Customer Reviews

Bones Become Flowers

5 star:		(8)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

This book should remind all black people that we have a tradition of story telling and that we are also a magical people. Like the main character, Tracy, in this book, I think we are the most unhappy when we forget our own magic and history. Like all of Jess Mowry's books this one deals with people and kids who seem to be forgotten by the world. Their lives are often hard and violent, and like the street kids (the ri-timoun) of Haiti, they must sometimes do degrading things to survive. I have always been interested in Voodoo (Voodu) but many times I have found that reading a good fictional story about a subject can give you a lot of good information and also a new perspective. I like the way Jess writes by using the point of view of his characters and not putting in his own opinions as the narrator. I can imagine a story like this being told around a camp fire at night. This book also awakened in me the knowledge that there are black people who sail ships and even own them. I agree with Jess Mowry's own statements that there should be more black adventure stories. He is surely a man who can write them. Even if you don't believe in Voodoo I think you will like this book.

I am in complete agreement with Herb Boyd of The Black World Today. Jess Mowry has a captivating, lyrical and cinematic style of writing in which each scene is set, described, and then superbly performed for the reader's delight. I could not only see and hear, but I could smell, taste and feel as well. This story will take its reader on a journey as vast as through Dante's Inferno: you will be shocked, terrified, awed, saddened, amazed, disillusioned, and stripped of all your earthly beliefs to be left as naked and helpless as a newborn child. Yet this is the only way we can truly begin to live our lives as God intended. His greatest gift to us is our children, and our greatest sin is that we do not appreciate this gift. Mowry also reminds us that we each will have our own barefoot walk through the Dark Place of bones, and that this walk will be made alone. We will all be judged by the worth of our souls, not by our earthly wealth, successes and material things, and the soul of a ragged street-child may be more precious to God than our own.

Near the beginning of this enchanting novel, Tracy, the protagonist, is having a conversation with Father Avery about recent films and books which could be shown to the children at the school. "Have you seen The Color Purple?," she asks. "I have," the priest said, "but the content is too violent for viewing by our children." Tracy thinks for a moment and decides that other films would not pass muster either, including one called Way Past Cool," which is the title of Mowry's previous book. In part, it is a kind of inside joke, a personal conceit that the author dangles to tease his followers, and that number will certainly be expanded after they finish this exciting tale that unravels in Haiti. Mowry's novel is practically cinematic; he knows how to set up a scene, complete with awesome foliage and characters, and then how to photograph it, as though he was behind a camera filming this voodoo-laced tale that bounces from the island nation to the enclaves of Oakland, California. In Mowry's lively creativity it's hard to separate the mundane from the exotic, nor should one care to. Herb Boyd - National Editor of The Black World Today

I have read all of Jess Mowry's books and most of his short stories. This is by far his most beautiful book with vivid scenes and wonderful people and unforgettable children. It is also very visionary and it makes me wonder if we had listened to people such as Jess Mowry ten years ago, people who warned us, tragedies such as Littleton, CO might not have happened. Bones Become Flowers offers hope for the future but only for those who will heed its warnings and believe.

There are too few novels written about Haiti and Haitians as well as too few adventure stories written about black people. This book is the best of both. It is clear that Jess Mowry knows and understands the children of the shantytown as well as the poor childen of United States inner cities.

This is a fascinating and very multi-leveled book. On one level it's a gripping adventure story, and one that will keep you turning the pages all night... preferrably by the light of a flickering candle. Male readers should not be put-off by the fact that the protagonist is a woman. There is plenty here for the "male" in all of us, including many complex male characters both young and adult. I think this book will speak to all, no matter their age or sex. Yes there is "sex" here too, some of it beautiful, some of it deeply disturbing. There is colour and life as well as the darkness of death and decay. Bones do indeed become flowers, just as children, forgotten and degraded may always bloom into beauty if only given the chance. "Remy" is unforgettable, a 15-year-old "Voodu-boy" who grew up in a graveyard. An artistic genius and yet so arrogant and "bad" that one almost hates him. And yet so beautiful and innocent. And there is Evan who is captain of the ship of "wild boys". There is Marcel, a dreamy mulatto poet who represents Haiti's intellectual would-be reformers, and who is helpless to change anything. And Father Avery to whom the children sell their souls in exchange for refuge. On another level this book is a plea for humanity in this world, a world where "one society is fanatically obsessed with being overweight" while allowing children to starve in another. There are many subtleties in this book, refferences to things which perhaps only Haitians will understand. This is not "The" book of present-day Haiti, but it is a fine novel and an excellent story, unique unto itself. You will want to read more about this nation after finishing this tale.

This is the kind of book where the author takes the reader on a journey to Haiti along with the American woman, Tracy, who has in mind to give aid to children in an orphanage. But Tracy is cautious, and sees strange things on the island, at the time inexplicable to her. She keeps her own counsel and begins to allow herself an awareness of the mythic culture surrounding her. She hears of wild boys upon a ship, eventually meets these boys, and becomes fascinated with their lives. All is wrapped in rich jungle fauna, the steaming earth, and Vodoo. Tracy opens herself to unfamiliar concepts and eventually decides upon a course that will change her whole life in unforseen ways. The images are so vivid and rich, I felt myself there on the journey and ever curious for what would come next. The only thing that bothered me was the author's description of Tracy's thoughts, as they seemed not quite on target, as a man writing a woman. This was a minor flaw overall, considering the lush content and fullness of the prose.

I can certainly understand why a few women, as well as (possibly) a few men, might not like the protagonist, Tracy, in this wonderful novel of Voodu, adventure and love. After all, she is brave, resourceful, intelligent, well-read and traveled, speaks several languages, and is quite open-minded. And not so very frightened of spiders and things with "too many legs". Of course these qualities are completely unbelievable for a woman to possess, especially when combined with logic and reasoning, and therefore the entire book should be dismissed as "a waste of money". However, my only regrets in buying this book are that it isn't available in hardcover or in French.

Where would one least likely choose to visit in the entire Caribbean? Haiti? And what would you think of an author who so glamorized the isle as to entice you to visit it, driving nothing but a clunky Subaru, carrying nothing but a satchel? Herein lies the magic of Jess Mowry's prose. This is likely his best writing to date, excepting none, all full of steamy near misses and ambi-gendered trysts, while at the same time, extolling good old Republican virtue. I might even be prepared to tramp about the Voodu island alone as a white man, especially since reading Bones Become Flowers.
Is it possible that a boy from Oakland California's gang/drug sub-culture could write with such foresight and motif in mind? If so, he's a bona fide genius. Count on this novel to change your pre-conceived notions about impoverished Haiti - as well as all unheralded minority writers. Middle-class America- incognito as an affluent black woman - descends upon the heathen island, bent upon finding salvation. This story could not have been told any other way. Is there congruence between western ideology and superstition? Salvation is ecumenical, and Haiti is the most unique place in the western hemisphere to find it.

Being someone who devours anything written regarding Haiti, I was excited to read "Bones Become Flowers", but was soon skipping entire passages as the author became mired in description that did nothing to further the story. Also there are times when an author can believably write from the other gender's perspective and get it right, unfortunately this was not the case here. It was pretty obvious that the author was a male, not in tune with what a 30+ female thinks, feels, admires etc.

The most disappointing thing was the ending. In all honesty, "Bones Become Flowers" was a waste of money.