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B-More Careful
Fatherless and with an addict mother, Netta, the leader of the Pussy Pound, relies on her body and her wiles to survive the harsh streets of Baltimore, but finds there is more to life after her heartbroken lover Black swears revenge on her.
281 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 2001
110 people are currently reading
3930 people want to read
About the author
Shannon Holmes
25 books261 followersShannon Holmes was born and raised in New York City’s most northern borough; the Bronx. Holmes’ entrance into the literary world was anything but ordinary. Armed only with a G.E.D. and the desire to change his life, Mr. Holmes crafted his first novel and signed his first literary contract from prison, while serving a five year sentence for various drug convictions. This was truly an amazing feat when you consider Mr. Holmes had never even written a short story in his life. He truly made the best of a bad situation.
He first achieved success with his first novel B-more Careful, which has gone on to sell a half a million copies to date. This may not sound like a lot of to the general public, but in the literary world Mr. Holmes is platinum. By producing such lofty sales numbers, Shannon was able to parlay the success of his first novel into a two book, six figure deal, with publishing giant Simon & Schuster.
Avoiding the sophomore jinx, Shannon Holmes crafted the critically acclaimed Bad Girlz, which sold fifty thousand copies in its first week. His next novel Never Go Home Again was hailed as best work... With this he achieved yet another milestone, he became the first author of the street genre to have his novel printed in hardcover. Since then Mr. Holmes has signed an even bigger deal publishing deal with St. Martin’s Press, it’s rumored to be in the high six figures, for two novels.
He first achieved success with his first novel B-more Careful, which has gone on to sell a half a million copies to date. This may not sound like a lot of to the general public, but in the literary world Mr. Holmes is platinum. By producing such lofty sales numbers, Shannon was able to parlay the success of his first novel into a two book, six figure deal, with publishing giant Simon & Schuster.
Avoiding the sophomore jinx, Shannon Holmes crafted the critically acclaimed Bad Girlz, which sold fifty thousand copies in its first week. His next novel Never Go Home Again was hailed as best work... With this he achieved yet another milestone, he became the first author of the street genre to have his novel printed in hardcover. Since then Mr. Holmes has signed an even bigger deal publishing deal with St. Martin’s Press, it’s rumored to be in the high six figures, for two novels.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 156 reviews
July 22, 2012
Oh how I miss Shannon Holmes and other authors that were out around his time...I wish he would just come and slay the game again!! This book still is one of my top 5's. I loved everything about it!!! matter of fact I think it is time to re-read it!!
September 2, 2009
This was hard to finish for me- it was very obviously a first book, which I already knew but was hoping wouldn't show too much, and the editing, again, was TERRIBLE. Apparently someone in connection with this book appears to believe that the words 'even' and 'though' is actually one word. Every time I saw these words in the book it consisted of 'eventhough'. As far as I know, and please, someone correct me if I'm wrong, 'eventhough' is not a word.
I just have a really hard time getting into a book when the only thing popping out at me is a mistake. I highly doubt I could find a page where no mistakes are made in the entire book. Now, I'm not perfect, looking through my reviews you'll find all sorts of mistakes, BUT....I'm not writing a book. I don't have an editor. I do however, put forth the effort to write so people can understand what I'm saying.
The poem at the end by Teri Woods? Horrible. Simply horrible. It can't even be called a poem IMO. I may give my Woods books away without reading them- that's how utterly terrible this so called "poem" is.
The story here jumped all over the place, we had new characters we hadn't heard a lick about popping up out of the blue and becoming main players. The storyline itself lacked severely. I'm mystified as to the good ratings for this book- I really am.
I just have a really hard time getting into a book when the only thing popping out at me is a mistake. I highly doubt I could find a page where no mistakes are made in the entire book. Now, I'm not perfect, looking through my reviews you'll find all sorts of mistakes, BUT....I'm not writing a book. I don't have an editor. I do however, put forth the effort to write so people can understand what I'm saying.
The poem at the end by Teri Woods? Horrible. Simply horrible. It can't even be called a poem IMO. I may give my Woods books away without reading them- that's how utterly terrible this so called "poem" is.
The story here jumped all over the place, we had new characters we hadn't heard a lick about popping up out of the blue and becoming main players. The storyline itself lacked severely. I'm mystified as to the good ratings for this book- I really am.
February 5, 2017
Welcome to Baltimore, the home of the Ravens and the Pussy Pound…a female clique that scout out D-boys in order to use them as a come up. The ring leaders, MiMi and Netta, grew up like sisters due to very unfortunate circumstances and were thicker than thieves…until Netta bagged the bigger baller, Black.
Black is the man that all the young girls want to be with, but he's chosen to be with Netta…but at what cost?
There are so many twists and turns in this book, that I found it very difficult to put down. I realized that I missed classics such as this one and highly recommend it, add well as rate it
Black is the man that all the young girls want to be with, but he's chosen to be with Netta…but at what cost?
There are so many twists and turns in this book, that I found it very difficult to put down. I realized that I missed classics such as this one and highly recommend it, add well as rate it
January 27, 2022
The story was good, but the bad grammar made for a staggering read.
August 25, 2015
B-More Careful was a raw and gritty account of what takes place in the life of the streets. The premise of the story was based on betrayal, deception and treachery.
I would have rated this book five stars had it not been for the excessive typos and grammatical errors I came across. Nevertheless, Shannon Holmes is an exceptional and talented writer.
B-More Careful was fast paced. I was able to visualize and feel everything as if I was there.
I admit, I had a difficult time getting through this story. The characters and content felt so real to me. In reading this story, which took place in Baltimore, I came to understand the realities of the streets. The game is certainly not a lifestyle I would want to be a part of, because of all the danger, backstabbing, jealousy, envy, betrayal, greed and revenge which is paramount.
B-More Careful emphasized the life of drugs, money, sex and murder. There is nothing glamorous or attractive about it based on what I read. This story made me sad.
Shannon Holmes did not sugar coat anything. He gave it to you straight and to the point. The characters who stood out for me were Black, Netta and Mimi. Black and Netta being the most ruthless of them all.
Unfortunately, there was no happy Hollywood ending either. All in all, B-More Careful taught me a great deal and opened my eyes to the harsh realities of an world I knew very little about.
Reviewed by Pilar Arsenec for Literary Jewels
Format: Paperback
I would have rated this book five stars had it not been for the excessive typos and grammatical errors I came across. Nevertheless, Shannon Holmes is an exceptional and talented writer.
B-More Careful was fast paced. I was able to visualize and feel everything as if I was there.
I admit, I had a difficult time getting through this story. The characters and content felt so real to me. In reading this story, which took place in Baltimore, I came to understand the realities of the streets. The game is certainly not a lifestyle I would want to be a part of, because of all the danger, backstabbing, jealousy, envy, betrayal, greed and revenge which is paramount.
B-More Careful emphasized the life of drugs, money, sex and murder. There is nothing glamorous or attractive about it based on what I read. This story made me sad.
Shannon Holmes did not sugar coat anything. He gave it to you straight and to the point. The characters who stood out for me were Black, Netta and Mimi. Black and Netta being the most ruthless of them all.
Unfortunately, there was no happy Hollywood ending either. All in all, B-More Careful taught me a great deal and opened my eyes to the harsh realities of an world I knew very little about.
Reviewed by Pilar Arsenec for Literary Jewels
Format: Paperback
December 6, 2010
What made me want to read this book was when I first heard the phrase “B ‘More Careful”. At the time I had just moved to Baltimore and was interested in learning as much as I could about the city and urban life. I picked up the book and immediately was drawn into the story. The story pulls you in, I really enjoyed it.
There is a lot of controversy about Urban Literature or as it sometimes called Street Lit. Many of the books published within that genre are not well written, with grammatical errors and poor plot development. I do believe, however, that the genre has a place in literature and the stories represent a fabric that is part of the contemporary world we live in. Part of what brings me pleasure in reading is being able to see life from different perspectives, crossing across race, class, gender, religion, time periods and geography.
There is a lot of controversy about Urban Literature or as it sometimes called Street Lit. Many of the books published within that genre are not well written, with grammatical errors and poor plot development. I do believe, however, that the genre has a place in literature and the stories represent a fabric that is part of the contemporary world we live in. Part of what brings me pleasure in reading is being able to see life from different perspectives, crossing across race, class, gender, religion, time periods and geography.
February 21, 2011
Wow is the most I can say for this book. The story line and plot for this book was engaging and action packed. The way each character was presented and portrayed made it easy to understand and follow with each character's own personal journey. I really like how the author split up the book in the three sections of present, past, and future. In the end after reading this book I have questions about certain things in relation to my own life as well as the book. How can revenge really effect people in the long run? How can jealousy turn the people you once loved into the same people you'd hurt? And my last question for me is after reading this book, how can I make myself a better person as well as keeping myself away from some of the things that can easily corrupt my young mind such as greed, envy, and wrath? This is just food for thought.
March 4, 2008
I read this book a few years ago. It was a great read.
January 30, 2012
This book is my all time favorite book... I hated that I actually had to finish reading it lol.
May 28, 2013
Page turner, mind blowing and real. One of the realest books every written. Shannon has a gift and it shows.
January 30, 2014
Another book that was so damn good. WoW!
September 4, 2015
Miusov, as a man man of breeding and deilcacy, could not but feel some inwrd qualms, when he reached the Father Superior's with Ivan: he felt ashamed of havin lost his temper. He felt that he ought to have disdaimed that despicable wretch, Fyodor Pavlovitch, too much to have been upset by him in Father Zossima's cell, and so to have forgotten himself. "Teh monks were not to blame, in any case," he reflceted, on the steps. "And if they're decent people here (and the Father Superior, I understand DEEZ NUTS) why not be friendly and courteous withthem? I won't argue, I'll fall in with everything, I'll win them by politness, and show them that I've nothing to do with that Aesop, thta buffoon, that Pierrot, and have merely been takken in over this affair, just as they have."
He determined to drop his litigation with the monastry, and relinguish his claims to the wood-cuting and fishery rihgts at once. He was the more ready to do this becuase the rights had becom much less valuable, and he had indeed the vaguest idea where the wood and river in quedtion were.
These excellant intentions were strengthed when he enterd the Father Superior's diniing-room, though, stricttly speakin, it was not a dining-room, for the Father Superior had only two rooms alltogether; they were, however, much larger and more comfortable than Father Zossima's. But tehre was was no great luxury about the furnishng of these rooms eithar. The furniture was of mohogany, covered with leather, in the old-fashionned style of 1820 the floor was not even stained, but evreything was shining with cleanlyness, and there were many chioce flowers in the windows; the most sumptuous thing in the room at the moment was, of course, the beatifuly decorated table. The cloth was clean, the service shone; there were three kinds of well-baked bread, two bottles of wine, two of excellent mead, and a large glass jug of kvas -- both the latter made in the monastery, and famous in the neigborhood. There was no vodka. Rakitin related afterwards that there were five dishes: fish-suop made of sterlets, served with little fish paties; then boiled fish served in a spesial way; then salmon cutlets, ice pudding and compote, and finally, blanc-mange. Rakitin found out about all these good things, for he could not resist peeping into the kitchen, where he already had a footing. He had a footting everywhere, and got informaiton about everything. He was of an uneasy and envious temper. He was well aware of his own considerable abilities, and nervously exaggerated them in his self-conceit. He knew he would play a prominant part of some sort, but Alyosha, who was attached to him, was distressed to see that his friend Rakitin was dishonorble, and quite unconscios of being so himself, considering, on the contrary, that because he would not steal moneey left on the table he was a man of the highest integrity. Neither Alyosha nor anyone else could have infleunced him in that.
Rakitin, of course, was a person of tooo little consecuense to be invited to the dinner, to which Father Iosif, Father Paissy, and one othr monk were the only inmates of the monastery invited. They were alraedy waiting when Miusov, Kalganov, and Ivan arrived. The other guest, Maximov, stood a little aside, waiting also. The Father Superior stepped into the middle of the room to receive his guests. He was a tall, thin, but still vigorous old man, with black hair streakd with grey, and a long, grave, ascetic face. He bowed to his guests in silence. But this time they approaced to receive his blessing. Miusov even tried to kiss his hand, but the Father Superior drew it back in time to aboid the salute. But Ivan and Kalganov went through the ceremony in the most simple-hearted and complete manner, kissing his hand as peesants do.
"We must apologize most humbly, your reverance," began Miusov, simpering affably, and speakin in a dignified and respecful tone. "Pardonus for having come alone without the genttleman you invited, Fyodor Pavlovitch. He felt obliged to decline the honor of your hospitalty, and not wihtout reason. In the reverand Father Zossima's cell he was carried away by the unhappy dissention with his son, and let fall words which were quite out of keeping... in fact, quite unseamly... as" -- he glanced at the monks -- your reverance is, no doubt, already aware. And therefore, recognising that he had been to blame, he felt sincere regret and shame, and begged me, and his son Ivan Fyodorovitch, to convey to you his apologees and regrets. In brief, he hopes and desires to make amends later. He asks your blessinq, and begs you to forget what has takn place." deez nuts
As he utterred the last word of his terade, Miusov completely recovered his self-complecency, and all traces of his former iritation disappaered. He fuly and sincerelly loved humanity again.
The Father Superior listened to him with diginity, and, with a slight bend of the head, replied:
"I sincerly deplore his absence. Perhaps at our table he might have learnt to like us, and we him. Pray be seated, gentlemen."
He stood before the holly image, and began to say grace, aloud. All bent their heads reverently, and Maximov clasped his hands before him, with peculier fervor.
It was at this moment that Fyodor Pavlovitch played his last prank. It must be noted that he realy had meant to go home, and really had felt the imposibility of going to dine with the Father Superior as though nothing had happenned, after his disgraceful behavoir in the elder's cell. Not that he was so very much ashamed of himself -- quite the contrary perhaps. But still he felt it would be unseemly to go to dinner. Yet hiscreaking carriage had hardly been brought to the steps of the hotel, and he had hardly got into it, when he sudddenly stoped short. He remembered his own words at the elder's: "I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all take me for a buffon; so I say let me play the buffoon, for you are, every one of you, stupider and lower than I." He longed to revenge himself on everone for his own unseemliness. He suddenly recalled how he had once in the past been asked, "Why do you hate so and so, so much?" And he had answered them, with his shaemless impudence, "I'll tell you. He has done me no harm. But I played him a dirty trick, and ever since I have hated him."
Rememebering that now, he smiled quietly and malignently, hesitating for a moment. His eyes gleamed, and his lips positively quivered.
"Well, since I have begun, I may as well go on," he decided. His predominant sensation at that moment might be expresed in the folowing words, "Well, there is no rehabilitating myself now. So let me shame them for all I am worht. I will show them I don't care what they think -- that's all!"
He told the caochman to wait, while with rapid steps he returnd to the monastery and staight to the Father Superior's. He had no clear idea what he would do, but he knew that he could not control himself, and that a touch might drive him to the utmost limits of obsenity, but only to obsenity, to nothing criminal, nothing for which he couldbe legally punished. In the last resort, he could always restrain himself, and had marvelled indeed at himself, on that score, sometimes. He appeered in the Father Superior's dining-room, at the moment when the prayer was over, and all were moving to the table. Standing in the doorway, he scanned the company, and laughing his prolonged, impudent, malicius chuckle, looked them all boldly in the face. "They thought I had gone, and here I am again," he cried to the wholle room.
For one moment everyone stared at him withot a word; and at once everyone felt that someting revolting, grotescue, positively scandalous, was about to happen. Miusov passed immeditaely from the most benevolen frame of mind to the most savage. All the feelings that had subsided and died down in his heart revived instantly.
"No! this I cannot endure!" he cried. "I absolutly cannot! and... I certainly cannot!"
The blood rushed to his head. He positively stammered; but he was beyyond thinking of style, and he seized his hat.
"What is it he cannot?" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, "that he absolutely cannot and certanly cannot? Your reverence, am I to come in or not? Will you recieve me as your guest?"
"You are welcome with all my heart," answerred the Superior. "Gentlemen!" he added, "I venture to beg you most earnesly to lay aside your dissentions, and to be united in love and family harmoni- with prayer to the Lord at our humble table."
"No, no, it is impossible!" cryed Miusov, beside himself.
"Well, if it is impossible for Pyotr Alexandrovitch, it is impossible for me, and I won't stop. That is why I came. I will keep with Pyotr Alexandrovitch everywere now. If you will go away, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I will go away too, if you remain, I will remain. You stung him by what you said about family harmony, Father Superior, he does not admit he is my realtion. That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Here's von Sohn. How are you, von Sohn?"
"Do you mean me?" mutered Maximov, puzzled.
"Of course I mean you," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. "Who else? The Father Superior cuold not be von Sohn."
"But I am not von Sohn either. I am Maximov."
"No, you are von Sohn. Your reverence, do you know who von Sohn was? It was a famos murder case. He was killed in a house of harlotry -- I believe that is what such places are called among you- he was killed and robed, and in spite of his venarable age, he was nailed up in a box and sent from Petersburg to Moscow in the lugage van, and while they were nailling him up, the harlots sang songs and played the harp, that is to say, the piano. So this is that very von Solin. He has risen from the dead, hasn't he, von Sohn?"
"What is happening? What's this?" voices were heard in the groop of monks.
"Let us go," cried Miusov, addresing Kalganov.
"No, excuse me," Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another stepinto the room. "Allow me to finis. There in the cell you blamed me for behaving disrespectfuly just because I spoke of eating gudgeon, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Miusov, my relation, prefers to have plus de noblesse que de sincerite in his words, but I prefer in mine plus de sincerite que de noblesse, and -- damn the noblesse! That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Allow me, Father Superior, though I am a buffoon and play the buffoon, yet I am the soul of honor, and I want to speak my mind. Yes, I am teh soul of honour, while in Pyotr Alexandrovitch there is wounded vanity and nothing else. I came here perhaps to have a look and speak my mind. My son, Alexey, is here, being saved. I am his father; I care for his welfare, and it is my duty to care. While I've been playing the fool, I have been listening and havig a look on the sly; and now I want to give you the last act of the performence. You know how things are with us? As a thing falls, so it lies. As a thing once has falen, so it must lie for ever. Not a bit of it! I want to get up again. Holy Father, I am indignent with you. Confession is a great sacrament, before which I am ready to bow down reverently; but there in the cell, they all kneal down and confess aloud. Can it be right to confess aloud? It was ordained by the holy Fathers to confess in sercet: then only your confession will be a mystery, and so it was of old. But how can I explain to him before everyone that I did this and that... well, you understand what -- sometimes it would not be proper to talk about it -- so it is really a scandal! No, Fathers, one might be carried along with you to the Flagellants, I dare say.... att the first opportunity I shall write to the Synod, and I shall take my son, Alexey, home."
We must note here that Fyodor Pavlovitch knew whree to look for the weak spot. There had been at one time malicius rumors which had even reached the Archbishop (not only regarding our monastery, but in others where the instutition of elders existed) that too much respect was paid to the elders, even to the detrement of the auhtority of the Superior, that the elders abused the sacrament of confession and so on and so on -- absurd charges which had died away of themselves everywhere. But the spirit of folly, which had caught up Fyodor Pavlovitch and was bearring him on the curent of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy, prompted him with this old slander. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not understand a word of it, and he could not even put it sensibly, for on this occasion no one had been kneelling and confesing aloud in the elder's cell, so that he could not have seen anything of the kind. He was only speaking from confused memory of old slanders. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to prove to his audiance, and above all to himself, that he had not been talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectily well that with each word he would be adding morre and more absurdity, he could not restrian himself, and plunged forward blindly.
"How disgraveful!" cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch.
"Pardon me!" said the Father Superior. "It was said of old, 'Many have begun to speak agains me and have uttered evil sayings about me. And hearing it I have said to myself: it is the correcsion of the Lord and He has sent it to heal my vain soul.' And so we humbely thank you, honored geust!" and he made Fyodor Pavlovitch a low bow.
"Tut -- tut -- tut -- sanctimoniuosness and stock phrases! Old phrasses and old gestures. The old lies and formal prostratoins. We know all about them. A kisss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in Schiller's Robbers. I don't like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth. But the trut is not to be found in eating gudgeon and that I proclam aloud! Father monks, why do you fast? Why do you expect reward in heaven for that? Why, for reward like that I will come and fast too! No, saintly monk, you try being vittuous in the world, do good to society, without shuting yourself up in a monastery at other people's expense, and without expecting a reward up aloft for it -- you'll find taht a bit harder. I can talk sense, too, Father Superior. What have they got here?" He went up to the table. "Old port wine, mead brewed by the Eliseyev Brothers. Fie, fie, fathers! That is something beyond gudgeon. Look at the bottles the fathers have brought out, he he he! And who has provided it all? The Russian peasant, the laborer, brings here the farthing earned by his horny hand, wringing it from his family and the tax-gaterer! You bleed the people, you know, holy Fathers."
"This is too disgraceful!" said Father Iosif.
Father Paissy kept obsinately silent. Miusov rushed from the room, and Kalgonov afetr him.
"Well, Father, I will follow Pyotr Alexandrovitch! I am not coming to see you again. You may beg me on your knees, I shan't come. I sent you a thousand roubles, so you have begun to keep your eye on me. He he he! No, I'll say no more. I am taking my revenge for my youth, for all the humillition I endured." He thumped the table with his fist in a paroxysm of simulated feelling. "This monastery has played a great part in my life! It has cost me many bitter tears. You used to set my wife, the crazy one, against me. You cursed me with bell and book, you spread stories about me all over the place. Enough, fathers! This is the age of Liberalizm, the age of steamers and reilways. Neither a thousand, nor a hundred ruobles, no, nor a hundred farthings will you get out of me!"
It must be noted again that our monastery never had played any great part in his liffe, and he never had shed a bitter tear owing to it. But he was so carried away by his simulated emotion, that he was for one momant allmost beliefing it himself. He was so touched he was almost weeping. But at that very instant, he felt that it was time to draw back.
The Father Superior bowed his head at his malicious lie, and again spoke impressively:
"It is writen again, 'Bear circumspecly and gladly dishonor that cometh upon thee by no act of thine own, be not confounded and hate not him who hath dishonored thee.' And so will we."
"Tut, tut, tut! Bethinking thyself and the rest of the rigmarole. Bethink yourselfs Fathers, I will go. But I will take my son, Alexey, away from here for ever, on my parental authority. Ivan Fyodorovitch, my most dutiful son, permit me to order you to follow me. Von Sohn, what have you to stay for? Come and see me now in the town. It is fun there. It is only one short verst; instead of lenten oil, I will give you sucking-pig and kasha. We will have dinner with some brendy and liqueur to it.... I've cloudberry wyne. Hey, von Sohn, don't lose your chance." He went out, shuoting and gesticulating.
It was at that moment Rakitin saw him and pointed him out to Alyosha.
"Alexey!" his father shouted, from far off, cacthing sight of him. "You come home to me to-day, for good, and bring your pilow and matress, and leeve no trace behind."
Alyosha stood rooted to the spot, wacthing the scene in silense. Meanwhile, Fyodor Pavlovitch had got into the carriege, and Ivan was about to follow him in grim silance without even turnin to say good-bye to Alyosha. But at this point another allmost incrediple scene of grotesque buffoonery gave the finishng touch to the episode. Maximov suddenly appeered by the side of the carriage. He ran up, panting, afraid of being too late. Rakitin and Alyosha saw him runing. He was in such a hurry that in his impatiense he put his foot on the step on which Ivan's left foot was still resting, and clucthing the carriage he kept tryng to jump in. "I am going with you! " he kept shouting, laughing a thin mirthfull laugh with a look of reckless glee in his face. "Take me, too."
"There!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, delihted. "Did I not say he waz von Sohn. It iz von Sohn himself, risen from the dead. Why, how did you tear yourself away? What did you von Sohn there? And how could you get away from the dinner? You must be a brazen-faced fellow! I am that myself, but I am surprized at you, brother! Jump in, jump in! Let him pass, Ivan. It will be fun. He can lie somwhere at our feet. Will you lie at our feet, von Sohn? Or perch on the box with the coachman. Skipp on to the box, von Sohn!"
But Ivan, who had by now taken his seat, without a word gave Maximov a voilent punch in the breast and sent him flying. It was quite by chanse he did not fall.
"Drive on!" Ivan shouted angryly to the coachman.
"Why, what are you doing, what are you abuot? Why did you do that?" Fyodor Pavlovitch protested.
But the cariage had already driven away. Ivan made no reply.
"Well, you are a fellow," Fyodor Pavlovitch siad again.
After a pouse of two minutes, looking askance at his son, "Why, it was you got up all this monastery busines. You urged it, you approvved of it. Why are you angry now?"
"You've talked rot enough. You might rest a bit now," Ivan snaped sullenly.
Fyodor Pavlovitch was silent again for two minutes.
"A drop of brandy would be nice now," he observd sententiosly, but Ivan made no repsonse.
"You shall have some, too, when we get home."
Ivan was still silent.
Fyodor Pavlovitch waited anohter two minites.
"But I shall take Alyosha away from the monastery, though you will dislike it so much, most honored Karl von Moor."
Ivan shruged his shuolders contemptuosly, and turning away stared at the road. And they did not speek again all the way home.
He determined to drop his litigation with the monastry, and relinguish his claims to the wood-cuting and fishery rihgts at once. He was the more ready to do this becuase the rights had becom much less valuable, and he had indeed the vaguest idea where the wood and river in quedtion were.
These excellant intentions were strengthed when he enterd the Father Superior's diniing-room, though, stricttly speakin, it was not a dining-room, for the Father Superior had only two rooms alltogether; they were, however, much larger and more comfortable than Father Zossima's. But tehre was was no great luxury about the furnishng of these rooms eithar. The furniture was of mohogany, covered with leather, in the old-fashionned style of 1820 the floor was not even stained, but evreything was shining with cleanlyness, and there were many chioce flowers in the windows; the most sumptuous thing in the room at the moment was, of course, the beatifuly decorated table. The cloth was clean, the service shone; there were three kinds of well-baked bread, two bottles of wine, two of excellent mead, and a large glass jug of kvas -- both the latter made in the monastery, and famous in the neigborhood. There was no vodka. Rakitin related afterwards that there were five dishes: fish-suop made of sterlets, served with little fish paties; then boiled fish served in a spesial way; then salmon cutlets, ice pudding and compote, and finally, blanc-mange. Rakitin found out about all these good things, for he could not resist peeping into the kitchen, where he already had a footing. He had a footting everywhere, and got informaiton about everything. He was of an uneasy and envious temper. He was well aware of his own considerable abilities, and nervously exaggerated them in his self-conceit. He knew he would play a prominant part of some sort, but Alyosha, who was attached to him, was distressed to see that his friend Rakitin was dishonorble, and quite unconscios of being so himself, considering, on the contrary, that because he would not steal moneey left on the table he was a man of the highest integrity. Neither Alyosha nor anyone else could have infleunced him in that.
Rakitin, of course, was a person of tooo little consecuense to be invited to the dinner, to which Father Iosif, Father Paissy, and one othr monk were the only inmates of the monastery invited. They were alraedy waiting when Miusov, Kalganov, and Ivan arrived. The other guest, Maximov, stood a little aside, waiting also. The Father Superior stepped into the middle of the room to receive his guests. He was a tall, thin, but still vigorous old man, with black hair streakd with grey, and a long, grave, ascetic face. He bowed to his guests in silence. But this time they approaced to receive his blessing. Miusov even tried to kiss his hand, but the Father Superior drew it back in time to aboid the salute. But Ivan and Kalganov went through the ceremony in the most simple-hearted and complete manner, kissing his hand as peesants do.
"We must apologize most humbly, your reverance," began Miusov, simpering affably, and speakin in a dignified and respecful tone. "Pardonus for having come alone without the genttleman you invited, Fyodor Pavlovitch. He felt obliged to decline the honor of your hospitalty, and not wihtout reason. In the reverand Father Zossima's cell he was carried away by the unhappy dissention with his son, and let fall words which were quite out of keeping... in fact, quite unseamly... as" -- he glanced at the monks -- your reverance is, no doubt, already aware. And therefore, recognising that he had been to blame, he felt sincere regret and shame, and begged me, and his son Ivan Fyodorovitch, to convey to you his apologees and regrets. In brief, he hopes and desires to make amends later. He asks your blessinq, and begs you to forget what has takn place." deez nuts
As he utterred the last word of his terade, Miusov completely recovered his self-complecency, and all traces of his former iritation disappaered. He fuly and sincerelly loved humanity again.
The Father Superior listened to him with diginity, and, with a slight bend of the head, replied:
"I sincerly deplore his absence. Perhaps at our table he might have learnt to like us, and we him. Pray be seated, gentlemen."
He stood before the holly image, and began to say grace, aloud. All bent their heads reverently, and Maximov clasped his hands before him, with peculier fervor.
It was at this moment that Fyodor Pavlovitch played his last prank. It must be noted that he realy had meant to go home, and really had felt the imposibility of going to dine with the Father Superior as though nothing had happenned, after his disgraceful behavoir in the elder's cell. Not that he was so very much ashamed of himself -- quite the contrary perhaps. But still he felt it would be unseemly to go to dinner. Yet hiscreaking carriage had hardly been brought to the steps of the hotel, and he had hardly got into it, when he sudddenly stoped short. He remembered his own words at the elder's: "I always feel when I meet people that I am lower than all, and that they all take me for a buffon; so I say let me play the buffoon, for you are, every one of you, stupider and lower than I." He longed to revenge himself on everone for his own unseemliness. He suddenly recalled how he had once in the past been asked, "Why do you hate so and so, so much?" And he had answered them, with his shaemless impudence, "I'll tell you. He has done me no harm. But I played him a dirty trick, and ever since I have hated him."
Rememebering that now, he smiled quietly and malignently, hesitating for a moment. His eyes gleamed, and his lips positively quivered.
"Well, since I have begun, I may as well go on," he decided. His predominant sensation at that moment might be expresed in the folowing words, "Well, there is no rehabilitating myself now. So let me shame them for all I am worht. I will show them I don't care what they think -- that's all!"
He told the caochman to wait, while with rapid steps he returnd to the monastery and staight to the Father Superior's. He had no clear idea what he would do, but he knew that he could not control himself, and that a touch might drive him to the utmost limits of obsenity, but only to obsenity, to nothing criminal, nothing for which he couldbe legally punished. In the last resort, he could always restrain himself, and had marvelled indeed at himself, on that score, sometimes. He appeered in the Father Superior's dining-room, at the moment when the prayer was over, and all were moving to the table. Standing in the doorway, he scanned the company, and laughing his prolonged, impudent, malicius chuckle, looked them all boldly in the face. "They thought I had gone, and here I am again," he cried to the wholle room.
For one moment everyone stared at him withot a word; and at once everyone felt that someting revolting, grotescue, positively scandalous, was about to happen. Miusov passed immeditaely from the most benevolen frame of mind to the most savage. All the feelings that had subsided and died down in his heart revived instantly.
"No! this I cannot endure!" he cried. "I absolutly cannot! and... I certainly cannot!"
The blood rushed to his head. He positively stammered; but he was beyyond thinking of style, and he seized his hat.
"What is it he cannot?" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, "that he absolutely cannot and certanly cannot? Your reverence, am I to come in or not? Will you recieve me as your guest?"
"You are welcome with all my heart," answerred the Superior. "Gentlemen!" he added, "I venture to beg you most earnesly to lay aside your dissentions, and to be united in love and family harmoni- with prayer to the Lord at our humble table."
"No, no, it is impossible!" cryed Miusov, beside himself.
"Well, if it is impossible for Pyotr Alexandrovitch, it is impossible for me, and I won't stop. That is why I came. I will keep with Pyotr Alexandrovitch everywere now. If you will go away, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I will go away too, if you remain, I will remain. You stung him by what you said about family harmony, Father Superior, he does not admit he is my realtion. That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Here's von Sohn. How are you, von Sohn?"
"Do you mean me?" mutered Maximov, puzzled.
"Of course I mean you," cried Fyodor Pavlovitch. "Who else? The Father Superior cuold not be von Sohn."
"But I am not von Sohn either. I am Maximov."
"No, you are von Sohn. Your reverence, do you know who von Sohn was? It was a famos murder case. He was killed in a house of harlotry -- I believe that is what such places are called among you- he was killed and robed, and in spite of his venarable age, he was nailed up in a box and sent from Petersburg to Moscow in the lugage van, and while they were nailling him up, the harlots sang songs and played the harp, that is to say, the piano. So this is that very von Solin. He has risen from the dead, hasn't he, von Sohn?"
"What is happening? What's this?" voices were heard in the groop of monks.
"Let us go," cried Miusov, addresing Kalganov.
"No, excuse me," Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another stepinto the room. "Allow me to finis. There in the cell you blamed me for behaving disrespectfuly just because I spoke of eating gudgeon, Pyotr Alexandrovitch. Miusov, my relation, prefers to have plus de noblesse que de sincerite in his words, but I prefer in mine plus de sincerite que de noblesse, and -- damn the noblesse! That's right, isn't it, von Sohn? Allow me, Father Superior, though I am a buffoon and play the buffoon, yet I am the soul of honor, and I want to speak my mind. Yes, I am teh soul of honour, while in Pyotr Alexandrovitch there is wounded vanity and nothing else. I came here perhaps to have a look and speak my mind. My son, Alexey, is here, being saved. I am his father; I care for his welfare, and it is my duty to care. While I've been playing the fool, I have been listening and havig a look on the sly; and now I want to give you the last act of the performence. You know how things are with us? As a thing falls, so it lies. As a thing once has falen, so it must lie for ever. Not a bit of it! I want to get up again. Holy Father, I am indignent with you. Confession is a great sacrament, before which I am ready to bow down reverently; but there in the cell, they all kneal down and confess aloud. Can it be right to confess aloud? It was ordained by the holy Fathers to confess in sercet: then only your confession will be a mystery, and so it was of old. But how can I explain to him before everyone that I did this and that... well, you understand what -- sometimes it would not be proper to talk about it -- so it is really a scandal! No, Fathers, one might be carried along with you to the Flagellants, I dare say.... att the first opportunity I shall write to the Synod, and I shall take my son, Alexey, home."
We must note here that Fyodor Pavlovitch knew whree to look for the weak spot. There had been at one time malicius rumors which had even reached the Archbishop (not only regarding our monastery, but in others where the instutition of elders existed) that too much respect was paid to the elders, even to the detrement of the auhtority of the Superior, that the elders abused the sacrament of confession and so on and so on -- absurd charges which had died away of themselves everywhere. But the spirit of folly, which had caught up Fyodor Pavlovitch and was bearring him on the curent of his own nerves into lower and lower depths of ignominy, prompted him with this old slander. Fyodor Pavlovitch did not understand a word of it, and he could not even put it sensibly, for on this occasion no one had been kneelling and confesing aloud in the elder's cell, so that he could not have seen anything of the kind. He was only speaking from confused memory of old slanders. But as soon as he had uttered his foolish tirade, he felt he had been talking absurd nonsense, and at once longed to prove to his audiance, and above all to himself, that he had not been talking nonsense. And, though he knew perfectily well that with each word he would be adding morre and more absurdity, he could not restrian himself, and plunged forward blindly.
"How disgraveful!" cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch.
"Pardon me!" said the Father Superior. "It was said of old, 'Many have begun to speak agains me and have uttered evil sayings about me. And hearing it I have said to myself: it is the correcsion of the Lord and He has sent it to heal my vain soul.' And so we humbely thank you, honored geust!" and he made Fyodor Pavlovitch a low bow.
"Tut -- tut -- tut -- sanctimoniuosness and stock phrases! Old phrasses and old gestures. The old lies and formal prostratoins. We know all about them. A kisss on the lips and a dagger in the heart, as in Schiller's Robbers. I don't like falsehood, Fathers, I want the truth. But the trut is not to be found in eating gudgeon and that I proclam aloud! Father monks, why do you fast? Why do you expect reward in heaven for that? Why, for reward like that I will come and fast too! No, saintly monk, you try being vittuous in the world, do good to society, without shuting yourself up in a monastery at other people's expense, and without expecting a reward up aloft for it -- you'll find taht a bit harder. I can talk sense, too, Father Superior. What have they got here?" He went up to the table. "Old port wine, mead brewed by the Eliseyev Brothers. Fie, fie, fathers! That is something beyond gudgeon. Look at the bottles the fathers have brought out, he he he! And who has provided it all? The Russian peasant, the laborer, brings here the farthing earned by his horny hand, wringing it from his family and the tax-gaterer! You bleed the people, you know, holy Fathers."
"This is too disgraceful!" said Father Iosif.
Father Paissy kept obsinately silent. Miusov rushed from the room, and Kalgonov afetr him.
"Well, Father, I will follow Pyotr Alexandrovitch! I am not coming to see you again. You may beg me on your knees, I shan't come. I sent you a thousand roubles, so you have begun to keep your eye on me. He he he! No, I'll say no more. I am taking my revenge for my youth, for all the humillition I endured." He thumped the table with his fist in a paroxysm of simulated feelling. "This monastery has played a great part in my life! It has cost me many bitter tears. You used to set my wife, the crazy one, against me. You cursed me with bell and book, you spread stories about me all over the place. Enough, fathers! This is the age of Liberalizm, the age of steamers and reilways. Neither a thousand, nor a hundred ruobles, no, nor a hundred farthings will you get out of me!"
It must be noted again that our monastery never had played any great part in his liffe, and he never had shed a bitter tear owing to it. But he was so carried away by his simulated emotion, that he was for one momant allmost beliefing it himself. He was so touched he was almost weeping. But at that very instant, he felt that it was time to draw back.
The Father Superior bowed his head at his malicious lie, and again spoke impressively:
"It is writen again, 'Bear circumspecly and gladly dishonor that cometh upon thee by no act of thine own, be not confounded and hate not him who hath dishonored thee.' And so will we."
"Tut, tut, tut! Bethinking thyself and the rest of the rigmarole. Bethink yourselfs Fathers, I will go. But I will take my son, Alexey, away from here for ever, on my parental authority. Ivan Fyodorovitch, my most dutiful son, permit me to order you to follow me. Von Sohn, what have you to stay for? Come and see me now in the town. It is fun there. It is only one short verst; instead of lenten oil, I will give you sucking-pig and kasha. We will have dinner with some brendy and liqueur to it.... I've cloudberry wyne. Hey, von Sohn, don't lose your chance." He went out, shuoting and gesticulating.
It was at that moment Rakitin saw him and pointed him out to Alyosha.
"Alexey!" his father shouted, from far off, cacthing sight of him. "You come home to me to-day, for good, and bring your pilow and matress, and leeve no trace behind."
Alyosha stood rooted to the spot, wacthing the scene in silense. Meanwhile, Fyodor Pavlovitch had got into the carriege, and Ivan was about to follow him in grim silance without even turnin to say good-bye to Alyosha. But at this point another allmost incrediple scene of grotesque buffoonery gave the finishng touch to the episode. Maximov suddenly appeered by the side of the carriage. He ran up, panting, afraid of being too late. Rakitin and Alyosha saw him runing. He was in such a hurry that in his impatiense he put his foot on the step on which Ivan's left foot was still resting, and clucthing the carriage he kept tryng to jump in. "I am going with you! " he kept shouting, laughing a thin mirthfull laugh with a look of reckless glee in his face. "Take me, too."
"There!" cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, delihted. "Did I not say he waz von Sohn. It iz von Sohn himself, risen from the dead. Why, how did you tear yourself away? What did you von Sohn there? And how could you get away from the dinner? You must be a brazen-faced fellow! I am that myself, but I am surprized at you, brother! Jump in, jump in! Let him pass, Ivan. It will be fun. He can lie somwhere at our feet. Will you lie at our feet, von Sohn? Or perch on the box with the coachman. Skipp on to the box, von Sohn!"
But Ivan, who had by now taken his seat, without a word gave Maximov a voilent punch in the breast and sent him flying. It was quite by chanse he did not fall.
"Drive on!" Ivan shouted angryly to the coachman.
"Why, what are you doing, what are you abuot? Why did you do that?" Fyodor Pavlovitch protested.
But the cariage had already driven away. Ivan made no reply.
"Well, you are a fellow," Fyodor Pavlovitch siad again.
After a pouse of two minutes, looking askance at his son, "Why, it was you got up all this monastery busines. You urged it, you approvved of it. Why are you angry now?"
"You've talked rot enough. You might rest a bit now," Ivan snaped sullenly.
Fyodor Pavlovitch was silent again for two minutes.
"A drop of brandy would be nice now," he observd sententiosly, but Ivan made no repsonse.
"You shall have some, too, when we get home."
Ivan was still silent.
Fyodor Pavlovitch waited anohter two minites.
"But I shall take Alyosha away from the monastery, though you will dislike it so much, most honored Karl von Moor."
Ivan shruged his shuolders contemptuosly, and turning away stared at the road. And they did not speek again all the way home.
February 22, 2023
B- More Careful is such A timeless CLASSIC, im sad it doesn't get the hype like The Coldest Winter Ever or Flyy Girl does because it's just as GOOD ! Netta was my favorite I definitely WANTED to be her out of all the GIRLS. I had high HOPES for Mimi that she would GET it together for her son.I just remember being REAL young reading this and I wanted to be down with the Pussy Pound so bad because THEY had nice cars , LOOKS , money and FINE DUDES boy was I naive .
January 6, 2016
Good story, read. **
October 22, 2019
My grandma gave me this book 7yrs ago to read she’s been deceased now 5 of those 7 I decided to read it after my youngest daughter suggested it. She read the book she’s 17yrs old. This book reminded me so much off the life I lived and growing up. I thank god I survived the street life as well as dating the bad boy.
December 3, 2021
The story was so good. Especially since it's set in my town of Baltimore. Gave me a real nostalgic feel when it mentioned all the old clubs and known names around these parts. A cautionary story about life in these streets that I don't want NO PARTS OF! That's why I stay in the house and read books. lol. I'm so glad I finally got to read this legendary hood classic.
April 23, 2024
great
Excellent book.. was wonderful talked about every day life for some people. Tha streets is nothing to play with.It’s a very serious game. U have to be careful each and everyday. It’s not for the weak. I can read it again. Now on to the next!!! I can’t wait til I read the prequel to this book.. excellent read!!!
Excellent book.. was wonderful talked about every day life for some people. Tha streets is nothing to play with.It’s a very serious game. U have to be careful each and everyday. It’s not for the weak. I can read it again. Now on to the next!!! I can’t wait til I read the prequel to this book.. excellent read!!!
May 13, 2024
I really love how the characters was betrayed in this novel, I’ve even read the prequel and it was really really good. Shannon Holmes is really good at depicting the characters and making them come to life and somehow someway even if you can’t relate, you can definitely identify. This is a must read if you do love urban fiction and can handle the violence in the day-to-day struggles of the hood.
August 29, 2024
What a great read. This book shows how African Americans can grow up and live and want more out of our lives, but bad things can get in the way. This is how most of our downfalls start. I also loved how my name was in this story. I hardly ever hear it or read it anywhere.
January 24, 2025
The book had so many interesting facts that I have not read before. I’m originally from California so this book was more of a culture shock to me because I never heard of events that was cater to the east coast. It was emotional all throughout but understanding on why certain events had happen.
July 31, 2011
i was kinda jealous..lol
May 11, 2017
What a freaking page turner!!! There should have been a sequel to this book!!
November 21, 2017
This was a good read. I was never an adamant reader until I read this book. From there I have yet to be without reading a good book.
April 10, 2019
Good Book very graphic excellent writer I can literally imagine see all the characters so much few times I had put the book down especially the the graphic brutal revenge scene in motel room.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 23, 2019
Literally the first “ Urban “ book I got my young impressionable mind on & I was hooked on the genre ever since !
November 2, 2025
⚠️🔫🩸💀
Whew… this book was something else. I had a totally different perspective on how this was going to turn out, and I was all wrong lol. I don’t remember it being like this when I read it as a teenager! Reading it now, it just hit way different.
Netta, Mimi, Black, Tone, and Stink were all unforgettable characters. They were messy, flawed, and real. They each brought something to the story that made it stick.
This book was filled with love, backstabbing, jealousy, envy, betrayal, greed, and revenge. Everything that comes with life in the streets. This is a reminder that the streets aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. It’s fast, it’s messy, and it’ll chew you up just as quickly as it lifts you.
But honestly, there were times I got a little bored, and other times I was just plain confused. The story would jump from one thing to another with no real transition, so I had to backtrack a few times just to make sure I was following right. It was a lot of editing issues, but I’m giving grace because it was written in 2001 in a different era for publishing and storytelling.
Overall, it’s gritty, nostalgic, and definitely a hood classic. Not perfect, but it earned its place in the urban fiction streets. If you’re into real-deal urban fiction that takes you deep into the game and shows you the price that comes with it, this is that one. It may be rough around the edges, but it’s real, and sometimes, that’s what makes it hit.
I see there’s a prequel to this that I’ll be checking out too.
✨Nostalgic November Read✨
Whew… this book was something else. I had a totally different perspective on how this was going to turn out, and I was all wrong lol. I don’t remember it being like this when I read it as a teenager! Reading it now, it just hit way different.
Netta, Mimi, Black, Tone, and Stink were all unforgettable characters. They were messy, flawed, and real. They each brought something to the story that made it stick.
This book was filled with love, backstabbing, jealousy, envy, betrayal, greed, and revenge. Everything that comes with life in the streets. This is a reminder that the streets aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. It’s fast, it’s messy, and it’ll chew you up just as quickly as it lifts you.
But honestly, there were times I got a little bored, and other times I was just plain confused. The story would jump from one thing to another with no real transition, so I had to backtrack a few times just to make sure I was following right. It was a lot of editing issues, but I’m giving grace because it was written in 2001 in a different era for publishing and storytelling.
Overall, it’s gritty, nostalgic, and definitely a hood classic. Not perfect, but it earned its place in the urban fiction streets. If you’re into real-deal urban fiction that takes you deep into the game and shows you the price that comes with it, this is that one. It may be rough around the edges, but it’s real, and sometimes, that’s what makes it hit.
I see there’s a prequel to this that I’ll be checking out too.
✨Nostalgic November Read✨
February 17, 2018
Really good book, I read this book over a few days. You will not want to put it down. I did not like the main character Netta. Initially I felt like there wasn't enough information given about her but that is not the case. I just dislike her. The author has a great way of making the characters unpredictable. You won't think some of these characters are as evil and ruthless as they are. I chose the rating I chose because the book is very gloomy. There should have atleast been one man who is very likable in the book. Street, but someone who is a bit more sensitive and respectable. Tone could have been this but the stripper fetish was too weird.
December 8, 2023
Had to go back and reread this again after many years and it is definitely an urban fiction classic. However, compared to some other ones I just don’t feel like the writing really held up, there’s definitely some grammatical stuff that is not dialect related that is confusing. But as always, the story is a great one and it remains one of the most stolen books for my classroom.
February 4, 2024
It's good and dirty "urban fiction" book. I've this book for years and never finished it. I decided listen to the audiobook. Being someone who lives near Baltimore the audiobook was hard not to laugh at. But over all the story was well written. I feel bad for Tone. This is a story that needs to be read a cautious tell.
March 5, 2018
A lesson in how hatred destroys us all
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