DAUGHTER

A potent mix of familial strife and racial injustice in Brooklyn, by Essence editor, poet, and memoirist bandele (The Prisoner’s Wife, 1999).

Aya’s story begins things: how the 19-year-old is reshaping her life after a year in juvenile detention (a heavy penalty in a case where she was arguably the victim.) The beautiful girl is a straight-A student in college and keeps an early curfew to appease her mother Miriam, a tight-lipped woman who has showered Aya with rules instead of love. When Aya is shot by a white policeman on her evening jog—her hooded sweatshirt similar to a robbery suspect’s—Miriam is left at her daughter’s bedside wondering whether she was all the mother she could have been. Miriam’s own mother, suffering five miscarriages before the birth of her daughter, considered Miriam a miracle and protected her like a relic: Miriam’s life was a warning of what not to do, who not to talk to, how not to think. When Miriam is 16, she meets Bird, a janitor at her high school, newly back from Vietnam. With Bird, Miriam begins to think and feel for herself, and the two begin a secret and chaste love affair. When Miriam’s parents discover the relationship, she must move in with Bird and the loving grandmother he supports. The two build dreams for the future—despite Bird’s Vietnam nightmares and the police harassment he endures, simply for being black in America. bandele’s agenda, via Bird—the inequities of the black soldier, the long history of racial profiling, living with injustice and the effects of that on Miriam and those around her—finds a balanced voice in the short and angry life of Bird Jefferson. While Miriam is pregnant with Aya, Bird is “accidentally” shot by the police, and Miriam switches to emotional autopilot for the next 19 years, until the shooting of her own daughter.

Though the end dips into the maudlin, first-novelist bandele delivers an eloquent message about the tragedy of dreams—and life—deferred.