What The Fireflies Knew

What The Fireflies Knew

Adult fiction
"This book was born from a desire to show Black girlhood at its
best, at its worst, at its most dull and most exciting..."
Growing up, Kai Harris, author of What The Fireflies Knew,
thought a lot about the "perfect" family. Her life was a lot
different from those she read about in books. She saw the fault as
being in her people. Eventually she realized that it was in what she
was reading. Her coming-of-age narrative is a six year labor of love.
"I was the one who found Daddy dead, crammed in the little space where
my old bike's training wheels turned rusted.."
If that first sentence doesn't grab your attention, I don't know
what will. KB (Kenyatta Bernice) is only ten when she makes this soul
wrenching discovery. Her father has died of the drugs he was addicted
to. His debts leave the family, KB and her mother and older sister,
Nia, living in a motel...
...until one KB's mother drops her girls off with her father in
a rural home KB has never seen before. Her mom says she doesn't know
when she'll be returning. Her last words to her daughters before she
drives away are "One day you'll look back and thank me for this time."
Those words make no sense to KB who feels entirely bereft.
She's lost her father. Her mother has morphed into a stranger with a
pasted on smile who has just abandoned her children. Her grandfather
seems like a total grouch. She and Nia, who used to be friends, can
barely speak to one another. And everyone she's kin to seems to be
harboring secrets
And then there's the white children--a brother and sister--who
live across the street. They're the only friend prospects in the
neighborhood. But their play is always overshadowed by the need for
secrecy. Their mother is determined to keep her children away from
Black kids.
In an unforgettable summer KB slowly and painfully gains a
clearer understanding of self and others and learns one of the most
poignant lessons of growing up: even the people we count on the most
to be perfect are flawed human beings.
Harris' unique and evocative voice vividly brings to life a
setting unfamiliar to many readers. You can feel the heat, hear the
country sounds, feel the giddy delight of finally catching a firefly.
Although Harris' narrative celebrates the resiliance of Black
girls and women, it will also resonate with the legions of us of other
races who, as children, suffered in shame and silence the leading of
lives that didn't live up to those portrayed in books and television
series. And it can easily be for more than just solo reading. This
poignant and powerful volume has book club written all over it.
It also shows that life is much more complex than divided into
good and bad parts. Like roses with thorns, the best experiences can
carry at least tinges of sadness. And the darkest of times can be
penetrated by light.
On a personal note, although my parents fought and my father was
volatile and unpredictable, I pinpoint the moment in my family when
things really started to go downhill as when Harriet came home the
hospital, seriously brain damaged from spinal meningitis. Dad said we
should just make her a ward of the state. Although they stayed
together for the sake of the children and to avoid the stigma of
divorce, that was when the marriage died. It was like he shot Mom
through the heart with words. She became determined to do whatever it
would take for Harriet to have a normal life while keeping it a secret
that we weren't as blandly "normal" as the clan portrayed in Leave It
To Beaver. As the undamaged child I was assumed to be not in need of
much beyond food, shelter, clothes, health care, and education. When
I was twelve it was decided that when Mom died I'd take on Harriet's
custody. Since then I've made friends who also had to grow up too
fast, often because of parental addiction.
I had just written the introduction and a couple of chapters of my
memoir when I read What the Fireflies Knew. It made me really
determined to finish the manuscript and locate a publisher.
A great big shout out goes out to all the kids who grow up burdened by
the shame of difference and often secrecy.
Jules Hathaway



Sent from my iPod