You’re The Sweetest by LaShonda Katrice Barnett, 2017
The magic trick:
Creating the perfect illusion of fiction: making it feel like the real history of real people
This reminds me very much of Wendell Berry, which is high praise indeed.
It’s set in 1958, telling the story of a burgeoning romance between the son of a funeral parlor director and a would-be model for Gillette razors.
It’s remarkable the way the story manages to recreate this world of 60 years prior. The level of detail makes it all work – from the fashions described to the music referenced; from the racist attitudes and structures fundamental to the characters’ everyday to Green Book-assisted itinerary for the couple’s road trip. It all feels like you’re hearing the real history of real people.
And that’s quite a trick on Barnett’s part.
The selection:
“To the hospital, son—” The trooper looked at the paper in his hand. “You’re to carry Julia Brown to the nearest hospital.” He explained that in these parts only one ambulance was ever available. They often called a hearse as backup to transport accident victims, including those who survived. He left out that whites always rode in the ambulance; the hearse was for coloreds. Harvell said it was his first time getting such a call (he figured he was down on the list; probably they called white funeral homes first. He wondered how much business he had lost out on). He apologized for not having a coffin but assured them that, with his body bag and careful driving, the body would transport fine. He thought better of pressing how excellent his father was in mortuary science. They could do it all at Whipple & Sons Funeral Parlor; he yearned to say so.
The troopers looked at him funny. He didn’t need a casket. The woman wasn’t dead. They had taken the sheet from the ambulance—“as a courtesy”—so the warm May sun wouldn’t make her sick.
Not dead, just colored. “A courtesy” my foot. “How long—” Harvell couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice was tired. It sounded froggy and weak. “Miss Julia Brown,” he began again; his legs had started to move him in her direction. “How long she been in the ditch?” Why hadn’t they let him put her in his vehicle right away? They watched all the business of the white lady and the ambulance, though their services weren’t required, when the three of them could have quickly moved Miss Brown out of the warm May sun, and away from potentially harmful bugs and road animals. Why had they allowed him to just stand there—how long?
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