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A review by somanybookstoread
The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
If I read it again, I’m sure I’d give it 4 stars. There are some passages I’ll preserve here so I don’t lose them when I hand this book off to its next home. I appreciated the sense of place, in an area with which I have some familiarity. I appreciated the tension about race and what it meant for Blacks, Jews, and Whites to coexist in 1930s Pottstown, Pennsylvania. Where this book didn’t wow me was in the character development. There were a lot of characters, and they weren’t developed well-enough for me to really appreciate them fully (with one or two exceptions). I suspect that if I read this book again, already familiar with the plot and the characters, I would get a lot more out of it. If I had to write a paper on this book, that’s what I would do. But I don’t and there are too many books waiting for me to read them.
Those passages I want to take with me:
“…The Negroes of Chicken Hill loved Chona. They saw her not as a neighbor but as an artery to freedom, for the recollection of Chona's telltale limp as she and her childhood friend, a tall, gorgeous, silent soul named Bernice Davis, walked down the pitted mud roads of the Hill to school each morning was stamped in their collective memory. It was proof of the American possibility of equality: we all can get along no matter what, look at those two. Chona, for her part, saw them not as Negroes but as neighbors with infinitely interesting lives…” (p. 31)
“…His cakes were catastrophes. They looked like finger paintings done by a six-year-old, with dripping icing and ragged edges.” (P. 65)
“…I didn’t know there were so many Spanish people around here," he murmured. Mario smiled. "To you, they're Spanish. To me, they’re Puerto Rican, Dominican, Panamanian, Cuban, Ecuadorian, Mexican, African Afro-Cubano. A lot of different things. A lot of different sounds mixed together. That's America, mijo. You got to know your people, Moske.” (P. 162)
“…When he emerged from prison and met Addie, who dipped her hand into the pool of injury and hurt that was his heart and drained it of every evil and refilled it with love and purpose, he became sure of it. She cleansed him. And he'd lose it all now. He didn't want to lose it, but he knew it was gone.” (P. 354)
Those passages I want to take with me:
“…The Negroes of Chicken Hill loved Chona. They saw her not as a neighbor but as an artery to freedom, for the recollection of Chona's telltale limp as she and her childhood friend, a tall, gorgeous, silent soul named Bernice Davis, walked down the pitted mud roads of the Hill to school each morning was stamped in their collective memory. It was proof of the American possibility of equality: we all can get along no matter what, look at those two. Chona, for her part, saw them not as Negroes but as neighbors with infinitely interesting lives…” (p. 31)
“…His cakes were catastrophes. They looked like finger paintings done by a six-year-old, with dripping icing and ragged edges.” (P. 65)
“…I didn’t know there were so many Spanish people around here," he murmured. Mario smiled. "To you, they're Spanish. To me, they’re Puerto Rican, Dominican, Panamanian, Cuban, Ecuadorian, Mexican, African Afro-Cubano. A lot of different things. A lot of different sounds mixed together. That's America, mijo. You got to know your people, Moske.” (P. 162)
“…When he emerged from prison and met Addie, who dipped her hand into the pool of injury and hurt that was his heart and drained it of every evil and refilled it with love and purpose, he became sure of it. She cleansed him. And he'd lose it all now. He didn't want to lose it, but he knew it was gone.” (P. 354)