Friday, March 20, 2020

Silver Sparrow Blog Tour

I am happy to participate in the blog tour helping Oneworld Publications celebrate the UK release of Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones. If you loved Jones' An American Marriage and would like to explore her backlist titles Silver Sparrow is a great place to start. Read the excerpt below and go grab yourself a copy. Good literature is a wonderful way to help get through all of the craziness we are experiencing in the world right now!

Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones is published by  Oneworld


When did I first discover that although I was an only child, my father was not my father and mine alone? I really can’t say. It’s something that I’ve known for as long as I’ve known that I had a father. I can only say for sure when I learned that this type of double-duty daddy wasn’t ordinary.
I was about five years old, in kindergarten, when the art teacher, Miss Russell, asked us to draw pictures of our fami- lies. While all the other children scribbled with their cray- ons or soft-leaded pencils, I used a blue-ink pen and drew James, Chaurisse, and Laverne. In the background was Raleigh, my father’s best friend, the only person we knew from his other life. I drew him with the crayon labeled “Flesh” be- cause he is really light-skinned. This was years and years ago, but I still remember. I hung a necklace around the wife’s neck. I gave the girl a big smile, stuffed with square teeth. Near the left margin, I drew my mother and me standing by ourselves. With a marker, I blacked in Mother’s long hair and curving lashes. On my own face, I drew only a pair of wide eyes. Above, a friendly sun winked at all six of us.
The art teacher approached me from behind. “Now, who are these people you’ve drawn so beautifully?”
Charmed, I smiled up at her. “My family. My daddy has two wifes and two girls.”
Cocking her head, she said, “I see.”
I didn’t think much more about it. I was still enjoying the memory of the way she pronounced beautifully. To this day, when I hear anyone say that word, I feel loved. At the end of the month, I brought all of my drawings home in a cardboard folder. James opened up his wallet, which he kept plump with two-dollar bills to reward me for my schoolwork. I saved the portrait, my masterpiece, for last, being as it was so beautifully drawn and everything.
My father picked the page up from the table and held it close to his face like he was looking for a coded message. Mother stood behind me, crossed her arms over my chest, and bent to place a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s okay,” she said.
“Did you tell your teacher who was in the picture?” James said.
I nodded slowly, the whole time thinking that I probably should lie, although I wasn’t quite sure why.
“James,” Mother said, “let’s not make a molehill into a moun- tain. She’s just a child.”
“Gwen,” he said, “this is important. Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to take her out behind the woodshed.” Then he chuckled, but my mother didn’t laugh.
“All she did was draw a picture. Kids draw pictures.”
“Go on in the kitchen, Gwen,” James said. “Let me talk to my daughter.”
My mother said, “Why can’t I stay in here? She’s my daugh- ter, too.”
“You are with her all the time. You tell me I don’t spend enough time talking to her. So now let me talk.”
Mother hesitated and then released me. “She’s just a little kid, James. She doesn’t even know the ins and outs yet.”
“Trust me,” James said.
She left the room, but I don’t know that she trusted him not to say something that would leave me wounded and broken- winged for life. I could see it in her face. When she was upset 
she moved her jaw around invisible gum. At night, I could hear her in her room, grinding her teeth in her sleep. The sound was like gravel under car wheels.
“Dana, come here.” James was wearing a navy chauffeur’s uniform. His hat must have been in the car, but I could see the ridged mark across his forehead where the hatband usually rested. “Come closer,” he said.
I hesitated, looking to the space in the doorway where
Mother had disappeared.
“Dana,” he said, “you’re not afraid of me, are you? You’re not scared of your own father, are you?”
His voice sounded mournful, but I took it as a dare. “No, sir,” I said, taking a bold step forward.
“Don’t call me sir, Dana. I’m not your boss. When you say that, it makes me feel like an overseer.”
I shrugged. Mother told me that I should always call him sir. With a sudden motion, he reached out for me and lifted me up on his lap. He spoke to me with both of our faces looking outward, so I couldn’t see his expression.
“Dana, I can’t have you making drawings like the one you made for your art class. I can’t have you doing things like that. What goes on in this house between your mother and me is grown people’s business. I love you. You are my baby girl, and I love you, and I love your mama. But what we do in this house has to be a secret, okay?”
“I didn’t even draw this house.”
James sighed and bounced me on his lap a little bit. “What happens in my life, in my world, doesn’t have anything to do with you. You can’t tell your teacher that your daddy has 
another wife. You can’t tell your teacher that my name is James Witherspoon. Atlanta ain’t nothing but a country town, and everyone knows everybody.”
“Your other wife and your other girl is a secret?” I asked him.
He put me down from his lap, so we could look each other in the face. “No. You’ve got it the wrong way around. Dana, you are the one that’s a secret.”
Then he patted me on the head and tugged one of my braids. With a wink he pulled out his billfold and separated three two- dollar bills from the stack. He handed them over to me and I clamped them in my palm.
“Aren’t you going to put them in your pocket?” “Yes, sir.”
And for once, he didn’t tell me not to call him that.

1 comment:

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