Review of The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls by Anissa Gray

I found The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls by Anissa Gray while browsing in my local library.  Lost in the stacks, searching for a few gems to devour while on vacation from work, it’s title and colorful, flowery cover caught my eye.   The first line, “You do a lot of thinking in jail,” captured my attention.  As I read on, Gray’s eloquent, poetry-like prose captured my heart.

            The story of a family’s unravelling when a mother and father-Althea and Proctor Cochran, are both sent to jail for fraud, Gray paints a portrait of what sociologists have been telling us for years-that when a person is incarcerated, their family members do the time with them.  This is especially true in this story because the Cochrans’ stole from the local community in the name of charity.  As the saying goes about the sins of fathers, so  the Cochran twins-Kim and Baby Vi, suffer through the brunt of taunting and ostracism from a town angry at their parents’ betrayal.  The twins respond in opposing ways.  Baby Vi, small and quiet, folds into herself and keeps her head down, seemingly trying to disappear.  Kim, large and defiant, lashes out, getting into trouble at school, missing curfew, and just generally making as many waves as possible.  Ironically, Kim is the one who made the phone call to police that started the fraud investigation and the reason that she called is slowly revealed throughout the novel.   Althea’s narrative is told in first person as she navigates life in confinement and confronts uncomfortable truths about herself.  The point of view switches between Althea and her sisters, Lillian and Viola, and the letters that Proctor to sends to Althea.   As the story progresses more is revealed about broken family dynamics and painful family secrets. 

    Anissa Gray is an award winning journalist, having won both Emmy and duPont awards for her work with CNN.  A graduate of Western Michigan University and New York University with a Master's degree in English, she currently lives in Atlanta with her wife.  She can be found at www.anissagray.com.

    As a reader, it is easy to assume that the girls referred to in the title are the twins, Kim and Baby Vi.  While they are obviously in need of care, having essentially been orphaned by the criminal justice system, you come to realize that all of the women in the novel are in need of care and feeding of some kind.  Althea, who was thrust into the role of matriarch when her mother passed when she was only twelve, resents the fact that she has always had to be the strong one.  Her resentment is so strong that it blinds her to how she treats her family, especially Kim.  "It had to be tough love with her, which is what Proctor doesn't understand.  I was tough because life is tough.....But Proctor wanted to be a buddy, a friend, and , obviously, their favorite....I'm the one who always had to do what needed to be done."  It takes a near tragedy for her to finally be able to completely face down the reflection in the mirror and begin to heal.  Viola relapses into a cycle of binging and purging (the book should probably have a trigger warning because of graphic depictions of her bulimia)  while trying to maintain a steadily crumbling facade of having it all together.  Lillian does everything she can to mute the pain of past abuse, and in the process, has muted herself and her voice.  As a black woman, this novel spoke to me on a deeply personal level as I identified with the characters.  While we may not all share the same trials, we share what so many black women do, and that is the struggle to make a place for ourselves and have our voices heard in a world that tries to silence and minimize our existence.  We are all in need of care and feeding of one kind or another, despite the strength that we show the world.  As Althea's mother explained to her, " 'boys and men are earth and stone....but you girls, us women, we're water.  We can wear away earth and stone, if it comes to it.' "  Even the mightiest river can dry up, if not continuously nourished at the source however.  We need care and feeding of our souls, in order to find the inner strength necessary to sustain our source and flow through a harsh world, leaving our marks like water carving out canyons, inch by inch.  

 

My First Teacher

 I stopped posting to this blog at the end of 2016.  You see, 2016 was very 2020ish for me.  Towards the end of that year, I lost several dear friends of mine to various illnesses-sickle cell anemia and leukemia among them.  The biggest, most shattering loss that I suffered that year came four days before Christmas, when my sister and I each held one of our mother's hands and watched her take her last breaths after we removed her from life support.  Three days earlier, she had suffered a massive heart attack which had stopped her heart several times, leaving her with irreparable brain damage.  My mother had suffered from various chronic illnesses since the time that I was five years old.  I was 38 when she died.  I had made it my mission in life to heal her, to find the next great natural remedy that would ease her pain and prolong her life.  But instead, I found myself sitting in front a doctor staring blankly as he told my sister and I that there was basically nothing else that could be done for her.  My mother had emphasized repeatedly that if anything happened to her, she didn't want to be kept alive on machines.  However, it's one thing to hear that from a living, breathing person who has literally been there since birth, and quite another to be faced with the harsh reality of saying, "ok, just give up, let her go".  

But let her go we did.  I think part of my heart stopped beating with hers.  In a dazed stupor, I made a simple post to my Facebook page:  "I just lost my first teacher.  Sleep well Mama, no more pain".  My mother was my first teacher.  She taught me to read before I ever set foot into a classroom, and she instilled the love of reading in me that inspired this blog.  She even bought one of the books that I reviewed after she read about it here, her quiet way of telling me that she liked my writing.  Like many adult women and their mothers, we didn't always have an easy relationship.  At times, I felt like she dismissed my writing as just a trivial pursuit.  So for her to hold that book up and say "remember this?  I read it on your blog"......well, you might as well have handed me a Pulitzer Prize and a MacArthur grant in the same day.  The teacher finally approved of the student.  

So in this year of change, of pandemic, of lockdown, of protest, I think it's time that I come out of hibernation and start writing seriously again.  It's time for the student to begin her assignments again.  It's time for my heart to beat again.