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Brown Girl, Brownstones
A vivid and bittersweet classic coming-of-age tale, set in immigrant Brooklyn. Set in Brooklyn during the Great Depression and World War II, Brown Girl, Brownstones chronicles the efforts of Barbadian immigrants to surmount poverty and racism and to make their new country home. Selina Boyce is torn between the opposing aspirations of her her hardworking, ambitious mother longs to buy a brownstone row house while her easygoing father prefers to dream of effortless success and his native island’s lushness. Featuring a new foreword by Edwidge Danticat, this coming-of-age tale grapples with identity, sexuality, and changing values in a new country, as a young woman must reconcile tradition with potential and change. "Remarkable for its courage, its color, and its natural control." —The New Yorker "An unforgettable novel written with pride and anger, with rebellion and tears." —New York Herald Tribune
324 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959
310 people are currently reading
9157 people want to read
About the author
Paule Marshall
43 books186 followersPaule Marshall was an American writer, best known for her 1959 debut novel Brown Girl, Brownstones.
Marshall was educated at Brooklyn College (1953) and Hunter College (1955). She taught at Virginia Commonwealth University, the University of California, Berkeley, the Iowa Writers' Workshop, and Yale University before holding the Helen Gould Sheppard Chair of Literature and Culture at New York University. In 1993 she received an honorary L.H.D. from Bates College. She was a MacArthur Fellow anda past winner of the Dos Passos Prize for Literature. In 2009, She received the Anisfield-Wolf Lifetime Achievement Award.
Marshall was educated at Brooklyn College (1953) and Hunter College (1955). She taught at Virginia Commonwealth University, the University of California, Berkeley, the Iowa Writers' Workshop, and Yale University before holding the Helen Gould Sheppard Chair of Literature and Culture at New York University. In 1993 she received an honorary L.H.D. from Bates College. She was a MacArthur Fellow anda past winner of the Dos Passos Prize for Literature. In 2009, She received the Anisfield-Wolf Lifetime Achievement Award.
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September 10, 2016
4.5 stars rounded up
This is Marshall’s first novel and is semi-autobiographical; set in New York (Brooklyn) and within the Barbadian community, struggling to survive and makes its way. The brownstones of the title are the houses which members of the community aspire to owning. It is a coming of age novel and revolves around Selina Boyce and her mother Silla; two wonderfully created characters who are the most memorable parts of the novel.
Silla has very clear aims for her daughters and for her own life; owning a brownstone being a priority. For her daughters it is be part of the church (based around the Barbadian community), get good grades at school, get a good career (preferably a doctor), marry a good man from the community and buy a brownstone; very much in that order, and most of all don’t get pregnant and mess around with inappropriate men. Selina’s rebellion against this is the centre of the novel.
Selina and her mother clash, in many ways because they are too alike;
“Everybody used to call me Deighton’s Selina but they were wrong. Because you see I’m truly your child. Remember how you used to talk about how you left home and came here alone as a girl of eighteen and was your own woman? I used to love hearing that. And that’s what I want. I want it!
Silla’s pained eyes searched her adamant face, and after a long time a wistfulness softened her mouth. It was as if she somehow glimpsed in Selina the girl she had always been.”
Selina’s father Deighton tries in vain to hold a job, but moves from one thing to another and sticks at nothing. He is a great disappointment to Silla. He is charming but insubstantial. He wants to return to Barbados, but Silla has her heart set on staying and buying a brownstone. She gets her wish, but at a price.
The novel directly looks at black immigration from the Caribbean to the US; the setting is the Depression and the Second World War. Race is a gradually dawning issue for Selina, as her boyfriend Clive says;
“Who knows what they see looking at us? The whole damn thing is so twisted now, so deep seated; the color black is such a hell of a powerful symbol, who can tell…some of them probably still see in each of us the black moor tupping their white ewe, or some legendary beast coming out at night and the fens to maraud and rape. Caliban. Hester’s Black Man in the woods. The evil. Evil. Sin….Maybe our dark faces remind them of the all that is dark and unknown and terrifying within themselves and, as Jimmy Baldwin says, they’re seeking absolution through poor us, either in their beneficence or in their cruelty….But I’m afraid we have to disappoint them by confronting them always with the full and awesome weight of our humanity, until they begin to see us and not some unreal image they’ve super-imposed”
This is a really good novel with strong female characters (another in my virago collection). I will leave the last word to Marshall, writing about the way in which women figure prominently in her writing:
“I’m concerned about letting them speak their piece, letting them be central figures, actors, activists in fiction rather than just backdrop or background figures. I want them to be central characters. Women in fiction seldom are. Traditionally in most fiction men are the wheelers and dealers. They are the ones in whom power is invested. I wanted to turn that around. I wanted women to be the centers of power. My feminism takes its expression through my work. Women are central for me. They can as easily embody the power principles as a man.”
This is Marshall’s first novel and is semi-autobiographical; set in New York (Brooklyn) and within the Barbadian community, struggling to survive and makes its way. The brownstones of the title are the houses which members of the community aspire to owning. It is a coming of age novel and revolves around Selina Boyce and her mother Silla; two wonderfully created characters who are the most memorable parts of the novel.
Silla has very clear aims for her daughters and for her own life; owning a brownstone being a priority. For her daughters it is be part of the church (based around the Barbadian community), get good grades at school, get a good career (preferably a doctor), marry a good man from the community and buy a brownstone; very much in that order, and most of all don’t get pregnant and mess around with inappropriate men. Selina’s rebellion against this is the centre of the novel.
Selina and her mother clash, in many ways because they are too alike;
“Everybody used to call me Deighton’s Selina but they were wrong. Because you see I’m truly your child. Remember how you used to talk about how you left home and came here alone as a girl of eighteen and was your own woman? I used to love hearing that. And that’s what I want. I want it!
Silla’s pained eyes searched her adamant face, and after a long time a wistfulness softened her mouth. It was as if she somehow glimpsed in Selina the girl she had always been.”
Selina’s father Deighton tries in vain to hold a job, but moves from one thing to another and sticks at nothing. He is a great disappointment to Silla. He is charming but insubstantial. He wants to return to Barbados, but Silla has her heart set on staying and buying a brownstone. She gets her wish, but at a price.
The novel directly looks at black immigration from the Caribbean to the US; the setting is the Depression and the Second World War. Race is a gradually dawning issue for Selina, as her boyfriend Clive says;
“Who knows what they see looking at us? The whole damn thing is so twisted now, so deep seated; the color black is such a hell of a powerful symbol, who can tell…some of them probably still see in each of us the black moor tupping their white ewe, or some legendary beast coming out at night and the fens to maraud and rape. Caliban. Hester’s Black Man in the woods. The evil. Evil. Sin….Maybe our dark faces remind them of the all that is dark and unknown and terrifying within themselves and, as Jimmy Baldwin says, they’re seeking absolution through poor us, either in their beneficence or in their cruelty….But I’m afraid we have to disappoint them by confronting them always with the full and awesome weight of our humanity, until they begin to see us and not some unreal image they’ve super-imposed”
This is a really good novel with strong female characters (another in my virago collection). I will leave the last word to Marshall, writing about the way in which women figure prominently in her writing:
“I’m concerned about letting them speak their piece, letting them be central figures, actors, activists in fiction rather than just backdrop or background figures. I want them to be central characters. Women in fiction seldom are. Traditionally in most fiction men are the wheelers and dealers. They are the ones in whom power is invested. I wanted to turn that around. I wanted women to be the centers of power. My feminism takes its expression through my work. Women are central for me. They can as easily embody the power principles as a man.”
April 15, 2021
Some part of me has always just accepted as real and true that libraries are neutral bastions in our world. Only within the last few years have I begun to understand that libraries are created by and funded through our communities and to think that the books that live in the library are much different than the people that live there is beyond reasonable. I just never considered that my choices of reading material is as curated as any commercial establishment. . .the community brand must be preserved and overseen.
I've been a fan of young women literature since I could read. I've followed authors, series, stories. Checked out every one, purchased when I could. I thought I followed ALL of them. Now, feeling exceedingly foolish, in these late years as I take a look at cultures all the character faces smiling back at me are very pale. Blue-eyed. Blonde. A few perky brunettes, wise-cracking gingers. A very uncomfortable scratchiness starts up my back.
Reading Brown Girl, Brownstones wasn't easy. First, I had to send far away to even get a copy. I wanted to hold it, a physical read. Far in the back of my head, as I begin to read, are my A Tree Grows in Brooklyn memories for easy comparison. Well. That ended pretty quickly and faded away. Brown Girl was a generation, maybe two, later, and the story itself had none of the restraint or hints when it came to showing family warts, quirks and cruelties. Selina was a tougher, tighter person than Francie. The other family members were presented with bald honesty, not turning harmful traits into humorous foibles.
Altogether, this was a read that educated me - as a reader I was not spared - it was a surprise that I realized I expected to be. Hmm. Still trying to sort out this. Overall I felt this story in a way that is still trying to figure out if it is sad, freeing, a defeat or a victory. I think I land on the side of a victory, but more like it was an abandonment, with some aspect of abdication to it.
Mostly, I was happy Selina was out. I hope she stayed in the US and is running for office. And maybe will write a book for the rest of the story. . . .
I've been a fan of young women literature since I could read. I've followed authors, series, stories. Checked out every one, purchased when I could. I thought I followed ALL of them. Now, feeling exceedingly foolish, in these late years as I take a look at cultures all the character faces smiling back at me are very pale. Blue-eyed. Blonde. A few perky brunettes, wise-cracking gingers. A very uncomfortable scratchiness starts up my back.
Reading Brown Girl, Brownstones wasn't easy. First, I had to send far away to even get a copy. I wanted to hold it, a physical read. Far in the back of my head, as I begin to read, are my A Tree Grows in Brooklyn memories for easy comparison. Well. That ended pretty quickly and faded away. Brown Girl was a generation, maybe two, later, and the story itself had none of the restraint or hints when it came to showing family warts, quirks and cruelties. Selina was a tougher, tighter person than Francie. The other family members were presented with bald honesty, not turning harmful traits into humorous foibles.
Altogether, this was a read that educated me - as a reader I was not spared - it was a surprise that I realized I expected to be. Hmm. Still trying to sort out this. Overall I felt this story in a way that is still trying to figure out if it is sad, freeing, a defeat or a victory. I think I land on the side of a victory, but more like it was an abandonment, with some aspect of abdication to it.
Mostly, I was happy Selina was out. I hope she stayed in the US and is running for office. And maybe will write a book for the rest of the story. . . .
December 3, 2014
Sometime in the 80s I became aware of Paule Marshall and picked up her books whenever I ran across them. Until now, they have set on the shelf unread. I decided to read the earliest of those works, Brown Girl, Brownstones, published in 1959.
Marshall follows the “write what you know” instruction in this book. Like Selina, the protagonist, Marshall was American born to recent Barbadian immigrants who grew up in Brooklyn’s brownstones. She would have been close in age to Selina during the 40s and intimately known the community she portrays in this book. It’s a valuable piece of American immigrant/assimilation/historical fiction. A brief internet search turned up no other book written by an American born, female, Caribbean/West Indies writer before the 1960s.
So many things struck me in this book.
- The description, dialect, and depth of conversation had a theatrical or dramatic style that brought the story to life and made me picture the story on a stage. I absolutely loved this. According to Wikipedia it was dramatized by CBS Television Workshop in 1960. But I do not know how available that is or who played in it.
- Obviously there are similarities in every first-generation immigrant story, but it was the contrasts that I appreciated here. This was World War II. Many of the Baham, both male and female, gained employment in munitions factories. This enabled them to purchase the brownstones they lived in and rent rooms to other Americans (many African Americans.)
- I kept thinking that some sort of physical violence from outside the Barbadian community – gangs/shootings/mugging – would occur. But it did not. The anger and violent reaction happened with the home and the self. But, of course, often caused by prejudice outside the community.
- Marshall also conveyed the difficulty of organizing a community to better itself financially and socially within the context of a society foreign to them. Out of distrust, and conflicted emotions regarding assimilation Selina and others resisted and declined the efforts to pool money for loans, scholarships. Even within the Association the difference of opinion was near-devestating.
- Lastly, no discussion of this book would be complete without mention of the roles of Selina’s father, mother, and Selina herself. Her father was a man of big dreams, looks, and talk. But from the start, he represented defeat and hopelessness. His mother wanted the American dream. She was filled with frustration and anger and determination and would stop at nothing to get her dream. She was referred to as “the mother.” Selina held within her both the best and the worst of her parents. Unlike her sister Ina who conformed to expectations, Selina formed close relationships with several women within her community and gleaned their diverse lives to form her own self. She sought out the heart of humanity. She became nothing and all of them. She became the amalgamation of of the immigrant experience, and in turn became an assimilated individual who forged her own way to freedom.
This book deserves a revival. Most definitely another stage production.
Marshall follows the “write what you know” instruction in this book. Like Selina, the protagonist, Marshall was American born to recent Barbadian immigrants who grew up in Brooklyn’s brownstones. She would have been close in age to Selina during the 40s and intimately known the community she portrays in this book. It’s a valuable piece of American immigrant/assimilation/historical fiction. A brief internet search turned up no other book written by an American born, female, Caribbean/West Indies writer before the 1960s.
So many things struck me in this book.
- The description, dialect, and depth of conversation had a theatrical or dramatic style that brought the story to life and made me picture the story on a stage. I absolutely loved this. According to Wikipedia it was dramatized by CBS Television Workshop in 1960. But I do not know how available that is or who played in it.
- Obviously there are similarities in every first-generation immigrant story, but it was the contrasts that I appreciated here. This was World War II. Many of the Baham, both male and female, gained employment in munitions factories. This enabled them to purchase the brownstones they lived in and rent rooms to other Americans (many African Americans.)
- I kept thinking that some sort of physical violence from outside the Barbadian community – gangs/shootings/mugging – would occur. But it did not. The anger and violent reaction happened with the home and the self. But, of course, often caused by prejudice outside the community.
- Marshall also conveyed the difficulty of organizing a community to better itself financially and socially within the context of a society foreign to them. Out of distrust, and conflicted emotions regarding assimilation Selina and others resisted and declined the efforts to pool money for loans, scholarships. Even within the Association the difference of opinion was near-devestating.
- Lastly, no discussion of this book would be complete without mention of the roles of Selina’s father, mother, and Selina herself. Her father was a man of big dreams, looks, and talk. But from the start, he represented defeat and hopelessness. His mother wanted the American dream. She was filled with frustration and anger and determination and would stop at nothing to get her dream. She was referred to as “the mother.” Selina held within her both the best and the worst of her parents. Unlike her sister Ina who conformed to expectations, Selina formed close relationships with several women within her community and gleaned their diverse lives to form her own self. She sought out the heart of humanity. She became nothing and all of them. She became the amalgamation of of the immigrant experience, and in turn became an assimilated individual who forged her own way to freedom.
This book deserves a revival. Most definitely another stage production.
September 28, 2021
An excellent coming of age story of a young girl named Selina growing up in a brownstone apartment in Brooklyn during the WWII years. Her parents are from Barbados, the father is a dreamer with no ambitions and the mother is a no nonsense ill tempered hard worker. It is a very well written story with heavily accented dialogue that follows Selina from about eleven years old to eighteen. Selina faces several difficulties as she grows up but the most traumatic event she faces comes when she is in college when the mother of a white friend makes an almost incidental but insulting comment to her.
January 17, 2011
I read this book many, many years ago - back in Junior High School as a matter of fact. I believe it was the first book that I had ever read by a black woman writer; and Selina's story sounded very familiar to me - despite the fact that my parents had come up to the north from the south. It's definitely the classic coming of age story and quite the one that I needed to hear about back then. I think that after I read this book, I had a completely different approach to writing and story-telling: one's story is one's story no matter how it is told, and every story is the human story no matter who you are. A good book for high school girls and boys to read today.
March 30, 2019
This book was a bit hard for me to get into at first (I didn't know what to expect exactly, and the story was a little slow for me as a result of that in the beginning), but once it started drawing me in, there was no putting it down. I thought it was incredibly written and moving - everything from the language, to the characters, to their quotidian experiences leapt off the page for me and took on greater meaning. I thought it was fascinating to get a glimpse of the under-explored non-white immigrant experience in New York during WWII. This book (in a very general sense) was reminiscent to me of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn not so much because the stories share a common setting (Brooklyn, albeit different neighborhoods within Brooklyn itself), but in that they are both coming-of-age stories that see a profound evolution of their respective protagonists. I know many will consider this blasphemous, but I loved Brown Girl, Brownstones much more than A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, probably because I identified with Selina's plight and her experiences as the daughter of immigrant parents much more than I ever could (or did) with Francie in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. For me the most poignant scene was Selina's transformative encounter with Margaret's mother. I thought Marshall did an excellent job of conveying the gravity and devastation of that experience for Selina without being heavy-handed and preachy - it was masterfully done.
So much of Selina's experiences rang true, and by the end I felt like I had gotten to know the innerworkings of a character that in spite of all the hurt, hardships and growing pains she'd endured, had truly come into her own. Lending to this transformation, the book grapples with the overarching theme of Selina's volatile relationship with and conflicting emotions towards her mother (whom Marshall omnisciently refers to as "the mother" throughout the story in an effort to convey Selina's feelings of and desire for detachment from her), a relationship which in many ways is probably the biggest catalyst and driving force in Selina's life. It's really a shame that more people don't know about this book and that it hasn't acquired the acclaim it so deserves - sadly, I hadn't even heard of it until just recently.
Here are some of my favorite passages:
"They were very proud of the sun parlor. Not many of the old brownstones had them. It was the one room in the house given over to the sun. Sunlight came spilling through the glass walls, swayed like a dancer in the air and lay in a yellow rug on the floor. Her father was there, stretched dark and limp on a narrow cot like someone drunk with sun." (p. 8)
"The summer night, starless and without a moon, was a dark cloak flung wide over Chauncey Street. Under its weight the trees met overhead to form an endless echoing arcade, and the tall lamps hidden in the leaves cast a restless design of light on the sidewalk. Under the enveloping night the brownstones reared like a fortress wall guarding a city, and the lighted windows were like flares set into its side." (p. 34)
"For there was a part of her that always wanted the mother to win, that loved her dark strength and the tenacious lift of her body." (p. 133)
"Evenings always found her striding, head up, tam askew, through Times Square, that bejeweled navel in the city's long sinuous form. To Selina it was a new constellation, the myriad lights hot stars bursting from chaos into their own vivid life, shooting, streaking, wheeling in the night void, then expiring, but only to burst again - and the concatenation of traffic and voices like the roar from the depth of a maelstrom - an irresistible call to destruction. She loved it, for its chaos echoed her inner chaos; each bedizened window, each gaudy empty display evoked something in her that loved and understood the gaudy, the emptiness defined her own emptiness and that in the faces flitting past her." (p. 213)
"How could she have done that? Why didn't she just disown you and throw you out?"
"Mothers? Hell, they seldom say die! Fathers, perhaps...But not mothers. They form you in that dark place inside them and you're theirs. For giving life they exact life. The cord remains uncut, the blood joined, and all that that implies..." (p. 262)
"Everybody used to call me Deighton's Selina but they were wrong. Because you see I'm truly your child. Remember how you used to talk about how you left home and came here alone as a girl of eighteen and was your own woman? I used to love hearing that. And that's what I want. I want it!" Silla's pained eyes searched her adamant face, and after a long time a wistfulness softened her mouth. It was as if she somehow glimpsed in Selina the girl she had once been." (p. 307)
So much of Selina's experiences rang true, and by the end I felt like I had gotten to know the innerworkings of a character that in spite of all the hurt, hardships and growing pains she'd endured, had truly come into her own. Lending to this transformation, the book grapples with the overarching theme of Selina's volatile relationship with and conflicting emotions towards her mother (whom Marshall omnisciently refers to as "the mother" throughout the story in an effort to convey Selina's feelings of and desire for detachment from her), a relationship which in many ways is probably the biggest catalyst and driving force in Selina's life. It's really a shame that more people don't know about this book and that it hasn't acquired the acclaim it so deserves - sadly, I hadn't even heard of it until just recently.
Here are some of my favorite passages:
"They were very proud of the sun parlor. Not many of the old brownstones had them. It was the one room in the house given over to the sun. Sunlight came spilling through the glass walls, swayed like a dancer in the air and lay in a yellow rug on the floor. Her father was there, stretched dark and limp on a narrow cot like someone drunk with sun." (p. 8)
"The summer night, starless and without a moon, was a dark cloak flung wide over Chauncey Street. Under its weight the trees met overhead to form an endless echoing arcade, and the tall lamps hidden in the leaves cast a restless design of light on the sidewalk. Under the enveloping night the brownstones reared like a fortress wall guarding a city, and the lighted windows were like flares set into its side." (p. 34)
"For there was a part of her that always wanted the mother to win, that loved her dark strength and the tenacious lift of her body." (p. 133)
"Evenings always found her striding, head up, tam askew, through Times Square, that bejeweled navel in the city's long sinuous form. To Selina it was a new constellation, the myriad lights hot stars bursting from chaos into their own vivid life, shooting, streaking, wheeling in the night void, then expiring, but only to burst again - and the concatenation of traffic and voices like the roar from the depth of a maelstrom - an irresistible call to destruction. She loved it, for its chaos echoed her inner chaos; each bedizened window, each gaudy empty display evoked something in her that loved and understood the gaudy, the emptiness defined her own emptiness and that in the faces flitting past her." (p. 213)
"How could she have done that? Why didn't she just disown you and throw you out?"
"Mothers? Hell, they seldom say die! Fathers, perhaps...But not mothers. They form you in that dark place inside them and you're theirs. For giving life they exact life. The cord remains uncut, the blood joined, and all that that implies..." (p. 262)
"Everybody used to call me Deighton's Selina but they were wrong. Because you see I'm truly your child. Remember how you used to talk about how you left home and came here alone as a girl of eighteen and was your own woman? I used to love hearing that. And that's what I want. I want it!" Silla's pained eyes searched her adamant face, and after a long time a wistfulness softened her mouth. It was as if she somehow glimpsed in Selina the girl she had once been." (p. 307)
June 15, 2017
I remember the year exactly because Professor Elaine Hansen gave me and
Lisa, one of my dearest friends ever, an A for our writing and presentation on this one.
Lisa, one of my dearest friends ever, an A for our writing and presentation on this one.
August 11, 2013
This book blew me away, and it came at the perfect time for me. After the Trayvon Martin verdict, I found myself speechless about issues of race. While friends posted articles and insightful quotes about the topic, I just could not find the words. This book gave me the words to explain the problem of race in our country.
But having said all that, this is not a book about "issues." It's a story, and a beautifully rendered one at that. At its heart, it is a coming-of-age narrative of a teenage girl, Selina, whose parents came to the US from Barbados and settled in Brooklyn where Selina and her sister were born. It's the story of two very different generations trying to survive in a country that is set up for them to fail.
I have never read a book quite like this -- Paule Marshall not like Morrison or Walker or Naylor in her storytelling; she's somehow more honest, angry, and fierce. She is unapologetic about her characters' strengths and flaws and portrays them in a straightforward manner. It is these characters' distrust and suspicion of one another that ultimately drives the story. Will they ever come to a place of understanding? Will they stop internalizing the hatred from the white culture around them and find a way to love one another and, ultimately, themselves? Will they find their way in this country of white privilege?
I'm glad that this novel is finally coming back into critical acclaim, since it was published in 1959 and seems to be one of those gems that was somehow lost to the literary canon. If you are interested in issues of race, read this book. If you are interested in an arresting story, read this book. If you are OK with carrying someone else's pain for a little while, read this book. It will likely change you and will definitely affect you deeply.
Warning: this is not a light, summer read. It is a difficult story to carry, but it is one that we are afraid to tell in this country, and, especially for white readers, one that we don't necessarily want to hear. But hear it we ought to, especially in these post-Trayvon Martin-verdict times of anguish and helplessness.
But having said all that, this is not a book about "issues." It's a story, and a beautifully rendered one at that. At its heart, it is a coming-of-age narrative of a teenage girl, Selina, whose parents came to the US from Barbados and settled in Brooklyn where Selina and her sister were born. It's the story of two very different generations trying to survive in a country that is set up for them to fail.
I have never read a book quite like this -- Paule Marshall not like Morrison or Walker or Naylor in her storytelling; she's somehow more honest, angry, and fierce. She is unapologetic about her characters' strengths and flaws and portrays them in a straightforward manner. It is these characters' distrust and suspicion of one another that ultimately drives the story. Will they ever come to a place of understanding? Will they stop internalizing the hatred from the white culture around them and find a way to love one another and, ultimately, themselves? Will they find their way in this country of white privilege?
I'm glad that this novel is finally coming back into critical acclaim, since it was published in 1959 and seems to be one of those gems that was somehow lost to the literary canon. If you are interested in issues of race, read this book. If you are interested in an arresting story, read this book. If you are OK with carrying someone else's pain for a little while, read this book. It will likely change you and will definitely affect you deeply.
Warning: this is not a light, summer read. It is a difficult story to carry, but it is one that we are afraid to tell in this country, and, especially for white readers, one that we don't necessarily want to hear. But hear it we ought to, especially in these post-Trayvon Martin-verdict times of anguish and helplessness.
June 13, 2010
Six Word Review: Unsung hero of the black canon.
Read
March 12, 2025gets me every time. I will say, the rush to get all my teaching texts read before the start of does take the shine off it.
February 3, 2020
Brown Girl, Brownstones by Paule Marshall
Paule Marshall is viewed as an American author, but this novel could only have had a more West Indian feel if it had been set in the Caribbean. Ms. Marshall was raised in New York by West Indian parents who migrated from Barbados. This is the experience she draws on and any reader from this part of the world would be able to relate to and connect with her characters. At the same time the people she portrays in the novel capture our imagination.
This novel had an autobiographical feel, much like I have reading James Baldwin’s “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” As I was reading I felt this way and it was when I read the afterword by Prof. Mary Helen Washington that the connection between these two writers was confirmed. They were contemporaries and the characters they wrote about come to life in similar ways: we sense their struggle and feelings deeply as a result of the abundant craft of these two authors. Prof. Washington wrote the afterward for this book and she observes, “Literature has rarely revealed so passionate a relationship between mother and daughter as we see in ‘Brown Girl’.” p 321 have often sensed this type of passionate relationship between Baldwin’s male characters and the parents of these characters. I hold Baldwin’s writing in high esteem and I feel so fortunate to encounter Paule Marshall because I have found another writer I can look up to. I hope to collect all of her works and read them all.
The characters in this novel also stake positions in the political landscape of being black in America. Her young protagonist, Selina Boyce, falls in love with a man about ten years her senior, Clive Springer. One day Selina and Clive are discussing their experiences in life and Clive engages in the following soliloquy:
“No,” he said gently, “you can’t do that because then you admit what some white people would have you admit and what some Negroes do admit – that you are only Negro, some flat, one-dimensional, bas-relief figure which is supposed to explain everything about you. You commit an injustice against yourself by admitting that, because, first, you rule out your humanity and second, your complexity as a human being. Oh hell, I’m not saying that being black in this goddam white world isn’t crucial. No one but us knows how corrosive it is, how it maims us all, how it rings our lives. But at some point you have to break through to the larger ring which encompasses us all – our humanity. To understand that much about us can be simply explained by the fact that we’re men caught with all men within the common ring. . . .But I’m afraid we have to disappoint them by confronting them always with the full and awesome weight of our humanity, until they begin to see us and not some unreal image they’ve super-imposed.” 252-3
There are two critical points about this lengthy quote that caught my attention. One because he emphasizes the link between the importance of one’s humanity and the recognition that human beings are complex and should not be relegated to some two-dimensional, false perception. Two, because it reminded me of the ideas James Baldwin wrote about years later in “No Name in the Street”. Specifically it reminds me of Baldwin’s exposition on the daily harm (corrosive maiming) that comes from navigating as a black man in the white world.
Selina’s mother, Silla Boyce, was a critical character to the story (as mentioned above). I want to share two of her quotes. While talking with her friends she says, “Take this world. It wun always be white. No, mahn. It gon be somebody else turn soon – maybe even people looking near like us. But plenty gon have to suffer to bring it about. And when they get up top they might not be so nice either, ‘cause power is a thing that don make you nice.” P 225
I liked this quote because I think it deals interestingly with two things: one the hubris of the current power elite – who think they will be on top for ever and two the impact of power on people. I think Silla gets it right when she says people will have to suffer to bring about the change. As Bob Marley says in his song “Natural Mystic” – “Many more will have to suffer, Many more will have to die – don’t ask me why.” As unfortunate as that suffering will be, the change Silla talks about will come one day. It does not have to be that way, but it looks like it will be. Then there will be a price for the “corrosive maiming” that is being perpetrated: “when they get to the top they might not be so nice either.”
This novel is filled with treasures and compelling narrative, interesting dialogue and conflict. In the edition I read I benefited from Prof. Washington’s Afterword. In more recent editions Edwidge Danticat, another renowned author, has written a Foreword, but my edition did not have that. Prof. Washington shares an observation that I missed as I read this book, but it is the most profound aspect of this novel as I reflect on my experience reading it:
“The questions Paule Marshall sets before her major characters are always the same: how do we remember the past so as to transform it and make it usable?” 319
Can you answer?
Paule Marshall is viewed as an American author, but this novel could only have had a more West Indian feel if it had been set in the Caribbean. Ms. Marshall was raised in New York by West Indian parents who migrated from Barbados. This is the experience she draws on and any reader from this part of the world would be able to relate to and connect with her characters. At the same time the people she portrays in the novel capture our imagination.
This novel had an autobiographical feel, much like I have reading James Baldwin’s “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” As I was reading I felt this way and it was when I read the afterword by Prof. Mary Helen Washington that the connection between these two writers was confirmed. They were contemporaries and the characters they wrote about come to life in similar ways: we sense their struggle and feelings deeply as a result of the abundant craft of these two authors. Prof. Washington wrote the afterward for this book and she observes, “Literature has rarely revealed so passionate a relationship between mother and daughter as we see in ‘Brown Girl’.” p 321 have often sensed this type of passionate relationship between Baldwin’s male characters and the parents of these characters. I hold Baldwin’s writing in high esteem and I feel so fortunate to encounter Paule Marshall because I have found another writer I can look up to. I hope to collect all of her works and read them all.
The characters in this novel also stake positions in the political landscape of being black in America. Her young protagonist, Selina Boyce, falls in love with a man about ten years her senior, Clive Springer. One day Selina and Clive are discussing their experiences in life and Clive engages in the following soliloquy:
“No,” he said gently, “you can’t do that because then you admit what some white people would have you admit and what some Negroes do admit – that you are only Negro, some flat, one-dimensional, bas-relief figure which is supposed to explain everything about you. You commit an injustice against yourself by admitting that, because, first, you rule out your humanity and second, your complexity as a human being. Oh hell, I’m not saying that being black in this goddam white world isn’t crucial. No one but us knows how corrosive it is, how it maims us all, how it rings our lives. But at some point you have to break through to the larger ring which encompasses us all – our humanity. To understand that much about us can be simply explained by the fact that we’re men caught with all men within the common ring. . . .But I’m afraid we have to disappoint them by confronting them always with the full and awesome weight of our humanity, until they begin to see us and not some unreal image they’ve super-imposed.” 252-3
There are two critical points about this lengthy quote that caught my attention. One because he emphasizes the link between the importance of one’s humanity and the recognition that human beings are complex and should not be relegated to some two-dimensional, false perception. Two, because it reminded me of the ideas James Baldwin wrote about years later in “No Name in the Street”. Specifically it reminds me of Baldwin’s exposition on the daily harm (corrosive maiming) that comes from navigating as a black man in the white world.
Selina’s mother, Silla Boyce, was a critical character to the story (as mentioned above). I want to share two of her quotes. While talking with her friends she says, “Take this world. It wun always be white. No, mahn. It gon be somebody else turn soon – maybe even people looking near like us. But plenty gon have to suffer to bring it about. And when they get up top they might not be so nice either, ‘cause power is a thing that don make you nice.” P 225
I liked this quote because I think it deals interestingly with two things: one the hubris of the current power elite – who think they will be on top for ever and two the impact of power on people. I think Silla gets it right when she says people will have to suffer to bring about the change. As Bob Marley says in his song “Natural Mystic” – “Many more will have to suffer, Many more will have to die – don’t ask me why.” As unfortunate as that suffering will be, the change Silla talks about will come one day. It does not have to be that way, but it looks like it will be. Then there will be a price for the “corrosive maiming” that is being perpetrated: “when they get to the top they might not be so nice either.”
This novel is filled with treasures and compelling narrative, interesting dialogue and conflict. In the edition I read I benefited from Prof. Washington’s Afterword. In more recent editions Edwidge Danticat, another renowned author, has written a Foreword, but my edition did not have that. Prof. Washington shares an observation that I missed as I read this book, but it is the most profound aspect of this novel as I reflect on my experience reading it:
“The questions Paule Marshall sets before her major characters are always the same: how do we remember the past so as to transform it and make it usable?” 319
Can you answer?
September 9, 2020
Brown Girl, Brownstones by Paule Marshall (the “e” is silent), originally published in 1959, has been algorithm-recommended to me at every turn since I read and enjoyed Daddy Was a Number Runner by Louise Meriwether (1970) earlier this summer. There are many similarities: Black life in New York City, stories starting in the 1930s, pre-teen female protagonists. Brown Girl takes place in Brooklyn, among Barbadian immigrants, while Daddy takes place in Harlem, post-Renaissance, in a family quite settled in NYC. Selina is our protagonist. We get an intimate relationship with her, an experience I always cherish, and she learns to stay true to herself even as her life rapidly changes.
The narrative of Brown Girl showcases Marshall’s incredible literary talent. She writes the dialogue of Selina’s parents in patois, seamlessly moving to poetic descriptions of life in the brownstone buildings in Brooklyn. It’s literary code switching on an extreme level. Marshall demonstrates her deftness with “literary” writing (descriptions and inner lives of characters) and with natural dialogue that was likely not considered “literary” in her day. It hurt a bit to read this duality: I got the feeling that Marshall was proving herself to the literati of her day, while telling a truthful story. She got the story down. I’d have to do more research to see what the contemporary reception was, but she’s certainly on the level of other 1950s literary writers, even higher than them since she can code switch effortlessly, thus writing in multiple styles in the same book. I know some readers are bothered by dialogue that is spelled phonetically rather than according to the dictionary, but I appreciate authentic voices even if they’re harder for my Midwestern ears to hear.
I’d definitely put this on the list of “awesome NYC bildungsroman novels” along with Daddy Was a Number Runner (still my personal favorite) and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, with which I have a...complex relationship. Brown Girl makes an extremely interesting follow-up read to Tree, which takes place in the 1900s-1910s, ending with WWI, since Brown Girl starts in the 1930s and ends in the 1940s. I’ll be on the lookout for another Brooklyn bildungsroman with a female protagonist, perhaps spanning WWI-1930s, to complete the “set.” The shift towards immigrants to NYC from predominantly European countries (Tree) to the global south (Brown Girl) is well-documented in literature, and Brown Girl fits in that group.
At times, this novel reminded me of Andrea Levy's Small Island, which is about Jamaican immigrants to England. In both books, characters bemoan how hard they worked in their home country to assimilate to white culture, but failed to be respected when they moved to predominantly white places. However, Brown Girl is very American and highlights the cultural difference between African-Americans and dark-skinned immigrants to America. The amount of times Selina is asked if she is from the American South...my goodness. There's a chilling scene near the end that is textbook microaggression scaling up toward full-out racism, and Marshall's incisive perspective is worth every page leading up to it. Ultimately, Selina must choose between the two lands, Barbados and the USA, that are sundering her soul...
Content warnings: some physical fighting; quite a few open-door moments. Recommended for mature high school readers and up.
The narrative of Brown Girl showcases Marshall’s incredible literary talent. She writes the dialogue of Selina’s parents in patois, seamlessly moving to poetic descriptions of life in the brownstone buildings in Brooklyn. It’s literary code switching on an extreme level. Marshall demonstrates her deftness with “literary” writing (descriptions and inner lives of characters) and with natural dialogue that was likely not considered “literary” in her day. It hurt a bit to read this duality: I got the feeling that Marshall was proving herself to the literati of her day, while telling a truthful story. She got the story down. I’d have to do more research to see what the contemporary reception was, but she’s certainly on the level of other 1950s literary writers, even higher than them since she can code switch effortlessly, thus writing in multiple styles in the same book. I know some readers are bothered by dialogue that is spelled phonetically rather than according to the dictionary, but I appreciate authentic voices even if they’re harder for my Midwestern ears to hear.
I’d definitely put this on the list of “awesome NYC bildungsroman novels” along with Daddy Was a Number Runner (still my personal favorite) and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, with which I have a...complex relationship. Brown Girl makes an extremely interesting follow-up read to Tree, which takes place in the 1900s-1910s, ending with WWI, since Brown Girl starts in the 1930s and ends in the 1940s. I’ll be on the lookout for another Brooklyn bildungsroman with a female protagonist, perhaps spanning WWI-1930s, to complete the “set.” The shift towards immigrants to NYC from predominantly European countries (Tree) to the global south (Brown Girl) is well-documented in literature, and Brown Girl fits in that group.
At times, this novel reminded me of Andrea Levy's Small Island, which is about Jamaican immigrants to England. In both books, characters bemoan how hard they worked in their home country to assimilate to white culture, but failed to be respected when they moved to predominantly white places. However, Brown Girl is very American and highlights the cultural difference between African-Americans and dark-skinned immigrants to America. The amount of times Selina is asked if she is from the American South...my goodness. There's a chilling scene near the end that is textbook microaggression scaling up toward full-out racism, and Marshall's incisive perspective is worth every page leading up to it. Ultimately, Selina must choose between the two lands, Barbados and the USA, that are sundering her soul...
Content warnings: some physical fighting; quite a few open-door moments. Recommended for mature high school readers and up.
February 19, 2017
Painful is the word that comes to mind. I've just finished this and am trying to figure out how to convey that ache in my chest that I get whenever I read, listen to, or see something powerful that hurts. This is one such instance. Brown Girl, Brownstones shows us how people are shaped by generations worth of circumstance, a pretty amazing feat considering the novel charts the protagonist's coming of age - of a sort of realization - that takes place from 1939 till about the mid 1940s, I'd say.
"Girl, do you know what it tis out there? How those white people does do yuh?"
These words, uttered by Selena's mother Silla towards the end of the novel, just about broke my heart. From Silla to Selina, one incredibly strong woman to another, her daughter, about the system of white supremacy and its foot on the neck of the immigrant's back. The novel doesn't take this on as a simple denunciation though, its complexity is reflected in how that system plays out in the coloured/black community at the time - Negro as they say and the West Indians - how it played out in terms of shades of skin tone within the Bajan community itself, how it revealed itself in terms of a striving for power, and of course, how it revealed itself in the minutia of an immigrant's life and family. For instance, where they lived, what they did for a living, how much of a living they could expect to eke out, what expectations they had for their children, and so on. All these factors which seem innocuous enough become horribly entangled.
The focus is largely on Selina and her relationship with her mother Silla, her father Boyce, her sister Ina, and to a lesser extent, the friends, companions, and later lover that she takes towards the end of the novel. Each go through their own painful process in the novel's story world but not everyone achieves that sense of realization, of knowing, whatever it is they need to know about themselves and how they must walk in the world around them. I think this reflection is what I loved most about this book, and what made it so painful yet rewarding emotionally. There's so much I'd love to say to finish off this review - Paule Marshall's brilliant character plays and especially how they counter off Selina's own development throughout the novel, and the treasure of secondary characters like Ms. Thompson, and oh how brilliant Silla and Boyce were - but I feel at this point one needs to go about reading the novel!
"Girl, do you know what it tis out there? How those white people does do yuh?"
These words, uttered by Selena's mother Silla towards the end of the novel, just about broke my heart. From Silla to Selina, one incredibly strong woman to another, her daughter, about the system of white supremacy and its foot on the neck of the immigrant's back. The novel doesn't take this on as a simple denunciation though, its complexity is reflected in how that system plays out in the coloured/black community at the time - Negro as they say and the West Indians - how it played out in terms of shades of skin tone within the Bajan community itself, how it revealed itself in terms of a striving for power, and of course, how it revealed itself in the minutia of an immigrant's life and family. For instance, where they lived, what they did for a living, how much of a living they could expect to eke out, what expectations they had for their children, and so on. All these factors which seem innocuous enough become horribly entangled.
The focus is largely on Selina and her relationship with her mother Silla, her father Boyce, her sister Ina, and to a lesser extent, the friends, companions, and later lover that she takes towards the end of the novel. Each go through their own painful process in the novel's story world but not everyone achieves that sense of realization, of knowing, whatever it is they need to know about themselves and how they must walk in the world around them. I think this reflection is what I loved most about this book, and what made it so painful yet rewarding emotionally. There's so much I'd love to say to finish off this review - Paule Marshall's brilliant character plays and especially how they counter off Selina's own development throughout the novel, and the treasure of secondary characters like Ms. Thompson, and oh how brilliant Silla and Boyce were - but I feel at this point one needs to go about reading the novel!
July 6, 2020
Beautifully written but totally accessible and easy to read. Set in Brooklyn during WW2. I enjoyed reading about Brownstone living in that era, and it was cool to read someone else describe how magical Prospect Park is to a child. It was published in 1959, but doesn't feel dated at all.
I had a problem relating to the protagonist, because I felt so much sympathy for her mother, who I think is supposed to be a more ambiguous figure than I found her to be. Yeah, she kinda' does something backhanded to her husband, but her husband is totally irresponsible! Yes, she is a little harsh to her children, but she works difficult, manual labor to support her whole family! Yes, she pushes a lifestyle on her daughters that they might not want, but she is trying to give them a good life. So I had a hard time really relating to Selina's feelings on her mother, which is a huge part of the story.
I had a problem relating to the protagonist, because I felt so much sympathy for her mother, who I think is supposed to be a more ambiguous figure than I found her to be. Yeah, she kinda' does something backhanded to her husband, but her husband is totally irresponsible! Yes, she is a little harsh to her children, but she works difficult, manual labor to support her whole family! Yes, she pushes a lifestyle on her daughters that they might not want, but she is trying to give them a good life. So I had a hard time really relating to Selina's feelings on her mother, which is a huge part of the story.
November 26, 2021
4.5 stars
My first Paule Marshall stumbled across when I was looking for Barbadian authors, this is a wonderfully written novel of one family in New York and particularly Selina, the first-generation daughter of Barbadian immigrants. We watch Selina grow and change, her relationships with her parents and the families around her and her attitudes to learning, to religion and what she wants from life. We see the drive amongst many of the community to save, to own their own house and be somebody in this world and how Selina questions this, how she is often set apart from those around her. There is some great characterization and discussion of race, politics, education and immigration and a detailed portrait of one place and one time in history that still resonates in the contemporary world.
My first Paule Marshall stumbled across when I was looking for Barbadian authors, this is a wonderfully written novel of one family in New York and particularly Selina, the first-generation daughter of Barbadian immigrants. We watch Selina grow and change, her relationships with her parents and the families around her and her attitudes to learning, to religion and what she wants from life. We see the drive amongst many of the community to save, to own their own house and be somebody in this world and how Selina questions this, how she is often set apart from those around her. There is some great characterization and discussion of race, politics, education and immigration and a detailed portrait of one place and one time in history that still resonates in the contemporary world.
March 30, 2011
I'm a sucker for female coming of age novels. This is probably because I was not a female when I came of age. This is Virginia Woolf with slightly less stylistic prowess and a plot worth fighting for and a lead who, if asked, you would contemplate drowning yourself for. There's something about the wavering would-be artist realizing that she needs to be a person first and foremost that, to my mind, is something to root for.
March 7, 2021
i appreciate this even if i dont in any way like it
February 9, 2015
Marshall digs deep into her own past as the daughter of immigrants, shining a light at the same time on the experience of being defined first by your dark skin.
What really grabbed me in this novel were the characters and the complicated and ambivalent family and community relationships they inhabit. It's not only immigrants who invest everything in their children and a future dream, who live not their own lives, but sacrifice themselves to an idea of happiness that their children may not want or share. It's not only immigrant parents who demand acknowledgement for what they have given up, who remain bitter if the results of their hard work are not the fruits they thought they would bear, who blame their children for the unhappiness that is a result of their own choices.
In this way "Brown Girl, Brownstones" is universal, as well as revealing lives and situations that resonate in a specific context.
Is this the best way to nourish our children, to live our lives?
Marshall does not give a clear-cut answer, exploring both the strengths and the weaknesses of all the characters and the choices they make. She does not condemn.
The added complication of being seen as black, the other, the stereotyping by whites, the grind of poverty and humiliation--all add to the difficulty of finding a clear path to a satisfied mind. At the same time, whites are not all evil; blacks are not all good.
"It's a terrible thing to know that you gon be poor all yuh life, no matter how hard you work. You does stop trying after a time. People does see you so and call you lazy. But it ain laziness. It just that you does give up. You does kind of die inside...."
Is it wrong to crave pleasure, meaning, recognition, satisfaction? Is it right to ignore the prejudices and self-involvement that cloud our ability to empathize with other in their own struggles to realize their dreams?
When the mirror of life shows Selina how others perceive her it is a shock, bringing her out of herself into the world. She begins to see that the people she interacts with, even those she thinks she knows well, are not necessarily just the surface that has appeared to her--a rich interior, as rich as her own, deep and unknown, exists even in those she has dismissed.
Paule Marshall tells a compelling story. But she also leaves the reader with more questions than answers. It is up to us to think about where they might lead.
What really grabbed me in this novel were the characters and the complicated and ambivalent family and community relationships they inhabit. It's not only immigrants who invest everything in their children and a future dream, who live not their own lives, but sacrifice themselves to an idea of happiness that their children may not want or share. It's not only immigrant parents who demand acknowledgement for what they have given up, who remain bitter if the results of their hard work are not the fruits they thought they would bear, who blame their children for the unhappiness that is a result of their own choices.
In this way "Brown Girl, Brownstones" is universal, as well as revealing lives and situations that resonate in a specific context.
Is this the best way to nourish our children, to live our lives?
Marshall does not give a clear-cut answer, exploring both the strengths and the weaknesses of all the characters and the choices they make. She does not condemn.
The added complication of being seen as black, the other, the stereotyping by whites, the grind of poverty and humiliation--all add to the difficulty of finding a clear path to a satisfied mind. At the same time, whites are not all evil; blacks are not all good.
"It's a terrible thing to know that you gon be poor all yuh life, no matter how hard you work. You does stop trying after a time. People does see you so and call you lazy. But it ain laziness. It just that you does give up. You does kind of die inside...."
Is it wrong to crave pleasure, meaning, recognition, satisfaction? Is it right to ignore the prejudices and self-involvement that cloud our ability to empathize with other in their own struggles to realize their dreams?
When the mirror of life shows Selina how others perceive her it is a shock, bringing her out of herself into the world. She begins to see that the people she interacts with, even those she thinks she knows well, are not necessarily just the surface that has appeared to her--a rich interior, as rich as her own, deep and unknown, exists even in those she has dismissed.
Paule Marshall tells a compelling story. But she also leaves the reader with more questions than answers. It is up to us to think about where they might lead.
April 11, 2011
I think I loved this book in another reality. I mean that. I think I really loved it. The time period and culture presented were great. The characters were interesting. The writing style was wonderful; certainly poetic. There were a dozen times or better I read a paragraph and thought, "I should write this down". Despite this, I struggled. As I forced my way through each page - yes, eventually it felt like an assignment - I kept questioning myself on WHY this was not satisfying me. I think I figured it out.
Unlike sci-fi or fantasy fiction (my favored types of books), this is not a fictional book to escape from this world. Granted it is a different time period, but it is still "here", and it is a very real feeling book. I found it too heavy for the type of mood I have been in lately. It weighed on me.
I did not finish the book. But, I want to read it again in the future.
Unlike sci-fi or fantasy fiction (my favored types of books), this is not a fictional book to escape from this world. Granted it is a different time period, but it is still "here", and it is a very real feeling book. I found it too heavy for the type of mood I have been in lately. It weighed on me.
I did not finish the book. But, I want to read it again in the future.
did-not-finish
May 17, 2020DNF at page 75.
I tried; this book just isn't for me. Might try again in the future.
I tried; this book just isn't for me. Might try again in the future.
November 10, 2020
a very good read about the Caribbean Immigration experience. Reminded me both of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and White Teeth. Overall such a good read!!
August 4, 2025
Reread, August 2025. Some spoilers follow:
When I first read this, in 2020, I thought of it as a Barbadian version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith’s classic coming-of-age tale. Really, though, this is about reaching the point of your youth where you realise you have to strike out alone. It covers the life of Selina Boyce from about ten to eighteen, growing up in Brooklyn with Barbadian parents: Silla, a relentless worker driven by a desire for money, power and prestige, and Deighton, a profligate dreamer. There’s also Selina’s older sister Ina, who dutifully attends church and buys into the aspirational values of the Barbadian immigrant community. (I wonder if it matters that her name is half of Selina’s, as Ina is portrayed as only half a person.) The book has five sections, but there are only two real parts to the book. The first part is entirely about the tussle between Silla and Deighton for supremacy within the family: Deighton has received an inheritance of land “back home” and doesn’t want to sell it, while Silla sees it as a resource to be turned into cash so that they can follow the path prescribed by the local Barbadian Business Association and buy up the building where they live, accruing wealth by becoming slumlords. The differences in their material approach to life reflect deeper spiritual incompatibilities, and Selina is caught pitilessly between them. Deighton is attuned to pleasure and beauty—he teaches Selina how to love the world—but his betrayal by Silla, and his counter-betrayal of squandering the money she gains by it, break his already-flighty mind. Ultimately, the community is disgusted by him, and Silla has him deported. His death, probably a suicide, by falling from the repatriation ship, rounds off the book’s first half.
After that, the tussle is between Silla and Selina. Although Selina adores Deighton and generally chooses to align herself with him, this is really a book about a mother-daughter relationship. The two of them are surprisingly alike: in strength of will, in stubbornness, in the capacity to play a long, slow game of deception. They’re pitted against each other not in sexual competition but by petty-bourgeois standards. In a pivotal scene, Silla articulates a quasi-Randian view of life: everyone has to fight for power, and if you win the fight you’re entitled to what you can get, no matter how you did it. Selina, by contrast, doesn’t know exactly what she wants, but she knows it’s not that. Her lover, Clive, asks her, “What do you do that you like?” At first she has no answer, but her college performance in a modern dance troupe—and the promise of a job as a cruise ship dancer near the novel’s end—suggest that her deepest calling is going to be art, and that she’s going to be a successful artist because, unlike Clive, she has the moral courage to commit to it. Marshall was one of the first American authors to write about the interiorities and artistic journeys of Black women in this way, and she doesn't just create binary options; Selina's other models of Black womanhood, the promiscuously joyful Suggie and the salon owner Miss Thompson—who is, crucially, African-American, not West Indian—offer hidden paths to dignity and integrity that Silla's Darwinian attitude can't recognise. Deeply thought-provoking and intensely readable. Source: reread, old personal copy, originally bought secondhand (from sale paperback shelves) from The Second Shelf
First read, April 2020:
This reminded me so strongly of Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, centering as it does on young Selina Boyce, the daughter of Barbadian immigrants in New York, and her attempts to break free of the familial and societal expectations that bind and devalue her. It’s a huge shame that it’s now out of print; my copy is an old Virago edition. Bring it back, Virago!
When I first read this, in 2020, I thought of it as a Barbadian version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith’s classic coming-of-age tale. Really, though, this is about reaching the point of your youth where you realise you have to strike out alone. It covers the life of Selina Boyce from about ten to eighteen, growing up in Brooklyn with Barbadian parents: Silla, a relentless worker driven by a desire for money, power and prestige, and Deighton, a profligate dreamer. There’s also Selina’s older sister Ina, who dutifully attends church and buys into the aspirational values of the Barbadian immigrant community. (I wonder if it matters that her name is half of Selina’s, as Ina is portrayed as only half a person.) The book has five sections, but there are only two real parts to the book. The first part is entirely about the tussle between Silla and Deighton for supremacy within the family: Deighton has received an inheritance of land “back home” and doesn’t want to sell it, while Silla sees it as a resource to be turned into cash so that they can follow the path prescribed by the local Barbadian Business Association and buy up the building where they live, accruing wealth by becoming slumlords. The differences in their material approach to life reflect deeper spiritual incompatibilities, and Selina is caught pitilessly between them. Deighton is attuned to pleasure and beauty—he teaches Selina how to love the world—but his betrayal by Silla, and his counter-betrayal of squandering the money she gains by it, break his already-flighty mind. Ultimately, the community is disgusted by him, and Silla has him deported. His death, probably a suicide, by falling from the repatriation ship, rounds off the book’s first half.
After that, the tussle is between Silla and Selina. Although Selina adores Deighton and generally chooses to align herself with him, this is really a book about a mother-daughter relationship. The two of them are surprisingly alike: in strength of will, in stubbornness, in the capacity to play a long, slow game of deception. They’re pitted against each other not in sexual competition but by petty-bourgeois standards. In a pivotal scene, Silla articulates a quasi-Randian view of life: everyone has to fight for power, and if you win the fight you’re entitled to what you can get, no matter how you did it. Selina, by contrast, doesn’t know exactly what she wants, but she knows it’s not that. Her lover, Clive, asks her, “What do you do that you like?” At first she has no answer, but her college performance in a modern dance troupe—and the promise of a job as a cruise ship dancer near the novel’s end—suggest that her deepest calling is going to be art, and that she’s going to be a successful artist because, unlike Clive, she has the moral courage to commit to it. Marshall was one of the first American authors to write about the interiorities and artistic journeys of Black women in this way, and she doesn't just create binary options; Selina's other models of Black womanhood, the promiscuously joyful Suggie and the salon owner Miss Thompson—who is, crucially, African-American, not West Indian—offer hidden paths to dignity and integrity that Silla's Darwinian attitude can't recognise. Deeply thought-provoking and intensely readable. Source: reread, old personal copy, originally bought secondhand (from sale paperback shelves) from The Second Shelf
First read, April 2020:
This reminded me so strongly of Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, centering as it does on young Selina Boyce, the daughter of Barbadian immigrants in New York, and her attempts to break free of the familial and societal expectations that bind and devalue her. It’s a huge shame that it’s now out of print; my copy is an old Virago edition. Bring it back, Virago!
January 12, 2019
Excellent work. This is a fine coming of age story of a second generation Barbadian girl growing up in Brooklyn during the 1930s into the early 50s. The story reflects the author's own experiences as a second generation American born girl whose parents immigrated from Barbados. The book is from a feminine perspective not simply a girl's. Marshall's vivid prose gives voice to all sorts of Bajan women, and one African American woman. From the text we gather that there may be superficial differences between Bajan women and African American women but their struggles and hopes are the same in "this man's country." Marshall gives voice to what womanists and black feminists would label double oppression.
Through her characters both women and men, Marshall explores the deep meaning of race in America. She never shies away from criticizing the racial social structures of 20th century America, and how Blacks chafe under them. Yet Blacks continue to press against racism in order to achieve what is called the American Dream. Marshall fails to accept the premise of the Dream. Her main character rejects it as she attempts to find her own way. Because of this, Marshall evokes an empathetic reading of all of her characters.
This is a classic.
Through her characters both women and men, Marshall explores the deep meaning of race in America. She never shies away from criticizing the racial social structures of 20th century America, and how Blacks chafe under them. Yet Blacks continue to press against racism in order to achieve what is called the American Dream. Marshall fails to accept the premise of the Dream. Her main character rejects it as she attempts to find her own way. Because of this, Marshall evokes an empathetic reading of all of her characters.
This is a classic.
December 3, 2011
Read this for my African Lit class. Hated the beginning, due to the barrage of names and POV swaps. I found it to be extremely jarring and was pissed that I had to read a book like this. I think I actually fell asleep on the train ride home at one point, while trying to read the start, heh.
Then something happened, and all of a sudden the story, its characters, and everything else just... clicked. I was glued to the pages, albeit, there were moments where the story dragged. At least it was not often. Overall, I found it to be a rather enjoyable read, and the character development was wonderfully/convincingly executed.
I hated "the mother," felt myself pitying the mother, and then feeling a sort of satisfaction as mother and daughter came to an understanding by the end of the book.
This isn't going to be some entertaining read, and probably not what many would find an enjoyable time killer. Then again, I could be wrong, and perhaps some will find this to be just that.
Then something happened, and all of a sudden the story, its characters, and everything else just... clicked. I was glued to the pages, albeit, there were moments where the story dragged. At least it was not often. Overall, I found it to be a rather enjoyable read, and the character development was wonderfully/convincingly executed.
I hated "the mother," felt myself pitying the mother, and then feeling a sort of satisfaction as mother and daughter came to an understanding by the end of the book.
This isn't going to be some entertaining read, and probably not what many would find an enjoyable time killer. Then again, I could be wrong, and perhaps some will find this to be just that.
September 22, 2012
The book was too dense. I only got a few pages in to it and realized that it wasn't for me though I can see the value, especially reading the summary that the author Paule Marshall is really writing about her coming-of-age story through the Depression and WWII living in Brooklyn and the relationship between African American and West Indians.
January 14, 2010
A telling immigrant story.
June 28, 2023
"Take this world. It wun always be white. No, mahn. It gon be somebody else turn soon -- maybe even people looking near like us. But plenty gon have to suffer to bring it about. And when they get up top they might not be so nice either, 'cause power is a thing that don make you nice."
I was assigned Brown Girl, Brownstones in secondary school and almost 10 years later decided to give it a re-read. After devouring this book, I stand firmly in my belief that Paule Marshall is an unsung hero of her time, deserving some recognition in the Black literary canon.
This book is filed under African-American lit, but I could not help but notice how steeped in Caribbean and Caribbean-American culture the narrative was. In this book, We're taken to Brooklyn, specifically to a close Bajan immigrant community. We're invited into the lives of Deighton and Silla, and their daughters Selina and Ina. This is 100% a coming-of-age narrative, centering Selina's experiences navigating girlhood-womanhood. It's simple -- Silla, the mother, wants to fulfill her dream of owning a Brooklyn brownstone, while her husband, Deighton, wants nothing more than to one day return to his island-home, where he has a plot of land waiting for him. Selina is essentially caught up in her parent's disagreements.
Marshall explores a lot in this, but what struck me the most was the focus on sexuality and womahood, along with the exploration of tensions between African-Americans and Caribbean immigrants. Moreover, the ways in which racism is illustrated and examined further illuminates the struggle between the parents and their stark contrast of desire.
I found myself angry with the characters, and yet, so incredibly sympathetic. Their experiences as immigrants, as Black folk, as working-class, underscores all of their motivations. I was most frustrated with Deighton for his behavior, but then I took a step back, and was able to rationalize his actions as an act of resistance... rebellion against the farce that is the American Dream.
I didn't appreciate the text the first time around, but I think it is one of the most important texts in Black literature (that I have read). It just deals with so much.
One thing that bothered me toward the end was Marshall's carelessness when it came to homosexuality. There were a few homophobic comments made by the characters that I did not understand the necessity of.
Overall a solid read!
I was assigned Brown Girl, Brownstones in secondary school and almost 10 years later decided to give it a re-read. After devouring this book, I stand firmly in my belief that Paule Marshall is an unsung hero of her time, deserving some recognition in the Black literary canon.
This book is filed under African-American lit, but I could not help but notice how steeped in Caribbean and Caribbean-American culture the narrative was. In this book, We're taken to Brooklyn, specifically to a close Bajan immigrant community. We're invited into the lives of Deighton and Silla, and their daughters Selina and Ina. This is 100% a coming-of-age narrative, centering Selina's experiences navigating girlhood-womanhood. It's simple -- Silla, the mother, wants to fulfill her dream of owning a Brooklyn brownstone, while her husband, Deighton, wants nothing more than to one day return to his island-home, where he has a plot of land waiting for him. Selina is essentially caught up in her parent's disagreements.
Marshall explores a lot in this, but what struck me the most was the focus on sexuality and womahood, along with the exploration of tensions between African-Americans and Caribbean immigrants. Moreover, the ways in which racism is illustrated and examined further illuminates the struggle between the parents and their stark contrast of desire.
I found myself angry with the characters, and yet, so incredibly sympathetic. Their experiences as immigrants, as Black folk, as working-class, underscores all of their motivations. I was most frustrated with Deighton for his behavior, but then I took a step back, and was able to rationalize his actions as an act of resistance... rebellion against the farce that is the American Dream.
I didn't appreciate the text the first time around, but I think it is one of the most important texts in Black literature (that I have read). It just deals with so much.
One thing that bothered me toward the end was Marshall's carelessness when it came to homosexuality. There were a few homophobic comments made by the characters that I did not understand the necessity of.
Overall a solid read!
April 15, 2025
For a relatively short book this felt so much longer than it was. Marshall spends a lot of time painting the scene but it’s descriptive to a fault. Her writing feels heavy handed and I found it most enjoyable when stripped back. My favorite quotes are one liners where she says so much in so few words;
- “Perhaps we all have our tombs on this earth waiting to die”
- “Knowing the full meaning of her black skin was like dying”
This book truly had a full cast of flawed characters and while that certainly makes the story feel more real, it doesn’t make for an enjoyable read (again, raw to a fault). Marshall manages to balance their narratives for the most part, but I would have loved to see more of Ina — with Selina being so isolated as a child it’s hard to believe she wouldn’t turn to her sister for companionship particularly in the latter half of the book when she’s older.
From parental emotional neglect, immigrant pressure to “make it,” religious psychosis, to clinging desperately to your own people, this book felt distinctly Caribbean which makes it great representation in the coming of age genre.
My favorite part was seeing Selina discover herself through dance. It’s very fitting that that’s her ticket out of the little Barbados they’ve created in New York. Although the ending felt abrupt I still appreciated the imagery of her throwing her bangle in the ruins of a demolished brownstone.
content warnings for: sexual assault, deportation, death of a parent, grooming
- “Perhaps we all have our tombs on this earth waiting to die”
- “Knowing the full meaning of her black skin was like dying”
This book truly had a full cast of flawed characters and while that certainly makes the story feel more real, it doesn’t make for an enjoyable read (again, raw to a fault). Marshall manages to balance their narratives for the most part, but I would have loved to see more of Ina — with Selina being so isolated as a child it’s hard to believe she wouldn’t turn to her sister for companionship particularly in the latter half of the book when she’s older.
From parental emotional neglect, immigrant pressure to “make it,” religious psychosis, to clinging desperately to your own people, this book felt distinctly Caribbean which makes it great representation in the coming of age genre.
My favorite part was seeing Selina discover herself through dance. It’s very fitting that that’s her ticket out of the little Barbados they’ve created in New York. Although the ending felt abrupt I still appreciated the imagery of her throwing her bangle in the ruins of a demolished brownstone.
content warnings for: sexual assault, deportation, death of a parent, grooming
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 27, 2020
Read for my Heart of the City class. I’ve only ever read non-fiction by Paule Marshall, but I was blown away by this. What a surreal experience to read about the moment Selina realizes she isn’t a person to white people with the news of of the murder of Greg Floyd and attempted murder of Christian Cooper in the background.
Read
September 9, 2020A classic. A story of adolescence, identity, New York City, family, love.
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