Mitchell S Jackson's unforgettable auto-biographical literary work of fiction has a prowess that leaves a human stain upon the heart. Jackson writes in the first person as Champ, a.k.a. Shawn Thomas speaking directly to the reader's The other storyteller, his beloved mother Grace, breaks your heart. The prologue lays the groundwork for the wretchedness that overshadow their lives. Grace is visiting Shawn through the glass divide in prison. He admits his shameful solace is witnessing others worse off. "I have no more than the Wed transport to get me through, the tiny comfort of seeing dudes more inconsolable than me." He tells his mom "This is all we have and this must make do...So we reach out, the two of us, you and your eldest young bastard, and hold one another for a time that flouts the limit of allotted contact." We sympathize with Grace, but can we really empathize with what it is to be an addict? Grace tells us "How could you ever really know what us addicts, us experts, are up against in this life." We deeply care for both Shawn & his mother fighting her drug addiction as well as her ex to retain custody of her two younger sons. Grace darts between religious fervor and the omnipotent drive to get high. Both Champ & Grace are wise, vulnerable and their own worst enemies. Champ loathes the church. "Why is a nigger thanking God?" Grace understands you become the wrong choices you've made but is ensnared in bad choices. Still, she counsels Champ to marry the mother of his child "Living against the risk of love is no way to live." Jackson grew up in OR & spent time in prison where his penchant for writing developed. Champ's a brilliant writer & encouraged by his prof. to continue in academia. Champ's erudite vocabulary is chided by his peers "There you go with those SAT words. Man, don't you know the shop got rules against this smart boy vocab? Champ takes on a crusade to save his mom, brothers, girlfriend & their baby. Selling drugs is the only way to get rich if you don't get caught. Champ is aware blacks now land drug-related prison terms 18 times the rate of whites. Grace struggles but can't shake the monkey of drugs off her back though she strives "Just for today, my recovery will be my world. This feels like day one. It feels like the end....it hurts to be alive. Mitchell's writing is painfully flawless. He pays homage to Hansberry's play "A Raisin in the Sun" and the poem "Harlem." Champ clamors "For my family, for all of us, I can't let this dream defer. My dreams are bigger than this place, and you or nor no one else is going to kill them." Jackson's title is found in his astonishingly moving work "Most of us, if we're lucky, we see a few seconds of the high life. And the rest are the residue years." A MUST READ
No comments:
Post a Comment