her passion, imagination, and relentless hope are, in fact, the continuation of a long matrilineal tradition. Joan begins to understand that her mother, her mother’s mother, and the mothers before them persevered, made impossible choices, and put their dreams on hold so that her life would not have to be defined by loss and anger—that the sole instrument she needs for healing is her paintbrush.
Unfolding over seventy years through a chorus of unforgettable voices that move back and forth in time, Memphis paints an indelible portrait of inheritance, celebrating the full complexity of what we pass down, in a family and as a country: brutality and justice, faith and forgiveness, sacrifice and love.
Editorial Reviews
“Readers will come to see that Stringfellow is demonstrating the erratic movements of history, the false starts and reversals and, yes, the moments of progress that are reflected in our haphazard march toward realizing King’s vision for America. . . . With her richly impressionistic style, Stringfellow captures the changes transforming Memphis in the latter half of the 20th century.”—The Washington Post
“Written with the grace of a poet, Memphis is as hopeful as it is heartbreaking. I fell in love with this family, from Joan’s fierce heart to her grandmother Hazel’s determined resilience. Tara Stringfellow will be an author to watch for years to come. . . . A stellar debut.”—Jacqueline Woodson, bestselling author of Red at the Bone
“Memphis is an evocative, compelling tale that mines the depths of collective Black pain to arrive at something that might be, for once, Black healing. Writing in the ancestral tradition of stories passed from one generation to the next—relived, revised, revealed—Tara M. Stringfellow assembles an endearing and unforgettable cast of characters who find strength in vulnerability, safety in art, and liberation in telling the truth. This is a shining, splendid testimony in the vein of Gloria Naylor, Delores Phillips, Ayana Mathis, and Honorée Jeffers.”—Robert Jones, Jr., New York Times bestselling author of The Prophets
“In luminous, lyrical prose, Tara Stringfellow sings the song of the North women—and the North men—with wisdom, humor, and deep humanity. Memphis is an American epic, a tribute to life in all of its sorrow and joyful resilience.”—Chloe Benjamin, bestselling author of The Immortalists
“This vivid debut novel examines the tragedies, joys, and deep connections of one extraordinary Memphis family. . . . A story populated with unforgettable characters. Stringfellow’s prose is evocative. . . . A powerful family saga from a promising writer.”—Booklist
“A rich tapestry of women’s familial relationships . . . a well-written debut by an author worth watching for years to come . . . Recommended for anyone who appreciates Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, or Gloria Naylor.”—Library Journal (starred review)
Amazon.com Review
An Amazon Best Book of April 2022: Three generations of unforgettable Black women dominate the pages of Tara M. Stringfellow’s knockout debut. Memphis is the story of their hopes and dreams, their love affairs, the good men and the bad men in their lives, and how hope, joy, and hurt can be passed from one generation to the next. If you’re anything like me, you won’t be able to decide which woman is your favorite—Joan with her patience, rage, and artistic sensibility; Hazel whose love story made me weep; Auntie August, a secret guardian angel with laughter that booms, a tongue that lashes, and a heart bigger than anyone else’s; Mya who steadies her family with humor and sharpness; Miriam, resiliency personified; Miss Jade, the neighbor who protects each generation. I love this book. I couldn’t put it down. You will fall in love with these women who gather strength from one another’s care amidst a world of heartbreak, racism, and violence. Filled with ‘50s music, this book went straight to my heart, which is why it’s one of my favorites of the year. —Al Woodworth, Amazon Editor
About Tara M. Stringfellow
Former attorney, Northwestern University MFA graduate, and Pushcart Prize nominee Tara M. Stringfellow’s debut novel Memphis (Dial Press, an imprint of Penguin Random House) is a multi-generational bildungsroman based on the author’s rich Civil Rights history.
A recent winner of the Book Pipeline Fiction Contest, Memphis was recognized for its clear path to film or TV series adaptation and is due out in 2022. Third World Press published her first collection of poetry entitled More than Dancing in 2008.
A cross-genre artist, the author was Northwestern University’s first MFA graduate in both poetry and prose and has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes, as well as Best of the Net.
Her poems have appeared in Collective Unrest, Jet Fuel Review, Minerva Rising, Women’s Arts Quarterly, Transitions and Apogee Journal, among others.
If she isn’t writing, she’s gardening. If she’s isn’t in Memphis, she’s in Italy.
II. [Reviews] Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow
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1. ROXANE Review Memphis: A Novel
An engrossing story about three generations of women in Memphis. I love the details and how Memphis is a character too. There is a really nice sprawl to the narrative as it crosses time back and forth. I do wish more time had been given to Hazel’s story with stronger connections between her story and those of August, Miriam, Joan and Mya. Also, why didn’t Mya get any chapters? But I loved this novel overall. Stringfellow is a consummate storyteller.
2. PAROMJIT Review Memphis: A Novel
Tara M. Stringfellow’s beautifully written and moving debut charts the lives of 3 generations of black women, the sorrows, trauma, tragedy, poverty, violence, domestic and sexual abuse, sacrifice and heartbreak, and the consequences on the generations that follow. A blend of fact and fiction, the story takes places amidst the background of significant events in American history, such as the civil rights movement and the 2001 9/11 attacks, and the experience and impact of Southern American racism. Miriam finds herself escaping a violent partner and marriage with her two daughters, Joan and Mya, and with few choices open to her, she heads to Douglass, Memphis, Tennessee, to her family’s ancestral home, built by her grandfather, a black detective, who was lynched, whilst her grandmother, Hazel, was pregnant.
In a non-linear narrative that goes back and forth in time, the exact nature of the horrors, hopes, dreams, love and challenges of the lives and what happened to the women, and their battles to survive, are slowly revealed. Miriam’s sister, August, who has lost her faith in god and men, is having issues with her son, Derek. August welcomes Miriam and her daughters, she is a independent woman, with strong and supportive links in the community. A traumatised Joan finds solace and healing through art and the pictures she paints. There are a wide range of characters in the novel, vibrant and skilfully drawn, with each of the women having a distinctive voice.
“Memphis” this is a heartbreaking read, which I loved with its celebration of the strength and resilience of black women, of family, friendships and the community, in the face of the most adverse of circumstances. They have to deal with the poverty, inequalities, and the grief, despair and pain of the past, whilst trying to build and forge a future. This is such a terrifically memorable multigenerational family debut by Stringfellow, that it has me really looking forward to what she comes up with next. Many thanks to the publisher for the ARC.
3. CHRISTINE Review Memphis: A Novel
Memphis is an engrossing novel featuring the lives of three generations of a Southern Black family living in Memphis, Tennessee. The narrative takes place from 1937-2003. The timeline skips about from chapter to chapter, but this isn’t as disturbing as one might initially think. Each chapter is told from the point of view of one of the women from the North family—Hazel, her daughters Miriam and August, and Miriam’s daughter Joan. Miriam’s second daughter Mya also plays a significant role. The story also includes the men in their lives, but this novel belongs to the women.
The storyline weaves in and out of historic milestones during the time, including World War II, the civil rights movement, and 9/11. It covers multiple themes including domestic abuse, deep loss, failed dreams, faith/lack of faith, the power of community and friendship, and the sheer challenge of just surviving. The prose is sublime, and the characters are realistic as are their stories. I felt drawn into their lives, and I will miss these people. Though there is much hardship in this story, there is also hopefulness, joy, and achievement.
This novel will make you feel and will make you think. I recommend it for all readers of literary fiction and family drama. I look forward to seeing what’s next for this debut novelist.
On a personal note, many thanks to my Goodreads friend Cheri for recommending this book for me. Thank you also Net Galley, Random House Publishing Group/The Dial Press. and Ms. Tara Stringfellow for an advanced copy. Opinions are mine alone and are not biased in any way.
4. EDJ Review Memphis: A Novel
Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow – Pertinent to our world as we learn and practice anti-discrimination
This is a brilliant novel that depicts both racism and sexism, particularly the culmination of the two (discrimination against black women). Tara details the lives of about 5 women – 3 generations of women. She talks about their love stories, the racism they suffer, domestic violence and sexual violence. She draws from historical events and weaves these into the story.
Tara treats the rape of a child with a good level of validation. The father of the girl who was raped embraces his daughter and tries to comfort her, as does her mother as well. But the rape actually drives the parents’ marriage apart. A doctor says the child won’t remember the event, but Tara makes it perfectly clear that our bodies keep the score, even if we are too young to understand what has happened.
Some of the characters experience different levels of reconciliation with each other, some defy their parents, their husbands, the stories they’ve been told about their own futures, and work hard to follow their dreams and become more themselves. I was crying by the end of it.
Entertaining, well written & pertinent to our world as we learn and practice anti-discrimination.
5. TARA P Review Memphis: A Novel
Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow – Very real, hurtful, heartwarming, victorious….
I felt a myriad of emotions reading this novel. A lot of it was familiar. Being both from Memphis and the Douglass community, yet excelling beyond the negative and embracing the positive, this could have easily been the story of many that I knew. While not hiding the violence in the community, this story also highlighted the sense of community and strong women who make it adjoined with their influence and strong will. I enjoyed this book thoroughly and will be seeking out other literary works from Ms. Tara Stringfellow.
6. LAURA Review Memphis: A Novel
70 years in the life of a Memphis family
Writing: 4/5 Plot: 3/5 Characters: 4.5/5
The story covers 70 years in the lives of a family in Memphis ranging from 1937 through 2001. Sisters August and Miriam, their mother Hazel, and Miriam’s daughter Joan are the voices that tell the story with date labeled chapters that jump back and forth across time (which can be confusing — I had to take careful notes). The book is written in a highly emotional style, guaranteed to make you angry at the injustice and hardships these women must suffer through.
I believe this is intended to be a positive novel about the tight knit Black community of women who pull together and give each other strength when needed — and I loved these women characters and would have loved to be a part of the community. But the other side of the coin is that the book is strongly anti-man and pretty anti-white as well. The big sign in August’s hair shop is “NO CHILDREN, NO MEN, & WE EAT WHITE FOLK HERE.” It’s not really a joke.
Through the generations, everything bad possible happens to this family including a child rape, multiple instances of domestic abuse, and lynching. It reinforces negative stereotypes of current Black culture — single mothers and abusive, violent men. The one decent man in the history was lynched, with the strong implication being that he was lynched by his white colleagues (he had made homicide detective — the first Black man in the area to do so). The author took every opportunity to blame whites or men for everything that went wrong, without considering any errors of judgement made by the women. And while she gave each of the violent black men a backstory that might explain their violence, she gave them no path to rehabilitation and completely exonerated the women who may have contributed to their “badness,” whether intentionally or not.
In summary, the story was gripping but I found the writing overly dramatic, manipulative, and full of good messages (be strong, be independent) based on the wrong (IMHO) reasoning. I’m all in favor of women being independent because everyone should be able to take care of themselves — this is not a safe or uniformly just world — but they shouldn’t need to be independent because men are uniformly violent, bad, and untrustworthy.
I know a lot of people love these emotionally heavy-handed books. For me, however, it is too easy to absorb strong, negative, messages without a more nuanced treatment. No, there is no amount of nuance that makes lynching or domestic violence OK, but there are a lot of good men (black and white) out there and lots of good white people, too. Do we really need to fan the flames of racism and sexism (in reverse) by ascribing horrible behavior to every person who appears to be male and / or white? I found the book disturbing — not just for the content (which was disturbing enough!) but for the incendiary way that Black men and all white people (except one nice Jewish store owner!) were painted as irreedemably and unquestionably bad.
7. K.B Review Memphis: A Novel
Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow – Incredible story about women and strength
Memphis is one of my top reads this year. It’s a story about a family, specifically the generations of females who have lived in a home in Memphis. Tragedy is no stranger to this family and while my heart broke for the characters, there were also moments I felt empowered by them. The author did a phenomenal job in bringing these characters to life and I found myself drawn to them from start to finish.
My rule of thumb is to not give away spoilers in my review especially if it something that is not mentioned in the publisher synopsis. While I generally think it is best to go into a book without knowing too much ahead of time, in this case some readers might want to check out the trigger warnings beforehand.
The story alternates between the different characters and at various stages of their lives. So one moment the story is taking place in 1995 with Joan as a ten year old, and then the next chapter might go back and show Miriam, Joan’s mom, growing up. All told, I believe the story covers the 1930s into the 2000s. I thought everything flowed nicely despite the back and forth between characters and time frames.
When it comes to a 5 star read I am rarely able to convey how much the book meant to me. Words fail me and I just can’t do the book justice. Perhaps the book won’t hit every reader in the same way, but I think most will agree it’s a strong debut novel. Can’t wait to see what Tara M. Stringfellow has in store in the future.
8. BRANDICE Review Memphis: A Novel
Wow, Memphis was excellent, some of the best writing I’ve read in a long time.
In 1995, at the age of 10, Joan arrives in Memphis with her mom, Miriam, and younger sister, Mya. They return to the house where Miriam grew up and her sister, August, now lives. There are men included in this book — fathers, spouses, sons — but the story is truly about the Black women of this family.
It’s a family saga, shifting between 3 generations of women and while the sound of nonlinear stories doesn’t always appeal to me, it worked well here. Though this is a fictional story, it’s frustrating to know how little some things have changed over the last several decades. Memphis has no shortage of hardship and tragedy as the women and girls contend with challenges in life, but it also shows the power of family bonds and strong community, and has some hopefulness.
I felt very invested in these characters and flew through this book — It’s one I know I’ll be thinking about for a long time. Tara Stringfellow is a fantastic writer and I hope she writes more in the future!
9. CHERI Review Memphis: A Novel
There is a mesmerizing quiet beauty in this story, while also sharing a darkness that permeates the lives of these characters. The story of a Black family from Memphis whose story is shared through some of the most lovely prose I’ve found in a debut, a story so heartfelt, with so much heartbreak, but also love. A history of abuse over generations, secrets, trauma. The beauty of Memphis, the music, the fragrance of the magnolia blooms set against the history of racism. The good, the bad, and the very ugly, including some notable historic moments in time.
This goes back and forth in time, sharing the stories of the generations that came before in small pieces of time. Over time, the story is revealed in much the same way that a puzzle comes together, one piece at a time – until all the pieces are in place and it is revealed as a stunning work of art.
Family secrets withheld for generations are unfurled, the traumas endured shared which allows each generation to understand the one that came before a little better. The things they’ve witnessed, and silently bore through the years, the tears shed in solitude, the dark moments they endured.
An exquisitely shared story of the bonds of family, the women who show up for their children, sharing themselves and their love even when they are feeling exhausted and broken themselves. A story of life, of love, of heartbreak, the traumas imprinted on those who came before. A story of the lives of Black men, women and children, faith, mercy and the sacrifices made in the name of love.
Published: 05 Apr 2022
Many thanks for the ARC provided by Random House Publishing Group – Random House, The Dial Press
10. VAL Review Memphis: A Novel
Wow, this was a debut novel? The melodic prose, the strong black female characters, the messages of overcoming, community and sisterhood, the non-linear timeline and the shifting POV through 4 generations of the women of the North family – it all took my breath away.
This amazing story spans 70 years, but each nugget of the story is metered out in increments. Usually with a non-linear timeline and multiple POVs, there is one story that shines and I want to hear more from that voice. However, in this book, each voice, each timeline and each point of view was equally captivating. Della, a slightly removed generation, Hazel, the matriarch, Miriam and August her two very different but strongly bonded daughters, and Jane and Maya- Miriam’s girls. The daughters are brought back together when Miriam leaves her military husband and returns to her childhood home in Memphis.
This was a difficult story to read. So much death, racism, tragedy and loneliness. Yet what I was left with was the power of sisterhood, of self-love, of believing in God-given talents, of understanding and the of amazing healing powers of community. I loved the depictions of a city and a culture I am an outsider to, but can appreciate and celebrate with the author. I felt like I was there with these sisters as they endured hardship after hardship and persevered with grit and determination.
I loved Hazel for finding a love like no other, loved Miriam for finding the strength to leave an abusive situation and redefine herself, loved August for making the choice to be there for a son she could never control rather than follow her own dreams, loved June for ignoring the noise that tried to make her stop drawing and loved Maya for never letting outside voices temper her love for her father and her family. I loved Miss Dawn for investing in Miriam’s daughters as if they were her own and loved the community that surrounded the North girls.
“ The anger I had felt for years at my father was what I had had instead of him. It was all I had of him. So, I carried it with me always, like a rose quartz in my palm. And it was slowly disappearing, my quartz. Growing tiny. I was hardly feeling the rough edges of it anymore. I realized, as time passed in the kitchen, the grandfather clock in the parlor having sung its swan song three times now, that love was wearing me down. Love, like a tide, just washing over and over that piece of rock. And I believed that only God—and maybe Miss Dawn—could change a tide.”
As you can tell from the line quoted above, this book is filled with gorgeous, poetic observations that will make you stop and dwell on the words you just consumed. There were so many lines I highlighted in this book. The story captivates from beginning to end and the characters pull you in and invite you into their lives. This was a powerful read and is one to be treasured. Highly recommend.
Thank you to NetGalley, Dial Press and Random House for the advance copy to read and review.
III. [Quote] Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow
The best book quotes from Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow
“And out of the profound desolation of her reality she may very well have invented herself.”
“That is what broke Miriam. Where shame met motherhood. She had snapped at her child for simply wanting to exist as a child.”
“Miriam thought her the most entitled white women she had met—uninteresting, her life so intertwined with that of her husband’s that she was no longer distinguishable as a woman.”
“I didn’t want that, either—poverty and the shame it brings—but I was willing to risk being chronically poor the rest of my life so that I could draw. Art mattered more to me than anything else. If there was a chance I could make it work, that I might make a living off it, however meager, I had to try.”
“History had awakened me to the fact that racism is the only food Americans crave.”
“walls shook with the laughter. Laughter that was, in and of itself, Black. Laughter that could break glass. Laughter that could uplift a family. A cacophony of Black female joy in a language private to them.”
“The things women do for the sake of their daughters. The things women don’t. The shame of it all. The shame of her daughter’s rape, the shame of her husband’s violence, her nephew’s psychopathy.”
“The butterflies are what solidified my fascination. Small and periwinkle-blue, they danced within the canopy. The butterflies were African violets come alive. It was the finishing touch to a Southern symphony all conducted on a quarter-acre plot.”
“Then almost raised her hand to her left brow, still tender, covered in cheap Maybelline foundation not her shade because no drugstore ever carried her shade.”
“It’s a sight, ain’t it? And after all these years, I can’t get used to it. Mountains. How did they even come to be? Sometimes I sit in that shop all day wondering. Don’t make no sense to me how a fella can question the existence of God waking up to mountains like that every morning. All the proof I need.”
“She qualified but had refused to go on food stamps. Pride. She almost laughed out loud now. Counting Wolf, her household had grown by three humans and one canine in a single morning.”
“They could not understand that smart planning and the sheer fact that humans will always need bread were the reasons Stanley’s did not have to shutter.”
“Stanley, why on earth you got niggers dancing in here? Even got nigger music on. And here I thought the flood was the end of the world.”
“Every day, Derek looked more and more like his father. He was tall and dark and brooding. And every day, just like his father, he bored deeper into crime.”
“I had always coveted darker-skinned women their color. There was a mystery to their beauty that I found hypnotizing, Siren-like. They were hardly ever in Jet or Ebony or Essence, the magazines we subscribed to, unless they themselves were famous—the mom from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Whoopi Goldberg, Jackie Joyner, Oprah. Most of the Black women the public pronounced beautiful looked like Mama. Black Barbies. Bright. Hair wavier than curly. Petite figures.”
“Not adult, but on the crisp cusp of it, burgeoning with masculinity. It shocked us. We hadn’t heard a male voice in days except for Al Green’s over the radio and that white man at the gas station a half day’s drive back. It was like a predator had suddenly announced its presence in our new safe haven.”
“But no one, not even God, could sit there and explain to me why that boy had held me down on the floor of his bedroom seven years before.”
“hated that fact. That he belonged to us—to me. Bile crept into my belly, and I swallowed hard to hold it in.”
“She preferred to be studying. Chemistry. Physics. Anatomy. This was a summer job—a gig to make some money in between her college graduation and the start of nursing school that fall.”
“Jax had been shocked—Mazz was the first white boy he had ever met that didn’t either try to spit on him or kill him. Being spat upon by their drill sergeants instead, they felt a kinship—both hated for their bloodline and both hailing from one of the greatest cities in the world.”
“Della, a grown and determined and brilliant woman, reduced to that colored girl in North Memphis who makes them fancy dresses.”
“Hazel Rose, you look at me now”, Myron said. He raised Hazel’s head with the tip of his index finger. “You remember the first thing I ever said to you?” “You all kinds of crazy”. Myron gave a small laugh. “It was ‘I got you’. I meant that. You hear me? I meant that.”
“If she had to serve, had to work for her bread and water, then, goddamnit, she’d serve her own.”
“All Hazel could remember, after he had removed her lace gown and laid her down on a quilt her mother had made for them, was that a man and a woman together, loving, reminded her of butter pecan ice cream.”
“Every human being on this earth needs a sibling like a sailor needs a compass.”
“The women of all shades who had come to Auntie August’s shop not for their usual presses, but for the relief of cornrows and Bantu knots and box braids. I wanted to draw Mya and the cats in the green trees. Now that school was out”
“Maybe I wasn’t so different from Daddy. an unpleasant thought. Maybe he’d even made me this way, I realized, angrily. But my rage came partly from fear. That reassured me until I considered, with a start, that maybe that wasn’t so different from my father, after all.”
Book excerpts: Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow
Chapter 1 – Memphis
Joan
1995
The house looked living. Mama squeezed my hand as the three of us gazed up at it, our bleary exhaustion no match for the animated brightness before us.
“Papa Myron selected and placed each stone of the house’s foundation himself,” she whispered to me and Mya. “With the patience and diligence of a man deep in love.”
The low house was a cat napping in the shade of plum trees, not at all like the three-story Victorian fortress we had just left. This house seemed somehow large and small at once—it sat on many different split levels that spanned out in all directions in a wild, Southern maze. A long driveway traversed the length of the yard, cut in half by a folding wooden barn gate. But what made the house breathe, what gave the house its lungs, was its front porch. Wide stone steps led to a front porch covered in heavy green ivy and honeysuckle and morning glory. Above the porch, my grandfather had erected a wooden pergola. Sunlight streaked through green vines and wooden planks that turned the porch into an unkempt greenhouse. The honeysuckle drew hummingbirds the size of baseballs; they fluttered atop the canopy in shades of indigo and emerald and burgundy. I could see cats on the porch—a dozen of them, maybe, an impossible number except for what a quick count told me. Some slept in heaps that looked softer than down, while others sat atop the green canopy, paws swiping at the birds. Bees as big as hands buzzed about, pollinating the morning glories, giving the yard a feeling that the green expanse itself was alive and humming and moving. The butterflies are what solidified my fascination. Small and periwinkle-blue, they danced within the canopy. The butterflies were African violets come alive. It was the finishing touch to a Southern symphony all conducted on a quarter-acre plot.
“Not now, Joan,” Mama said, sighing.
I had out my pocket sketchbook, was already fumbling for the piece of charcoal somewhere in the many pockets of my Levi overalls. My larger sketchbook, my blank canvases the size of teacups, my brushes and inks and oils were all packed tight in the car. But my smaller sketchbook, I kept on me. At all times. Everywhere I went.
I wanted to capture the life of the front porch, imprint it in my notebook and in my memory. A quick landscape. Should’ve only taken a few minutes, but Mama was right. We were all dog tired. Even Wolf, who had slept most of the journey. Mya’s face was drained of its usual spark, and as I slipped my sketchbook into my back jeans pocket, slightly defeated, her hand felt hot and limp as I took it in my own.
Mya, Mama, and I walked up the wide stone front steps hand in hand. My memories of staying here felt vague and far away—I’d been only three years old, and it felt like a lifetime ago—but now I remembered sitting on the porch and pouring milk for the cats. I remembered Mama cautioning me not to spill, though I usually did anyway. Her laughter, too—the sound of it like the seashell chimes coming from inside the house while I played with the cats echoed in my mind from years ago. And the door, I remembered that. It was a massive beast. A gilded lion’s head with a gold hoop in its snout was mounted on a wood door painted corn yellow. I had to paint a picture of this door, even if I had to spend months, years, finding the perfect hues. It was as magnificent as it was terrifying. By knocking, by opening the door, I knew we’d be letting out a whole host of ghosts.
Mama raised her arm, grabbed the lion’s hoop, and knocked three times.
A calico kitten wove in and out of Mya’s legs in a zigzag, mewing softly.
Mya let go of my hand in order to stroke the kitten’s mane, coo to her gently.
We’d left Wolf in the car. Mama explained she’d have to be let in through the backyard, so she wouldn’t be tempted to attack all the roaming wildlife in the front. She was in the passenger seat with the window down. She wouldn’t jump out; she was too big for that. More mammoth than dog. And even though she was friendlier than a church mouse to all dogs, she mistrusted all humans not family. The curl of her lip and the baring of teeth were enough to send most grown men running to the other side of the street. As a baby, Mya called her “Horse” instead of “Wolf.” Wolf would carry her, Mya tugging at her ears like reins, and Wolf never minding. Mya’s chubby toddler legs all akimbo in Wolf’s thick mane. Wolf grew to expect it, these pony rides. She would nudge Mya first with a face-covering, eye-closing lick, followed by a gentle nip on Mya’s button nose that let us know she was ready to be ridden.
Now Wolf stuck her thick head covered in gray fur out the van window and growled, low. She sensed the front door opening before we did. Just as Mama lifted a hand to knock again, the yellow door opened to reveal Auntie August. Her hair was pinned up in big pink rollers, the kind I’d seen in old pinup-girl photos, and she wore a long, cream-colored silk kimono. Embroidered along the front panels were sunset-colored cranes taking off from a green pool. The kimono appeared like it’d been tied in a rush: A beet-purple man’s necktie held the fabric haphazardly together, barely concealing the full breasts and hips aching to break from the folds. My auntie stood blinking at the bright morning light, an expression of resignation and exhaustion on her face that made her look just like Mama.
“What war y’all lost?” Auntie August asked.
My aunt looked like the taller, more regal version of Mama. Auntie August was nearly six feet tall. I had read Anansi stories. I knew that it was the women tall as trees and fiercer than God that ancient villages often sent into battle. If Mama was Helen of Troy, August was Asafo. She seemed to go on forever, seemed to be the height of the door itself. She had hips, the kind Grecian sculptors would spend months chiseling, big and bold and wide. Her skin was noticeably darker, darker than mine even, and I felt a welt of pride. I had always coveted darker-skinned women their color. There was a mystery to their beauty that I found hypnotizing, Siren-like. They were hardly ever in Jet or Ebony or Essence, the magazines we subscribed to, unless they themselves were famous—the mom from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Whoopi Goldberg, Jackie Joyner, Oprah. Most of the Black women the public pronounced beautiful looked like Mama. Black Barbies. Bright. Hair wavier than curly. Petite figures. So, when my Auntie August opened that door, and I saw that her skin was so dark it reflected all the other colors surrounding it—the yellow of the afternoon light, the yellow of the door, the peach tan of the calico cat weaving in and out of Mya’s short legs—I knew that the aunt I could barely remember was, in and of herself, a small, delicious miracle.
“Got any food in the fridge?” Mama asked.
August opened the door wider, taking in the spectacle before her. “Is the pope Catholic?”
Mama shrugged.
I could hear Wolf growl again over the hum and buzz of the bees and the hummingbirds.
“My word,” August said in a whisper then. “Did it get that bad?”
“I’ll take my old room if I can have it,” Mama said.
Auntie August fumbled into the deep silk folds of her kimono, her face momentarily scrunched in mild annoyance. Like she had an itch she couldn’t quite reach. From out of her robe’s pocket came the unmistakable green-and-white packaging of a pack of Kools, and the relief was visible in Auntie August’s face. That pack of smokes. I felt a pang, sharp in my ribs, like one of them was missing. Daddy had smoked Kools. Would religiously pull out the green-and-white carton and smack it against his knee a few times before removing and lighting a cigarette and asking if Mya and I wanted to hear another ghost story.
In a series of deft movements, August removed a cigarette and positioned a lighter in her other hand, ready to strike. She motioned with her cigarette, first at Mya, then at me. “And them girls?” Her glance seemed to rest longer on me than on Mya.
“With me. In the quilting room,” Mama said, with a sharpness to her voice that almost sounded defensive, but with something else there I couldn’t place.
August, with the quickness of a serpent, reached out her hand and grasped Mama’s chin in her palm, turned her face this way and that.
“The foundation don’t match,” she said.
Auntie August lost her swagger then. A flash of rage quickly turned to tears, and her face broke down like Mya’s when she was told not to open her graham crackers directly in the grocery store. August reached for Mama, and all near six feet of August collapsed, leaned like a weary palm tree into her sister’s arms.
“What hell you been through, Meer?” August asked, sobbing into Mama’s hair.
“Mama, who them?”
The voice was male. Not adult, but on the crisp cusp of it, burgeoning with masculinity. It shocked us. We hadn’t heard a male voice in days except for Al Green’s voice over the radio and that white man at the gas station a half day’s drive back. It was like a predator had suddenly announced its presence in our new safe haven.
….
Note: Above are quotes and excerpts from the book “Memphis: A Novel by Tara M. Stringfellow”. If you find it interesting and useful, don’t forget to buy paper books to support the Author and Publisher!
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