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A review by porgyreads
Nightcrawling by Leila Mottley
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
5.0
Harrowing and still with glimpses of hope, night crawling handles abuse and violence against black women especially by law enforcement with the starkness of reality and still with helpings of care.
“He got the tattoo when I turned seventeen and it was the first day I ever thought he might just love me more than anything, more than his own skin. But now, three months from my eighteenth birthday, when I look at my quivering fingerprint on the edge of his jaw, I feel naked, known. If Marcus ended up bloodied in the street, it wouldn’t take much to identify him by the traces of me on his body.”
That quote was enough to hook and ruin me. Leila motley’s writing is full of clarity. Kiara’s voice is distinct and poetic, celebratory in its dedication to origin and identity.
To say I loved this book feels untrue not because I didn’t love it but because the experience of it was like holding your breath under water. Slowly having the air gets trapped with no where to go, but the peace of being surrounded by the quiet as you open your eyes confuses and intrigues you. And when, finally, eventually, you have to come up for air the book concludes - two broken, lonely children breach the surface swimming in a pool of shit with you.
“He got the tattoo when I turned seventeen and it was the first day I ever thought he might just love me more than anything, more than his own skin. But now, three months from my eighteenth birthday, when I look at my quivering fingerprint on the edge of his jaw, I feel naked, known. If Marcus ended up bloodied in the street, it wouldn’t take much to identify him by the traces of me on his body.”
That quote was enough to hook and ruin me. Leila motley’s writing is full of clarity. Kiara’s voice is distinct and poetic, celebratory in its dedication to origin and identity.
To say I loved this book feels untrue not because I didn’t love it but because the experience of it was like holding your breath under water. Slowly having the air gets trapped with no where to go, but the peace of being surrounded by the quiet as you open your eyes confuses and intrigues you. And when, finally, eventually, you have to come up for air the book concludes - two broken, lonely children breach the surface swimming in a pool of shit with you.