Kelvin Christopher James
In the slave yard, it sets a standard. Desperate folks demonstrating who is hardier, or more foolish.
Written in a young girl’s unschooled voice, Push (Knopf) is a harrowing story of a brutalized child’s journey to redemption and relevance. It’s a searing indictment. A sensational read.
His is scrupulous work, light on nostalgia, yet chording the heartstrings with cosmopolite insight. His mellifluous Trinidadian twang slyly softening a New Yorker’s hard-nosed sagacity, Mervyn’s poetry is an edgy pleasure.
As lately pattern had developed, Ciam awoke with the dawn, and went out for his morning jaunt.
From the daring at first to the job done without discovery, the raid on Dosaro’s was risky, though well worth the spoils.
Another drop of sweat boiled off the curls of Gerrad’s armpit and, tickling slightly, coursed down his side.
With the first crowing of the old rooster that slept high in the thorny limetree in his backyard, Striker! opened his eyes.