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Billie James' inheritance isn't much: a little money and a shack in the Mississippi Delta. The house once belonged to her father, a renowned black poet who died unexpectedly when Billie was four years old. Though Billie was there when the accident happened, she has no memory of that day—and she hasn't been back to the South since.
Thirty years later, Billie returns but her father's home is unnervingly secluded: her only neighbors are the McGees, the family whose history has been entangled with hers since the days of slavery. As Billie encounters the locals, she hears a strange rumor: that she herself went missing on the day her father died. As the mystery intensifies, she finds out that this forgotten piece of her past could put her in danger.
Inventive, gritty, and openhearted, The Gone Dead is an astonishing debut novel about race, justice, and memory that lays bare the long-concealed wounds of a family and a country.
286 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 25, 2019
Billie gets out and tours the parking lot. Each tenant has distinguished their room by the way that they cover the long window beside their front door. Some are sealed tight with tin foil, others with a printed sheet, but her uncle's window on the second floor is bare. A few people are sitting outside of their doors on plastic chairs. Nothing moves except for a can or cigarette. The light from passing cars gives their faces the sheen of old masters paintings. Hendrick ter Brugghen's Melancholia. The contemplation and the shadows. Nothing is happening but a wanting something to happen.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. But I do wish I knew more of what happened. What he was doing out there, what I was doing."
He looks at her. "You don't remember nothing?"
She shrugs. "I was asleep, I guess."
He bends forward, rubbing his temples. "Well, baby, you in the right place 'cause nobody round here remembers anything either."
“You're definitely not gonna be living here full-time, right? You don’t want to be hanging around with folks still mad they lost the Civil War.”
Billie almost spits out her whiskey. “Oh my God.”
“Girl, I’m serious...It's like this: white people have invented their fears about us and tried their damn best to make them true, but our fears about white people have always been real. White people have always had conspiracy theories about black people, because you can't trust the people you're trying to hold down."
"Billie, you don't want to get with the great-great-grandson of the man who raped your great-great-grandmother.
He will of course be told that he is not from around here. It happens multiple times whenever he visits. Embedded in this phrase is not so much a reference to his accent or his (cosmopolitan) wit, but to his unexpected lack of deference. The way in which his posture does not ask if his body is allowed to take up its space. Or sometimes, in more casual interactions, they'll say You don't see color. The utter irony of this has always struck him, as he told his partner last night on the phone. On a certain level it seems like the only way they can explain him is to imagine he is safe from being reminded at any moment of the weight of his color—little peltings he calls them—like being hit with rotten eggs when he didn't even know he was onstage. Even now, even now in his early fifties, these small displays of hostility have the ability to take him by surprise. He still finds himself asking if it is really happening. Did that flight attendant really ignore him? Did that white woman really clutch her purse and cross the street? Did that cabbie really stop and take one look at him then drive away?
come to my blog!!Dnf in the middle of p. 28, after trying 3 different times to get through this book. It's bloody awful. Literally from the 1st words I was rearranging these so-called sentences & paragraphs so they might make some type of sense. There's also random extraneous info. thrown in all over the place, & a complete lack of style. To further muddy the waters, the pronoun usage is sloppy & undelineated to the point of having no clear reference to one character or another. For example, reading an entire paragraph wherein there is no way to know when the, "he," or, "him," in the character's thought process is referring to himself, or to yet another character that this character is musing over, becomes confusing, tedious work really quickly. Finally, I'll say that it was all telling & no showing. As such, there weren't really characters, but rather placeholders for some ideas of characters.
The back cover tells me author teaches at a collegiate level in Memphis, TN. That fact irritates me to no end, b/c this level of writing is unacceptable for any published work, but for a teacher I should think it to be embarrassing. I finally tossed this aside, kind of angry at the waste of time I spent trying to read it, when it's clear no one bothered to invest any time in making it worthwhile to read.
I'll also say, that the book jumps between the viewpoints of different characters. Some people don't have any trouble with that kind of thing, but some of us do have problems reading things presented in that manner, so I thought I'd mention it.