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A review by donnaeve
Yellow Crocus by Laila Ibrahim
4.0
I'm not sure I've ever read a book about a white child, her black wet nurse, how that relationship might have developed, and what they might have meant to each other. In this story, the child, Elizabeth, or "Lisbeth," as Mattie, her wet nurse called her, was born into a well to do family. Given the time frame - early 1800s to mid 1800s, Elizabeth's family were slave holders. The rich white women of this time didn't nurse their babies. This "unseemly" act was managed by a wet nurse, a slave that was lactating because she'd had a baby of her own. These women were expected to leave their families to tend to the infants of mistresses of the plantations. Like surrogate mothers, if you will.
What heartbreak this must have caused. While reading, I often referred back to the picture on the cover. I focused on the woman's face, tried to read her eyes, and maybe because her mouth is hidden behind the baby's head, I can't tell what she's thinking, but boy, wouldn't I love to know? This one photo had such an impact on me; probably as much as the overall story itself.
Today, we know the importance of bonding with a baby. It comes through a mother's breast feeding or bottle feeding, where children are cuddled, held close, eye contact is strong, as is their grip on fingers. They are talked to, even though the words make no sense. It comes to reason many a white child would have become attached to the person who did these things, and very likely provided that much needed emotional support, nurturing them in ways their biological white mothers didn't.
And therein lies the bones of this story.
Lisbeth was a loving child. She became very attached to Mattie, and as time went on, and she came of age, she began to focus on many differences between her life, and the lives of all the slaves on the plantation.
I appreciated the way Ibrahim took what could have become overly melodramatic moments (can we grab some smelling salts, y'all?) and instead infused her characters with very believable emotions, such as feelings of injustice, confusion, and hopelessness that might come between a child and the slave forced into caring for her. The compassion between these two characters was infinite, the concerns boundless, and yet, there was a reality scraped up from the bottom of their hearts, and tossed out like the seeds of the yellow crocuses scattered throughout the narrative. This reality was that while their lives intersected, they would forever remain apart for all of the reasons we can imagine, and more, given the time.
The story progressed fast, covered a lot of time, and takes the reader from the beginning moments of Mattie being brought up to the "big house," just after Elizabeth is born to Elizabeth's adulthood where there is a true reckoning between all involved.
The ending was satisfying and felt true to the overall progression of the story. It was the right ending, believable, and without sentimentality.
What heartbreak this must have caused. While reading, I often referred back to the picture on the cover. I focused on the woman's face, tried to read her eyes, and maybe because her mouth is hidden behind the baby's head, I can't tell what she's thinking, but boy, wouldn't I love to know? This one photo had such an impact on me; probably as much as the overall story itself.
Today, we know the importance of bonding with a baby. It comes through a mother's breast feeding or bottle feeding, where children are cuddled, held close, eye contact is strong, as is their grip on fingers. They are talked to, even though the words make no sense. It comes to reason many a white child would have become attached to the person who did these things, and very likely provided that much needed emotional support, nurturing them in ways their biological white mothers didn't.
And therein lies the bones of this story.
Lisbeth was a loving child. She became very attached to Mattie, and as time went on, and she came of age, she began to focus on many differences between her life, and the lives of all the slaves on the plantation.
I appreciated the way Ibrahim took what could have become overly melodramatic moments (can we grab some smelling salts, y'all?) and instead infused her characters with very believable emotions, such as feelings of injustice, confusion, and hopelessness that might come between a child and the slave forced into caring for her. The compassion between these two characters was infinite, the concerns boundless, and yet, there was a reality scraped up from the bottom of their hearts, and tossed out like the seeds of the yellow crocuses scattered throughout the narrative. This reality was that while their lives intersected, they would forever remain apart for all of the reasons we can imagine, and more, given the time.
The story progressed fast, covered a lot of time, and takes the reader from the beginning moments of Mattie being brought up to the "big house," just after Elizabeth is born to Elizabeth's adulthood where there is a true reckoning between all involved.
The ending was satisfying and felt true to the overall progression of the story. It was the right ending, believable, and without sentimentality.