My name is Mrs. Henry McAllan, but most people call me Laura. For a long time, 31 years, it was Miss. Chappell, and I was okay with that. I earned a college degree in English and began teaching, letting my students pull me through life, never once becoming low for the children I would never have. I was quite comfortable in my old maid(ness).
Henry is handsome, quiet, and college educated. My brother Teddy brought him to dinner because they got along so well at work. At 41 years, Henry was working for the Corps of Engineers building bridges, levees, and airports in the outlying area of Memphis. Well, from the looks I gathered at dinner, he was ready to build a fence around me. How little did I know.
We married, settled down in our own house in Memphis, and I had two little girls. Things again were comfortable until December 25, 1945. On arrival to the annual Christmas dinner at the home of Henry’s sister, Eboline, in Greenville, Mississippi, we were affronted by Pappy, my cantankerous father-in-law who informed us, “Eboline’s husband’s gone and ruint Christmas, killing himself on the eve of Jesus’ birth.”
After weeks of settling Eboline’s affairs, Henry returned home in a new truck. Before I could quiz him, he shocked me with a passionate kiss. This is not my Henry, something was foul. He then blurted out, “I’ve bought a farm!”
The plan was simple. Live in a rental house close to Eboline in Greenville, and Henry would commute to the farm 40 miles away. Pappy would be moving in with us, since Eboline’s move to a smaller house, and I would put up with his criticism of me and the girls.
The rental house was a two-story Victorian with wrap-around porch and azaleas in front. As we climbed the steps, we noticed a light on. While Henry worked the key, a man opened the door from inside, and he wasn’t happy. See, the house was sold to him the previous week which made us trespassers.
Out of 300 dollars and forced to live in one of the sharecropper's houses on the farm, I’m not happy. Matter-of-fact, I’m constantly angry. Dang dirt is in our clothes, laying atop all the furniture, and giving us all tans. Even my tow-colored sweet babies have brown hair. When Henry suggests we call the place “Fair Fields” my mumbled answer becomes family legend. “More like Mudbound.”
Mudbound by Hillary Jordan is one of the best southern novels I have read in years. Better than The Secret Life of Bees, she has successfully written a racial tale akin to Flannery O’Connor and Erskine Caldwell. The perfect book for discussion, too.
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Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Mudbound (copy)
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12 comments:
WOW! That is pretty high praise, indeed. I've seen this a couple times and been intrigued, but I absolutely must get this one now. Thanks for this, Maggie.
It is fab Lisa! I didn't get into the turmoil of the book. Two returning WWII vets, Jamie and Ronsel, become friends when they can only relate their war experiences with each other. Jamie is white and the younger brother (by 19 years) of Henry, and Ronsel (black) is the son of Hap Jackson the share tenant on the McAllan's property.
I gave a review of the book at a ladies reading club Tuesday and they were all talking about the characters and sharecropping without reading the book, so I know it will make the perfect book discussion book!
Sounds like a keeper Maggie !! :-)
I'm writing it down! Thank you. :)
Buy it and put it on the good shelf, Paul and Joy! ;D
I already had this on my list after a good friend give this book high praise. I'm on the waiting list at two different libraries and should be getting it within the next few weeks. I'm really looking forward to this.
Ew, I'm thrilled for you SuziQ! I palmed our copy off yesterday, too. I can't wait to hear her comments and your's too! Enjoy!
Suzi ~ THAT'S where I saw it before! I knew it looked familiar, but could NOT place it. I have to go back and see where I wrote it on my TBR list. I'm so glad that there 2 high praised reviews!
I like your review! Definitely has me curious about this one. Thanks!
Diane, this is a whopper of a good book!
Oh, that sounds good. I'll have to look for Mudbound when I'm in a Southern reading mood, thanks. :)
Do Bookfool! I value your opinion, and she doesn't say one word about the heat and humidity. Maybe you can read it for the Southern Reading Challenge this year?!? ;D
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