Cannonball Read 18

Sticking It to Cancer One Book at a Time

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“I know now that what’s tragic isn’t the moment. It is the memory.”

Another Brooklyn: A Novel by Jacqueline Woodson

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Cbr16bingo Disco, bingo  (1970s New York, marginalized communities) In the author’s notes at the end of this novel, Woodson writes that her inspiration came from her thoughts on “what it means to grow up a girl in this country,” particularly in 1970s Brooklyn. Those familiar with Woodson’s novels — read Brown Girl Dreaming and Red at the Bone, both excellent — know that she has an incredible talent for writing about the experiences of Black girls in specific points in US history such as the […]

This Must Be the Place

Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson

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Another Brooklyn is not a very long book, and I read it in a single sitting. Even as I was reading it I was looking forward to the next time I get to read it. It’s the story of August, who moves to Brooklyn in the 70s with her father and brother after her mother dies. She meets and befriends three other girls: Gigi, Sylvia, and Angela. The book starts with August’s return to Brooklyn as an adult when her father dies, where she runs […]

Another *shrug* of a story

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So I discovered Jacqueline Woodson thanks to this lovely little corner of the internet, and Bonnie specifically. That’s right, I still remember who first told me to go read Brown Girl Dreaming. Because anytime people want an amazing story these days it’s one of my first recommendations. It’s billed as young adult and is poetry to boot, but damn if it isn’t one of the best that I’ve read in the past few years. So when I saw Ms. Woodson had a new book out, […]

A Melody to Our Madness

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If we had jazz, would we have survived differently? If we had known our story was a blues story with a refrain running through it, would we have lifted our heads, said to each other, This is memory again and again until the living made sense? Where would we be now if we had known there was a melody to our madness (1-2)? If a novel and a poem had a child, it would be this book—brief, beautiful, and biting–both sad and celebratory.  I read […]



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