Fey Ugokwe's Blog - Posts Tagged "suburban"

"Her legs were straight out, tiny tan toes unpainted, and she was all flounced in a pretty, a-line, magenta-on-navy floral dress. A new pair of coordinating, navy-colored high heels stood respectably and erect, like a mommy's once-a-month Sunday shoes, at her side. Upon seeing her, taking her in, Rodney exclaimed, "Hah!" It was all he could utter for a moment, amidst the madness and mad talkings whirling within...":

"Her spirit began whispering to her that sometimes you seem so small and the area all around you so big--like the walk to the confessional with a mind full of complex sins; the wake behind the nurse in the doctor's office, as you tread in to hear what you already believe to be a dark result; and that trudge of a woman down a passageway to a bedroom against her will. It all seemed at that instant, the very same. It was so big and looming, trapezoidal and shifting--wouldn't stay still, and was getting fuzzier with each footfall as she swaying, trod. It was surreal and blackening, and rotating off its axis, it was the longest, longest, homestead-unit walkway...":

"Suddenly, in a straight line from one of Rodney's nostrils, a wide trickle of blood sprang out, and began to rapidly roll down to meet his lip. "Damn," he whispered roughly, inhaling hard. Without releasing her, he dropped his head and raised a shoulder, wiping his nose on his jacket. The slick of blood against the smooth leather left a wet trail on the garment that shone, as if oozing, in the bright halogen cast of the kitchen...":

"And they already well knew her there at the bustling, fragrant stalls of the farmer's market...she was the smiling, pin-drop quiet, petite one...hemp shopping bags dangling on arms--ultimately filled to the heavy--the burgeoning home cook pausing to squeeze, sniff...deselect, select, buy. Then it was always the driving...to follow recipes and tinker with them--and ultimately fill the faux-material unit with the fresh smells of things that were actually real...":

"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, 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 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--that also includes other 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**: