Showing posts with label Jesmyn Ward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesmyn Ward. Show all posts

Monday, December 12, 2022

Top 10 books of eco-fiction


The Road by Cormac McCarthy



Top 10 books of eco-fiction

As the climate crisis grows ever clearer, the best fiction can help realign our conception of nature


Michael Christie
12 February 2020


As our real-world ecosystem further devolves, we’ll soon move into the pining-for-our-ex-phase of the relationship – watching the BBC’s Planet Earth documentaries like old wedding videos after a nasty divorce. But books can reconfigure our conception of nature for the better.

My new novel, Greenwood, begins in 2038 on a remote island off the Pacific coast of British Columbia, where wealthy tourists flock from all corners of the dust-choked globe to visit the Greenwood Arboreal Cathedral­ – one of the world’s last remaining forests. The story then travels back through time, telling the story of a family inextricably linked to the trees, from a biologist to a carpenter to an eco-warrior to a blind timber tycoon, describing how we went from fearing and mythologising our forests, to extracting enormous wealth from them, to fencing them off as luxury retreats.

Here are 10 great novels that have taken on this overwhelming story.

1. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The mother of all eco-fictions, a book that chronicles a man-made climate disaster before we knew what to call it. The dispossessed, hungry, and homeless migrate through baking dust in search of better lives, only to be turned back by callously protectionist locals. Sound familiar? It’s also a heartbreaking testament to the fact that eco-fiction need not be speculative. And even the most hard-hearted readers will be softened by Steinbeck’s eternally revolutionary idea: “Maybe all men got one big soul ever’body’s a part of.”

2. The Word for World Is Forest by Ursula Le Guin

A prescient novella about an interstellar logging colony, written by perhaps our greatest practitioner of “literary sci-fi”. Published in 1972, Le Guin’s book asserted that colonialism, extractivism, and environmental despoliation are endemic to humankind, and we surely haven’t proved her wrong in the years since. Concerning her novella’s similarities to the blockbuster film Avatar, which Le Guin described as “a high-budget, highly successful film” that “completely reverses the book’s moral premise, presenting the central and unsolved problem of the book, mass violence, as a solution”, she wrote: “I’m glad I have nothing at all to do with it”. 

3. Gold Fame Citrus by Claire Vaye Watkins
In her bold and strange novel, Watkins disassembles the mythology of the American west, paying particular attention to its brutal expansionism and unquestioned promise of personal reinvention. The story concerns a young couple trying to navigate post-apocalyptic California, where severe drought has baked the once fertile landscape into sandstorms and squalor. Peopled by wandering cults and water dowsers, Gold Fame Citrus shows us that perhaps the notions of “Shangri-La” and “Man-Made Hell on Earth” are two sides of the same ideological coin.

4. The Drowned World by JG Ballard
Published in 1962, and only Ballard’s second book, The Drowned World ought to be recognised as one of the pioneering works of climate fiction. By 2145, global warming has made slush of the ice caps (we knew this would happen, Exxon!), the seas have risen, and tropical swamps and jungles now dominate most of the Earth’s surface. A group of surveyors are sent from Greenland to soggy, flooded London to determine whether the southern world can someday be reclaimed. Writing during the era we believed most fervently that the world was ours to mould and shape, Ballard warned us that it wasn’t.

5. The Overstory by Richard Powers
Not the apocalypse so much as the prequel to it. Armed with more tree-related research than you can stack in your woodshed, Powers decentralises humans from his story to great effect, demonstrating how wanton deforestation and the reckless disregard for the complexity of natural systems have landed us in the mess we’re in. If you don’t come away from this novel with a deeper appreciation for trees, then you’re probably the CEO of a leading forestry company.

6. Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward
This brilliant National Book award-winning novel concerns the plight of Esch, a poor and pregnant 15-year-old, living with her family in Bois Sauvage, a mostly black Mississippi bayou town sitting smack dab in the path of hurricane Katrina. Set during the 12-day lead-up to landfall (plus a few days of aftermath), this mythic tragedy demonstrates what it means when the most vulnerable (and immobile) of us are struck by disaster. No novel draws a better link between personal traumas and climate traumas. In the storm’s wake, Esch muses: “Suddenly there is a great split between now and then, and I wonder where the world where that day happened has gone, because we are not in it.”


The Road

7. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Though the exact cause of the calamity that necessitates all kinds of scrabbling barbarism remains unclear, its human ramifications are described with ruthless specificity. In an interview, McCarthy later claimed that he imagined the disaster as the aftermath of a comet strike, but I don’t buy it. This is eco-fiction through and through. And now that I’m a father, I can’t help but read The Road as an ode to parenting in a fallen world; to sighting the disaster that you hope your children won’t have to face, but know deep-down they will and must. Regularly I have my own Road-type conversations with my sons: “Why do we buy gas if it’s destroying our planet, Dad?” “Because I need to get to work.” “Then why don’t you work somewhere closer to our house?” and on it goes. I mean really, what’s the best way to tell a child that this wondrous world they’ve just come to know is hurtling towards ruin?

8. American War by Omar El Akkad
Omar El Akkad tapped into his experience as a journalist in Afghanistan and the Middle East to prophesy a whole new history for the US, including the second civil war of 2074, which was just as barbaric as the first. The conflict was kicked off when the northern states outlawed fossil fuels after Florida was flooded with seawater, and, naturally, the southerners revolted, and the country again tore in half. A harrowing reminder that our old wounds can flare up in times of greatest turmoil.

9. Clade by James Bradley

The best eco-fiction doesn’t present our reckless alteration of the natural ecological order as a single apocalyptic event, with us playing the resident despoilers and the Earth our helpless victim. Instead it reminds us of our profound and inescapable interconnection with the natural world. Clade, Australian novelist James Bradley’s ingenious novel, tells the story of many generations of one family, all played out on a stage that is being incrementally destroyed by climate change, though few of the characters notice. Clade reminds us that world indeed won’t end with a bang, but with a long series of breakdowns, extinctions, die-offs, fires, floods, droughts, blights, and dust storms, during which our human lives will carry on just as messily as ever. And perhaps our greatest sin of all will be our failure to notice.


10. Flight Behaviour by Barbara Kingsolver
In rural Tennessee during an unrelenting period of unseasonable rain, a young woman named Dellarobia happens upon the uncanny spectacle of millions of monarch butterflies congregating in a field near her house. As competing interests fight to worship, capitalise upon, or preserve this unique phenomenon, the ensuing “Battle of the Butterflies” is a lesson in our frustratingly human tendency to focus on symptoms instead of root causes. As she watches the frenzied media coverage on her television, Dellarobia observes: “Nobody was asking why the butterflies were here; the big news was just that they were.’”


Sunday, December 11, 2022

The Beautiful Power of Ta-Nehisi Coates







The Beautiful Power of Ta-Nehisi Coates


With his groundbreaking nonfiction works, Ta-Nehisi Coates emerged as our most vital public intellectual. Now, his debut novel, The Water Dancer, takes him to uncharted depths.



When I meet Ta-Nehisi Coates, I am surprised. All of the photos I’ve seen of him are somber and inscrutable, but when I walk into the café where he’s suggested we meet, he’s not like that at all. He’s one of those people who looks young at any age: There’s a kind of weightlessness and buoyancy in the way he holds himself, with a serious, clear eye that looks knowing and hesitant all at once. He also has a baby face. But even though he looks at me with kindness, I’m nervous.

Winners of the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards, addressing racism and diversity, have been announced

 

Jesmyn Ward’s “Sing, Unburied, Sing” wins the fiction prize of the Anisfield-Wolf Awards.


Winners of the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards, addressing racism and diversity, have been announced

BY MICHAEL SCHAUB
APRIL 3, 2018 10:15 AM PT

The winners of the Anisfield-Wolf Book Awards, which honor outstanding books that address racism and diversity, will go this year to authors Jesmyn Ward, Kevin Young, N. Scott Momaday and Shane McCrae. Each will be awarded a prize of $10,000.

Jesmyn Ward’s ‘Sing, Unburied, Sing’ is multivocal and haunting

 

Jesmyn Ward



Jesmyn Ward’s ‘Sing, Unburied, Sing’ is multivocal and haunting


Jesmyn Ward’s latest novel, “Sing, Unburied, Sing,” is a multivocal book, switching voices from chapter to chapter. But its moral anchor is a young boy named JoJo, a biracial child in Mississippi who is essentially without parents and who, at the age of 13, will still begin his monologue by gravely observing, “I like to think I know what death is. I like to think it is something I could look at straight.”

Saturday, December 10, 2022

On Witness and Respair / A Personal Tragedy Followed by Pandemic




On the Sea of Time, 2020, acrylic on canvas.PAINTING BY CALIDA RAWLES.


On Witness and Respair: A Personal Tragedy Followed by Pandemic

 

My Beloved died in January. He was a foot taller than me and had large, beautiful dark eyes and dexterous, kind hands. He fixed me breakfast and pots of loose-leaf tea every morning. He cried at both of our children’s births, silently, tears glazing his face. Before I drove our children to school in the pale dawn light, he would put both hands on the top of his head and dance in the driveway to make the kids laugh. He was funny, quick-witted, and could inspire the kind of laughter that cramped my whole torso. Last fall, he decided it would be best for him and our family if he went back to school. His primary job in our household was to shore us up, to take care of the children, to be a househusband. He traveled with me often on business trips, carried our children in the back of lecture halls, watchful and quietly proud as I spoke to audiences, as I met readers and shook hands and signed books. He indulged my penchant for Christmas movies, for meandering trips through museums, even though he would have much preferred to be in a stadium somewhere, watching football. One of my favorite places in the world was beside him, under his warm arm, the color of deep, dark river water.

In early January, we became ill with what we thought was flu. Five days into our illness, we went to a local urgent care center, where the doctor swabbed us and listened to our chests. The kids and I were diagnosed with flu; my Beloved’s test was inconclusive. At home, I doled out medicine to all of us: Tamiflu and Promethazine. My children and I immediately began to feel better, but my Beloved did not. He burned with fever. He slept and woke to complain that he thought the medicine wasn’t working, that he was in pain. And then he took more medicine and slept again.

Jesmyn Ward / ‘Black girls are silenced, misunderstood and underestimated'

Jesmyn Ward: ‘I fought from the very beginning.’ 
Illustration by Deanna Halsall




Jesmyn Ward: ‘Black girls are silenced, misunderstood and underestimated'



The author of Sing, Unburied, Sing, had a tough childhood in Mississippi, survived Hurricane Katrina, and became the first woman to win two US national book awards for fiction

Lisa Allardice
Friday 11 May 2018

If Jesmyn Ward’s fiction tends towards the epic, that is maybe because her life has been marked by monumental events. “I fought from the very beginning”, she says. Born prematurely at just 26 weeks, she was badly attacked by her father’s pit bull as a small child, her younger brother was killed at 19, and, along with several generations of her family, she sheltered from Hurricane Katrina in a truck. Yet today she is the first woman to win the US national book award for fiction twice, hailed by a leading reviewer as “one of the most powerfully poetic writers in the country”. And on the morning we meet, it has just been announced that she has been shortlisted for the Women’s prize for fiction for her novel Sing, Unburied, Sing.

Friday, December 9, 2022

Cracking the Code by Jesmin Ward

I had always understood my ancestry to be a tangle of African slaves,
free men of color, French and Spanish immigrants, British colonists,
Native Americans—but in what proportion?

Cracking the Code


When my father moved to Oakland, California, after Hurricane Camille wrecked the Mississippi Gulf Coast, in 1969, strangers he encountered from El Salvador and Mexico and Puerto Rico would spit rapid-fire Spanish at him, expecting a reply in kind. “Are you Samoan?” a Samoan asked him once. But my father, with his black, silky hair that curled into Coke-bottle waves at the ends, skin the color of milky tea, and cheekbones like dorsal fins breaking the water of his face, was none of these things. He attended an all-black high school in Oakland; in his class pictures, his is one of the few light faces. His hair is parted in the middle and falls away in a blowsy Afro, coarsened to the right texture by multiple applications of relaxer.

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward review / Slow apocalypse of black America



BOOK OF THE DAY

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward review – slow apocalypse of black America

The Top 10 Novels of 2017


This award-winning portrait of a Mississippi family blighted by drugs and prison is a fierce critique of US history


Sukhdev Sandhu
Friday 24 November 2017


Sing, Unburied, Sing begins as it mostly means to go on: in blackness. A teenager named Jojo finds himself in a place of dirt and mud and slime and blood. His grandfather is showing him how to kill a goat: how to slit its throat, how to slice its stomach and reach in for its intestines. There are terrible bleating and gurgling sounds. The smell “overwhelms like a faceful of pig shit”. Buzzards hover above. Soon the youngster is throwing up in the grass. Not much later he’ll be eating the goat’s liver in a plate full of gravy.

In ‘Sing, Unburied, Sing,’ a Haunted Road Trip to Prison

 

Jesmyn Ward


In ‘Sing, Unburied, Sing,’ a Haunted Road Trip to Prison


(This book was selected as one of The New York Times Book Review’s 10 Best Books of 2017. )

The Top 10 Novels of 2017



SING, UNBURIED, SING
By Jesmyn Ward
304 pp. Scribner. $26.

Bois Sauvage, Miss., is the kind of place where a black man might be shot dead because of a bet gone awry, and where the authorities might agree to deem the incident a “hunting accident.” A place where ignoring a No Trespassing sign can get you chased off a white man’s property at the barrel of a gun. And where being black and poor or white and unlucky might get you sent upstate to Parchman Farm, the Mississippi State Penitentiary, which has evolved only superficially from the long-ago days when it operated like a plantation: “the long line. Men strung out across the fields, the trusty shooters stalking the edge, the driver on his mule, the caller yelling to the sun, throwing his working song out.” Though it’s a fictional town, Bois Sauvage is as mired in its own history as, frankly, most real places in America, a fact that has become painfully plain in the handful of years since Trayvon Martin’s killing first made headlines.

'Sing' Mourns The Dead, Both Buried And Unburied

 



'Sing' Mourns The Dead, Both Buried And Unburied


Annalisa Quinn
6 September 2017

The Top 10 Novels of 2017


Sing, Unburied, Sing opens with the slaughter of a goat. "The goat makes a sound of surprise, a bleat swallowed by a gurgle, and then there's blood and mud everywhere."

Jesmyn Ward’s Haunted Novel of the Gulf Coast

Jesmyn Ward



Jesmyn Ward’s 

Haunted Novel 

of the Gulf Coast

“Sing, Unburied, Sing” is shadowed by 
the long aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

Vinson Cunningham
4 September 2017

In the late summer of 2005, the novelist Jesmyn Ward, a native of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, lived through Hurricane Katrina. After fleeing her grandmother’s flooding home, Ward and her family weathered the worst violence of the storm huddled in trucks spread across an otherwise empty field. “I saw an entire town demolished, people fighting over water, breaking open caskets searching for something that could help them survive,” she said in a 2011 interview with The Paris Review.

Jesmyn Ward, Heir to Faulkner, Probes the Specter of Race In the South

Ward, who teaches creative writing at Tulane, set her new novel in a coastal Mississippi town
 
Photo by Beowulf Sheehan


Jesmyn Ward, Heir to Faulkner, Probes the Specter of Race In the South


BY SARAH BEGLEY
AUGUST 24, 2017 6:53 AM EDT

“To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi” goes a line often attributed to William Faulkner. More than half a century later, Jesmyn Ward may be the newest bard of global wisdom.

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward / Review

 



Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward – review

Jesmyn Ward's powerful second novel tells the story of a desperately poor family in the Mississippi backwoods as hurricane Katrina approaches

Olivia Laing
11 December 2011

Jesmyn Ward comes from a community that's more often spoken for than listened to. She was raised in a poor black area of rural Mississippi, and lived through the devastations of hurricane Katrina. These experiences underpin her second novel, the urgent account of a troubled family's attempts at survival in the days leading up to the storm. But her gifts go much further than as a curator of personal memories, as a recent National Book award suggests.


Yesmyn Ward
Illustration by Deanna Halsall


The narrator, 15-year-old Esch, is pregnant. She lives with her three brothers and alcoholic, widowed father in the Pit, the name given to their ragged, rotting junkyard of land, populated by dead trucks and feral chickens. Esch is tough and literate, a taciturn bookworm who's been having sex with her brothers' friends since she was 12 because, as she explains of the first, "it was easier to let him keep on touching me than ask him to stop".