Fey Ugokwe's Blog - Posts Tagged "christian-suspense"

And they were two flirting at pots eyes on eyes and veins rushing, with the ambrosial mix of peoples as their green screen and it was sweet-sweat spice-smelling and sensuous, giddy back and well pleasant spinning, the chatting laughing breathing eating touching--in the savory-lush, oak, and rye--for a time:

**Description: A mystical, lyrical and haunting, psychological thriller that careens along the unexpected twists and dark turns in the tenuous marriage between a 22-year-old, primarily Asian, Miami-born daughter of well-heeled, immigrant professors and a 25-year-old, orphaned African-American man from the hard scrabble of Los Angeles, and their relationship's journey from L.A. to the suburbs of Dallas--in 2008, just before the historic Presidential Election. "Wifey", a work of contemporary fiction--that also includes other diverse and multinational characters--highlights a variety of sociopolitical/sociocultural issues, inclusive of domestic violence, sustainability, racism, xenophobia, class divide, and spirituality, using the universalizing backdrop of food, and spotlights the smacking differentials within individual power, the hair-raising undertow of relationship secrets, and the prickling chill of unforeseen fates.**

"The air was heavy and static with the potential of a much darker reality to storming, come...And Rhys was watching at the whole of Rodney in a wary readiness--eyes scanning across the row of Rodney's crew and back again, with the very same vigilance. Some were shaking their heads slowly, conveying their disapproval. Everybody--including P.V.'s invitees, who had begun to whisper amongst themselves, and clinking, place down their plates, silverware, glasses--was waiting on Rodney. They were all of them in the room chests-pounding aware, that he was--or might indeed soon become--the snapping kind...":

Walking to the world cabinet, she squatted down again and pulled at the rum bottle. And she opened it up, strong swarthy sea and steadfastness hitting her nostrils hard from within it--that sweat of some of her peoples, hands upon hands back when to sugarcane, a sweet spoil of past oppressions. And she drank it down--all of it--all into her little self, knowing she could not hold onto it without extreme drunk to soon come. And that was the fortuitous part...:

**Description: a mystical, lyrical and haunting, psychological thriller/historical fiction that careens along the unexpected twists and dark turns in the tenuous marriage between a 22-year-old daughter of well-heeled, immigrant professors and a 25-year-old, orphaned man from the hard scrabble of Los Angeles, and their relationship's journey from a successful, young couple's life in L.A. to the swirling mystery of suburban Dallas. "Wifey", a work of contemporary fiction/contemporary women's fiction--itself a kitchen of diverse and multinational characters--highlights a variety of sociocultural issues, inclusive of domestic violence, spirituality, and sustainability, using the universalizing backdrop of food, and spotlights the smacking differentials within individual power, the hair-raising undertow of relationship secrets, and the prickling chill of unforeseen fates**:

"His hair was unruly again, and dotted with winking bits of stripper glitter and patches of beige body makeup. And the fumes coming up from his head, jacket, skin within were made of stale cigarettes in layers and repeating--it was nauseating, churning, burning to the eyes, and it made hers water, tear, run..."

"Her tongue was lolling about in the lane of something real and beautiful--and it was all very, very good. 'Bring this,' she breathed, glancing at him from above the glass. 'Um...just bring a bottle of...this...'"

"He was red-haired--of a hue reminiscent of orange zest--with cornsilk blue eyes, and a strong, square jaw. His pale skin was lightly dusted at the nose with a smattering of light brown freckles, and he was reddened in patches at his cheeks and neck...and in his rugged appearance of feist, he was profoundly attractive..."

"In her right hand was the stack of roti, topped with the new roti that had been in the pan--which was still gleaming--a flaky, beckoning nourishment, slightly charred and golden in spots. And, grunting, face ashen and gaunt, she extended the breads to P.V., wrinkled right hand shaking out an urgency for her to take them. But when P.V. reached for that right hand, Nani moaned and extended her left..."

"And they fell onto the food and preparation table, sticking into the mixing bowl containing the remainder dough, and blanketed the entire surface of the ground and tiled veranda floor. One huge stalk fell violently and lodged behind Nani's ear, its tip caught in her hooped, gold earring..."