Monday, February 10, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt eight)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

“We never button the bottom button on the vest,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He took the tie, put it around his own neck, put a knot in it and then slipped it over my head.



Sunday, February 9, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt seven)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

“It’s a horrible world. White people try to tell us that everything will be just fine when we go to heaven. My question is, Will they be there? If so, I might make other arrangements.” Easter laughed.

I laughed with him.



Saturday, February 8, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt six)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

“Kin you tell me the fastest way to the Mississippi?”

“The Mississippi River,” the man said. “The Big Muddy, the Big River, Ol’ Man River, Old Blue. What you goin’ do with a river, son? It’s wet and big and deep. That’s where I lost my wife and my money on a riverboat called the Chester. The Mississippi River. Who wants the river?”

“I do,” Huck said.

“The Gathering of Waters. The Mississippi. Who wants to know?”

“I do, mister.”



Friday, February 7, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt five)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

I helped him shove off. I could see that the business with the warring families had troubled him. Killing is hard to see up close. Especially for a child. To tell the truth, I hadn’t seen much killing myself, except that I lived with it daily, the threat, the promise of it. Seeing one lynching was to see ten. Seeing ten was to see a hundred, with that signature posture of death, the angle of the head, the crossing of the feet.



Thursday, February 6, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt four)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

Young George had an instrument in his lap. A carved wood neck attached to a gourd with some strings. “Is that a banjo?” I asked.

“I made it,” Young George said. “But I dare not play it here. Ain’t nobody around, but sound travels, you know? Especially music. People can hear music miles away and then they try to find it.”

“Especially music,” Old George agreed.

“Especially music,” Josiah repeated.



Wednesday, February 5, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt three)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

Huck started laughing. He pointed at me and laughed harder.

“You mean you was pullin’ on my leg?” I said. He was enjoying himself and that was all right with me. It always made life easier when white folks could laugh at a poor slave now and again.

“I had you goin’,” Huck said.

I acted like he’d hurt my feelings. White people love feeling guilty.



Tuesday, February 4, 2025

the last book I ever read (James: A Novel by Percival Everett, excerpt two)

from James: A Novel by Percival Everett:

My prediction was not only true, but turned out to be grossly understated. The rain was torrential, biblical. Our beach fairly disappeared. I managed to pull in our trotline, else it would have been lost for good. That a flood was coming was a foregone conclusion. The only question was how high. The river rose and rose, covering much of Jackson Island. Sheet lightning lit up the sky seconds at a time. Huck fretted that a twister might be coming, but I told him the winds were blowing in a rotation counter to such an event. What I said was “Dat wind be twistin’ optsite of a tornada.” It was nonsense, but it quieted the boy’s fear. Then he pointed.

I looked. A house was floating down the channel toward us. It was a frightening sight. It was late afternoon, dark with no sun, and so it was difficult to see, but it was as big as what it was. It hung up against some trees and Huck and I had the same idea. Provisions. We dragged Huck’s canoe from the cave to the water and paddled to the house. It was hard work. We tied the boat to a tree and climbed in through a smashed window. We waded through water inside the wrecked house, with clothes floating everywhere. It had settled at a severe angle so it was a bit of a climb to the kitchen cabinets. Huck opened one and squealed, ironically, like a pig, as he found a rasher of bacon. I turned and saw a boot between the stove and the wall, then it became clear the boot was at the end of a leg.

“What is it?” Huck asked.

“Take the bacon and get back in the canoe,” I said.