November is nearly upon us and I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to tally my thanks for good books — the people who write them, the people who publish them, and the people like you, dear reader, who celebrate them. This season, I’m particularly grateful for grit lit, which I dared to revisit this summer after a years-long hiatus. I couldn’t hold space for dark stories — until now.
Amistad, a HarperCollins imprint, quietly released Wade in the Water by Nyani Nkrumah in January and I cannot understand why more people haven’t been buzzing about this novel. Marketed as a coming-of-age narrative, Nkrumah sets her debut in 1980s Mississippi and makes use of two points-of-view: curious, eleven-year-old Ella, a Magnolia State native, and Ms. St. James, a white outsider with a book project and a lot of secrets. The pair befriend one another for different reasons and while their encounters can be endearing, they ultimately prove devastating.
I fell for Ella early on — for her strong spirit and youthful optimism; I never trusted Ms. St. James, though I wanted to on account of Ella’s affection for her. What happens between the pair — to the whole town of rural Ricksville — unfolds like a car accident in slow motion. You know something horrific is coming; there’s nothing you can do to stop it, nor can you look away. Weeks later, I’m still thinking about these characters and I desperately want more people to read Wade in the Water so I can float some questions their way.
My second recommendation is Here in the Dark by North Carolina writer Meagan Lucas, who happened to visit my local indie bookstore, The Book Tavern, in Augusta, Georgia, while on tour to promote the release of her short story collection, her second title. At this event, Lucas was in conversation with novelist Brian Panowich (Bull Mountain, Hard Cash Valley), an early champion for her work, which he describes as “tightly wound coils of fury” and “a cherry bomb in a mailbox.” He isn’t wrong. After listening to Lucas read “The Only Comfort,” dedicated to her cousin who died by suicide, I knew I would be up late into the night reading and thinking about her work.
I do not, however, recommend reading Here in the Dark at night. Lucas’ female characters, who play out the most intimate, interior aspects of life — good, bad, and otherwise — lit my brain on fire. Following “You Know What They Say About Karma,” I couldn’t get close enough to my young son, fast asleep in the bed next to me. Still, like the women in Lucas’ stories, I persisted. I felt connected to them — their desires, their insecurities, their strength — because, like Nkrumah’s Ms. St. James, I know these women. I’m grateful to Lucas for representing them on the page.
If conflict is what makes narrative interesting, then Nkrumah’s and Lucas’ books have that in spades. What stands out more than the struggles are the stories’ female protagonists — strong in conviction and in voice. These characters are part of me now. That is what grit lit gives us.
Southern Review of Books 