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A review by gabsalott13
The Women of Brewster Place by Gloria Naylor
4.0
I was interested in picking this up after I saw three of Gloria Naylor’s books listed on Tressie McMillan Cottom’s must-read list. I remember reading and enjoying Bailey’s Cafe a few years back, but I just learned that the cafe was in the same universe as Brewster Place this week.
After putting two and two together and easily finding Naylor’s work in the WCPL system, I was able to spend the better part of last night and this morning/afternoon getting reacquainted with the various residents of Brewster Place. I think this book is a great one to help you out of a slump, because each chapter functions as an interconnected short story—it’s branded as “a novel in seven stories.” This is great for those of us who enjoy the short story format, and also for people who don’t like switching around/want to commit to a more singular narrative.
Naylor weaves these stories together to create the broader narrative of Brewster Place, a small community that is walled-off from the rest of a Chicago-esque city. She begins the story of this community by accounting for the shifting neighborhood context over the years—the corrupt backroom deals that lead to the homes being erected, the public and private exploitation of the tenants living in these homes, racial and ethnic turnovers, and so on. She settles in on a mid-1970s (my best guess) period when Brewster Place is a Black neighborhood, and then zooms into the stories of that neighborhood’s “colored daughters as they milled like determined spirits among its decay, trying to make it a home.” I am a sucker for a story where the prelude could’ve been an entire novel on its own, and that is certainly the case here—she’s so clever with using a turn of phrase to indicate the passage of time. Instead of just showing Basil growing up in the first chapter, she sets a chronology based on the events taking place as his legs grow past each rung of the kitchen table. She builds these clever personifications throughout the story, giving us a clue of how much the place and moment are living, breathing characters.
This is by no means to suggest that Naylor doesn’t also take deep care with her human characters! Kiswana is our first introduction to Linden Hills (which I’ll be reading next), and I shared her concern about the Faustian bargains of the Black middle class, while cringing at how her judgmental idealism couldn’t cohere with the reality of many characters’ lives. One example of this would be her role in Cora Lee’s story, which I found to end on a bootstrapping moralism that conflicted with Naylor’s broader message, which certainly isn’t to blame people for their own oppression. I saw both sides of the lesbian couple’s central argument about where and in whom they could find home. In this way, “The Two” reminded me of “Snowfall”, my favorite story in Deesha Philyaw’s undefeated collection. While one partner desires to be accepted in the Brewster Place community no matter the cost, the other is content with romantic partners and chosen family who don’t ask her to hide her sexuality, even if they make for a much smaller circle that is less tied to a specific geography.
Towards the middle of their story, as well as in other chapters, I appreciated Naylor’s interrogation of what, exactly, makes a relationship “a soft place to land.” Throughout this novel, we see many intimate pairings of Black women—platonic, romantic, and a bit of both, as Etta and Mattie note. This is directly juxtaposed with dynamics when people don’t feel that they can speak up to their partners, children, employers, or neighbors for fear of manipulation, abuse, and even just rejection. This last part is key, because Naylor shows that you can be an unsupportive partner without necessarily being abusive, but the former can still make your loved ones unsafe and vulnerable while they are in your home, and once they reenter the world beyond it. She shows us the ways people on Brewster Place succeed and fail to be a source of comfort to their communities and families, I’ll be thinking about these scenarios for a long time.
I didn’t entirely know what to make of the end, but as we’ve discussed before, I generally don’t have the range for less traditional fiction. I’m planning to watch the miniseries soon, and hopefully that’ll shed some light on my questions about what happens to Ben and the wall. Even with my confusio, I’d definitely recommend this “novel in seven stories”, and am excited to continue my exploration of Naylor’s work in the coming weeks.
Meme Corner:
Meme 1: if “waking up in the morning, thinking about so many things” were a painting. This is the piece of artwork I want in my next bathroom, and matches the vibe for each of these stories.
Meme 2 is live footage of Basil (failing!) to console his mother for all the broken promises, promises. Probably Eugene running back to Ciel after he can’t even bother to show up to the funeral, too.
Meme 3: Me when Kiswana implies that “you too can have an educated family!” if Cora Lee would just brush her children’s hair and take them to Shakespeare in the Park.
TW down a few more lines
.
.
.
.
.
Brutal rape with implications of "corrective sex" and somewhat connected revenge murder
After putting two and two together and easily finding Naylor’s work in the WCPL system, I was able to spend the better part of last night and this morning/afternoon getting reacquainted with the various residents of Brewster Place. I think this book is a great one to help you out of a slump, because each chapter functions as an interconnected short story—it’s branded as “a novel in seven stories.” This is great for those of us who enjoy the short story format, and also for people who don’t like switching around/want to commit to a more singular narrative.
Naylor weaves these stories together to create the broader narrative of Brewster Place, a small community that is walled-off from the rest of a Chicago-esque city. She begins the story of this community by accounting for the shifting neighborhood context over the years—the corrupt backroom deals that lead to the homes being erected, the public and private exploitation of the tenants living in these homes, racial and ethnic turnovers, and so on. She settles in on a mid-1970s (my best guess) period when Brewster Place is a Black neighborhood, and then zooms into the stories of that neighborhood’s “colored daughters as they milled like determined spirits among its decay, trying to make it a home.” I am a sucker for a story where the prelude could’ve been an entire novel on its own, and that is certainly the case here—she’s so clever with using a turn of phrase to indicate the passage of time. Instead of just showing Basil growing up in the first chapter, she sets a chronology based on the events taking place as his legs grow past each rung of the kitchen table. She builds these clever personifications throughout the story, giving us a clue of how much the place and moment are living, breathing characters.
This is by no means to suggest that Naylor doesn’t also take deep care with her human characters! Kiswana is our first introduction to Linden Hills (which I’ll be reading next), and I shared her concern about the Faustian bargains of the Black middle class, while cringing at how her judgmental idealism couldn’t cohere with the reality of many characters’ lives. One example of this would be her role in Cora Lee’s story, which I found to end on a bootstrapping moralism that conflicted with Naylor’s broader message, which certainly isn’t to blame people for their own oppression. I saw both sides of the lesbian couple’s central argument about where and in whom they could find home. In this way, “The Two” reminded me of “Snowfall”, my favorite story in Deesha Philyaw’s undefeated collection. While one partner desires to be accepted in the Brewster Place community no matter the cost, the other is content with romantic partners and chosen family who don’t ask her to hide her sexuality, even if they make for a much smaller circle that is less tied to a specific geography.
Towards the middle of their story, as well as in other chapters, I appreciated Naylor’s interrogation of what, exactly, makes a relationship “a soft place to land.” Throughout this novel, we see many intimate pairings of Black women—platonic, romantic, and a bit of both, as Etta and Mattie note. This is directly juxtaposed with dynamics when people don’t feel that they can speak up to their partners, children, employers, or neighbors for fear of manipulation, abuse, and even just rejection. This last part is key, because Naylor shows that you can be an unsupportive partner without necessarily being abusive, but the former can still make your loved ones unsafe and vulnerable while they are in your home, and once they reenter the world beyond it. She shows us the ways people on Brewster Place succeed and fail to be a source of comfort to their communities and families, I’ll be thinking about these scenarios for a long time.
I didn’t entirely know what to make of the end, but as we’ve discussed before, I generally don’t have the range for less traditional fiction. I’m planning to watch the miniseries soon, and hopefully that’ll shed some light on my questions about what happens to Ben and the wall. Even with my confusio, I’d definitely recommend this “novel in seven stories”, and am excited to continue my exploration of Naylor’s work in the coming weeks.
Meme Corner:
Meme 1: if “waking up in the morning, thinking about so many things” were a painting. This is the piece of artwork I want in my next bathroom, and matches the vibe for each of these stories.
Meme 2 is live footage of Basil (failing!) to console his mother for all the broken promises, promises. Probably Eugene running back to Ciel after he can’t even bother to show up to the funeral, too.
Meme 3: Me when Kiswana implies that “you too can have an educated family!” if Cora Lee would just brush her children’s hair and take them to Shakespeare in the Park.
TW down a few more lines
.
.
.
.
.
Brutal rape with implications of "corrective sex" and somewhat connected revenge murder