Like my marrow could carry a bruise.

I couldn’t decide if this was a book that I needed to digest a little before I tried to review it. Ultimately, I decided to write about it immediately after finishing it, while it still clung to me. This is definitely a book that clings to you. It’s not an easy book to read and it shouldn’t be.

The bulk of the story is a somber road trip that takes place over a few days, trapped inside a hot car in the American south. When Michael is released from prison, Leonie is determined to be the one to bring him home.  Addicted to both drugs and her love for Michael, Leonie brings along their 13 year old son, Jojo, who longs to be back at home with the grandparents  who have raised him; their 3 year old daughter, Kayla,  who is sick with fever and clinging to her brother like he is a life raft; and Leonie’s friend and co-worker, Misty, who is visiting her boyfriend at the prison.

The language that Ward uses is almost musical. There has been a lot of criticism about the wording being too sophisticated for the characters that employ it. I found that even though the vocabulary was often elevated, the more lyrical prose was saved for the characters’ thoughts and not for their dialogue, which lent weight to the things that they were carrying; to the trauma that they had experienced and couldn’t articulate.

Many Cannonballers have read and reviewed Sing, Unburied, Sing, and  it’s not hard to find something to discuss here. It’s about family dynamics. It’s about growing up too fast and not growing up fast enough. It’s about racism and poverty. It’s about holding on and letting go.  It’s about impossible choices, being brave enough to make them, and living with the stains that they leave behind.