KALAYLA

A 12-year-old girl, her mom, and their elderly landlady support each other through family separation, violence, and much kvetching banter in this warmhearted family saga.

Nicholas’ novel unfolds at the turn of the 21st century and centers around Maureen LeeRoyce, a 30-ish widow who waitresses and cleans houses to support her daughter Kalayla—Cambridge, Massachusetts’ most obstreperous 12-year-old. Almost as cantankerous is their septuagenarian neighbor and landlady Lena Barzetti, who lends Kalayla a helping hand and unwanted advice. Both have spectacularly fractured families. Maureen was disowned by her Irish Catholic mother for marrying Kalayla’s father Jamal, a Black man and a Protestant to boot; when Kalayla learns about the rejection (Maureen had told her that the maternal side of the family all died in an explosion before she was born), she has an emotional meltdown that Lena trudges in to repair. Lena’s own fraught past includes savage beatings at the hands of her now-deceased husband, the disappearance of one of her sons, and the deaths of two others in combat in the Vietnam War. Balm for the ladies’ wounded souls appears in the persons of Matthew Eccli II (called Mattwo), Lena’s high school flame, and his son, Rico, a 30-something hunk who’s next in line to run the family karate dojo and starts paying welcome attention to Maureen. Kalayla meets her cousin Kieran, which initiates a drift toward reconciliation between Maureen and her parents, and Maureen resumes her ambition to be an artist (with Lena’s help). But even as things seem to be looking up for Maureen and Kalayla, they must confront the increasingly menacing presence of Jamal’s mentally unstable brother Clarence, who becomes obsessed with Maureen.

Nicholas’ yarn is an engrossing look at families that unravel and must be painfully knitted back together and the knotted, traumatic histories that give rise to unforgivable sins that must somehow be forgiven. The author crafts sharply etched, vibrant, prickly characters who resonate despite their differences; Kalayla and Lena, in particular, are two tough cookies (as fiercely protective of loved ones as they are annoyingly critical of them) who have their own internal weaknesses that sometimes make them break. Nicholas’ portrait of Kalayla is brilliant—she’s a pitch-perfect smart, sullen tween, full of prickly attitude and rigid, juvenile moralizing dragged kicking and screaming toward adult complexity—all rendered in an adolescent’s crudely vigorous language. (“I hated that I felt sorry for him, hated that I couldn’t tell him he was a jerk and a butthole and a rotten uncle and a disgusting brother. I hated that I couldn’t hate him the way I wanted to.”) Lena displays a singular voice in her own right as she helps Kalayla figure it all out in her acerbic, exasperated dudgeon (“You don’t understand your mama at all! She does stupid things just like you, me, and everybody else! You’re the one who put her on the Perfect Mama Pedestal. She never belonged there. Nobody does”). The result is an entertaining saga about the wisdom that grudgingly passes from old to young.

A raucous, poignant exploration of the blood ties that bind…and chafe.