Review: ‘Descendant’ pays powerful witness to the legacy of the slave ship the Clotilda
“I am not a writer; I write, not truth, not history; I write fiction from which the truth must fall.” -Ernest Hemingway, “A Farewell to Arms”
Saturday, June 30, 2015
I love this book. I read it on a train. I read it in one sitting. I read it when I was in high school. I’ve read it at least three times. On the train. In a restaurant. When I was sick. When I was reading my first books. When I was a kid. When I was a teenager. When I was writing my dissertation. When I was studying my dissertation. When I was reading my second book. When I was a student. When I was a student. When I was working in an office. When I was reading books. When I was learning to drive. When I was learning to walk. When I was learning to speak. When I was trying to learn to walk. When I was living in New York City. When I was living in New York City. When I was still in high school. When I was still in high school. When I was a college student. When I was a college student. When I was finishing my first book. When I was finishing my first book. Now. Now that I’ve read this book and I know what you mean, “the train. The restaurant. The room. The bookshelf.”
I was at the Barnes & Noble recently. I bought it to read the second time through. I wanted to savor the book. I wanted to savor the characters. I wanted to savor the language. I wanted to savor the prose. I want it. I want it. I want it. I must have it. I must have it. I must have it. I will have it. I will have it. I will have it. I will have it. “When I was a kid. When I was a student. When I was a student. When I was a student. When