The Freemans are wealthy, but Black, and live in a predominantly white neighborhood. Henry is of an entirely different social sphere. Discuss the roles of class and race in the narrative.
(Be prepared, I’m going to ramble a bit.)
One of the beautiful things about Wilkerson’s approach to this topic is how she is repeatedly addressing race but in different, nuanced ways. Because this isn’t an issue that just packs itself away so Ebby and her family don’t have to deal with it anymore. As aware as I am of so many racial issues and our unthinkable, violent history, I personally have not had to deal with it as part of my self and identity. This reality that no matter how much you succeed, how hard you work, how intelligent you are, you will never be equal or truly safe is not my daily reality.
Wilkerson exposing me to this whole world, this perspective that everything is extra work and that you have to fight every moment to even be a part of history was eye opening in a different way for me. I would catch myself in moments that would reflect my own biases despite my awareness and attempts to be equal and fair in this world. It was the individual moments that Wilkerson created that made me think deeper, over and over again.
All of that to say, watching the roles of white affluent families versus Black affluent families just shows that money doesn’t change deeply rooted racism. It perhaps dulls certain aspects but it amplifies others. Whether Ebby’s family was wealthy or not, their history would be skewed, neglected and left out. They would always have to fight to be a part of the narrative.
The Freeman’s willingness to share their story and Old Mo with the world was such a lovely way to invite people to weave their present lives into the history of theirs. It was a hopeful step in giving voice to a very real and very vital history. A truer history than what class and race roles have dictated up to this point. I can only hope that as we hear these stories and experience these narratives in our real lives that we can react as positively and respectfully as told in this book.
I also liked the nuanced (and repeated) ways that Wilkerson approached the topic of race. This is one of those books that I could hand to a customer asking for a book that introduces the concept of unconscious bias/latent racism to their parent or family member who hasn't yet started their own anti-racism work. I like that the story is about wealthy elites because their struggles are wildly different that the rest of us hanging out in the middle-class/working class/edge of poverty existence. And I think that actually makes the narrative regarding race MORE relatable--because sometimes, when a narrative is too close to your actual real world experience, unconscious bias kicks up and it's harder to hear/see what is actually unfolding in the narrative.
The story is told from multiple points of view across multiple timelines. Did you enjoy how the narrative was structured? What did it add to the story? Whose point of view did you most enjoy reading? Whose could you have done without? What was the impact of the historical sections?
I am discovering, thanks to this book club, how much I L-O-V-E multiple POVs. And how I appreciate the artistry and mastery of writing them. Like, what a lovely transition to open the chapters in third person with an opening statement before we dive into the POV.
I am typically not a historical fiction fan either (I feel you Kendra!). But this is important history. Vital history. History being threatened currently. To write it in such a gorgeous and engrossing way is helpful in pulling in diverse audiences. I felt the contrast between the family members across time gave such a rich portrait. I would not edit any of them. I could argue that Avery and Henry POVs were not necessary... but in fairness their misconceptions and then heir learnings are likely more compelling coming from their POVs. I just felt a stronger connection to Ebby and her family members.
The way the family comes together in the end is a beautiful story of the unique experiences of dealing with and healing within grief and trauma. To reach a point where the extreme act of generosity that is loaning Old Mo to a museum is possible was powerful. To me, I feel it demonstrates how America's history of racism and slavery is not something to burry or hide or avoid. Acknowledging it and learning from it makes me want to do better, be better. It is why now more than ever I want to amplify and listen to voices that graciously share their knowledge and experiences.
Merick, I am jealous you saw the exhibit at the High Museum. I sadly missed its run.
I could gush on and on about this book. I am already recommending it to anyone who lovingly entertains my book rants. Already picked up a copy of Black Cake.
In closing. I agree with Merick, Sinners is a must-see movie. There is a scene that I will likely be thinking about all year long... IYKYK.
I love multiple POV, too. But my brain really struggles to keep the characters and their narratives straight---especially when we are jumping across time, too. I just need to make a character flow chart next time. But I agree, this was a good book. An easy read with important ideas/concepts about race & history. Incredibly timely. And I'll be putting it in the hands of lots of customers this year.
The story is told from multiple points of view across multiple timelines. Did you enjoy how the narrative was structured? What did it add to the story? Whose point of view did you most enjoy reading? Whose could you have done without? What was the impact of the historical sections?
I chose this line of questioning because it covers both the things I enjoyed most about this book and the things that made me the most frustrated. I'm a sucker for stories that move all around in time (helpful to know that I nearly wished myself into a Tralfamadorian view of time as a tween). But it can be a difficult feat to pull off, and for me, I was far more interested and compelled by the historical sections than Ebby and co's modern day story.
I'll acknowledge that some of that comes down to interest -- I was lucky enough to see the Hear Me Now: The Black Potters of Old Edgefield, South Carolina exhibit when it was at the High Museum of Art last year. It was incredible and moving, and I really sunk into Moses and his mother's stories, and those of Willis and his family. On the otherhand... I can't say I'm particularly invested in the lives of wealthy New England elites, no matter the nuance that came with Ebby and her family's race and history.
But the other factor that kept me from feeling immersed in the modern story was that the p.o.v.'s and characterization felt... fuzzier? Too often, the characters came across as flat or the same. From the dialogue and the mannerisms and the internal thought patterns, everyone was so similar. Which frustrated me because there was ample room to further characterize and explore all of these characters!
-------------
Quick sidebar, on the topic of differentiating/characterization. If y'all haven't seen Sinners, Ryan Coogler's newest film yet, you should go! Right now! It's incredible, it touches on Black artistry in the Jim Crow era, and Michael B. Jordan plays twins with an incredible amount of skill. He really pulled off crafting them as separate people without relying on charactures.
-------------
Last thought: I do think it's a shame that we didn't get to see more of Baz in this book. He's awfully absent for a large part of it, despite how vital he is. Perhaps that was purposefully, so the reader could feel his absence as the family did. But just like the stories of Moses and Willis made Ol' Mo come alive, I think some further time spent with Baz would've given a fuller shape to the family's grief. Like Soh said, she also needed stories of her son living.
Merick, I love reading your responses. It reminds me of all the good things about bantering about books in my college classes.
Speaking of college: I really didn't get that history mattered until college. Which is wild, but true. I've always loved books--but we all know that when something is written and by who is important to the story as well. But because they kept history and literature pretty well siloed in high school, I didn't commit to (or care about) history as a discipline much.
I was lucky enough to have a great professor of American Studies/American Lit at FSU who really got me interested in narratives of enslaved folks. Which is to say that I can whole-heartedly embrace a historical narrative. But I need it to simply be historical. The jumping back and forth in time is hard for my brain (although to the best of my recollection, Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi had a lot of time jumps and I adored that book). So maybe it was the easy flowing form of narrative in Good Dirt that lent itself to the modern story? It's hard for me to say. Because the historical details were crucial to the story. But I didn't connect with the historical pieces the way I connected with the modern story of evolving trauma and grief (which also ties into the generational trauma of enslavement).
So, I think we had an inverse experience reading this book. Which is cool and fascinating. I love that books land differently.
Also, I need to check out Sinners. It sounds stellar.
I definitely see your point that Baz was absent while being an essential character to the story. I do feel it was a tactic to heighten the loss, play into the mystery. Thanks to the opening scene I still felt a strong connection to Baz that did ensure I understood the grief and the weight of his absence. The school day photo of Old Mo was a single moment in time that provided a robust portrait of who Baz was to me.
And on your sidebar, have you seen any of the articles/videos on how Coogler made the movie? Fascinating stuff. It made me fall even more in love with the film. Also, as a fashion history fanatic, I think the release so close to Met Monday with this year's exhibit being Superfine: Tailoring Black Style is a beautiful sync.
I felt Baz's presence as well. But I wonder if my personal experience moving around the loss of my best friend's brother impacted my understanding of loss and absence in the narrative.
Oh, it’s so interesting that your pseudo-prompt—“You are only as sick as your secrets”—really stood out to me, because without realizing it at the time, that was probably one of my favorite parts of the story. The freedom of the truth kept rolling out in heartbreaking waves—and every time, I found myself thinking, “Yes! More honesty!” More information—which is my favorite way to arm myself, and very much the way I was rooting for Ebby.
The grief after Baz’s death didn’t just hurt because of the loss—it got heavier and more tangled because a child turned into an adult who’d kept secrets. Grief got stuck. Truths were warped. And all of that shaped the adults we were reading about—not just as people who experienced great trauma, but as people who got stuck in deep grief laced with shame.
Even small lies—things said to protect someone else or keep the peace—just added more weight. Watching that unfold reminded me how easily we can torture ourselves with silence and emotional mud. I grew up pretty emotionally independent—the kind of kid who picked up on adult feelings and tried to make things easier for everyone else. That turned into a grown-up version of “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” I’m great at being the good friend, the good listener, the reliable one. But it took me a long time to get selfish in some really important ways. And saying the hard thing out loud—even when I know it’ll help me feel better—is something I’ve had to learn. And keep learning.
It’s genuinely a theme I’ll always tune into, because I’ve done so much work to see and undo those patterns in myself.
This book felt like both an incredible story—that yes, even tricked me into enjoying historical fiction (!!)—and also a really timely, mid-April reminder that “we” (me and all my inner dialogues) don’t keep the lid on emotions anymore.
Letting the pressure out—speaking what’s true, even if it’s messy—isn’t weakness. It’s survival. It’s growth. It’s the only way the soil gets good again.❤️
The Freemans are wealthy, but Black, and live in a predominantly white neighborhood. Henry is of an entirely different social sphere. Discuss the roles of class and race in the narrative.
(Be prepared, I’m going to ramble a bit.)
One of the beautiful things about Wilkerson’s approach to this topic is how she is repeatedly addressing race but in different, nuanced ways. Because this isn’t an issue that just packs itself away so Ebby and her family don’t have to deal with it anymore. As aware as I am of so many racial issues and our unthinkable, violent history, I personally have not had to deal with it as part of my self and identity. This reality that no matter how much you succeed, how hard you work, how intelligent you are, you will never be equal or truly safe is not my daily reality.
Wilkerson exposing me to this whole world, this perspective that everything is extra work and that you have to fight every moment to even be a part of history was eye opening in a different way for me. I would catch myself in moments that would reflect my own biases despite my awareness and attempts to be equal and fair in this world. It was the individual moments that Wilkerson created that made me think deeper, over and over again.
All of that to say, watching the roles of white affluent families versus Black affluent families just shows that money doesn’t change deeply rooted racism. It perhaps dulls certain aspects but it amplifies others. Whether Ebby’s family was wealthy or not, their history would be skewed, neglected and left out. They would always have to fight to be a part of the narrative.
The Freeman’s willingness to share their story and Old Mo with the world was such a lovely way to invite people to weave their present lives into the history of theirs. It was a hopeful step in giving voice to a very real and very vital history. A truer history than what class and race roles have dictated up to this point. I can only hope that as we hear these stories and experience these narratives in our real lives that we can react as positively and respectfully as told in this book.
I also liked the nuanced (and repeated) ways that Wilkerson approached the topic of race. This is one of those books that I could hand to a customer asking for a book that introduces the concept of unconscious bias/latent racism to their parent or family member who hasn't yet started their own anti-racism work. I like that the story is about wealthy elites because their struggles are wildly different that the rest of us hanging out in the middle-class/working class/edge of poverty existence. And I think that actually makes the narrative regarding race MORE relatable--because sometimes, when a narrative is too close to your actual real world experience, unconscious bias kicks up and it's harder to hear/see what is actually unfolding in the narrative.
The story is told from multiple points of view across multiple timelines. Did you enjoy how the narrative was structured? What did it add to the story? Whose point of view did you most enjoy reading? Whose could you have done without? What was the impact of the historical sections?
I am discovering, thanks to this book club, how much I L-O-V-E multiple POVs. And how I appreciate the artistry and mastery of writing them. Like, what a lovely transition to open the chapters in third person with an opening statement before we dive into the POV.
I am typically not a historical fiction fan either (I feel you Kendra!). But this is important history. Vital history. History being threatened currently. To write it in such a gorgeous and engrossing way is helpful in pulling in diverse audiences. I felt the contrast between the family members across time gave such a rich portrait. I would not edit any of them. I could argue that Avery and Henry POVs were not necessary... but in fairness their misconceptions and then heir learnings are likely more compelling coming from their POVs. I just felt a stronger connection to Ebby and her family members.
The way the family comes together in the end is a beautiful story of the unique experiences of dealing with and healing within grief and trauma. To reach a point where the extreme act of generosity that is loaning Old Mo to a museum is possible was powerful. To me, I feel it demonstrates how America's history of racism and slavery is not something to burry or hide or avoid. Acknowledging it and learning from it makes me want to do better, be better. It is why now more than ever I want to amplify and listen to voices that graciously share their knowledge and experiences.
Merick, I am jealous you saw the exhibit at the High Museum. I sadly missed its run.
I could gush on and on about this book. I am already recommending it to anyone who lovingly entertains my book rants. Already picked up a copy of Black Cake.
In closing. I agree with Merick, Sinners is a must-see movie. There is a scene that I will likely be thinking about all year long... IYKYK.
I love multiple POV, too. But my brain really struggles to keep the characters and their narratives straight---especially when we are jumping across time, too. I just need to make a character flow chart next time. But I agree, this was a good book. An easy read with important ideas/concepts about race & history. Incredibly timely. And I'll be putting it in the hands of lots of customers this year.
Damn, I really need to see this movie!
Glad to hear I’m not the only one who hasn’t managed to see this movie yet! But I can’t wait.
It’s a movie?? 🤣🫠🤗
The story is told from multiple points of view across multiple timelines. Did you enjoy how the narrative was structured? What did it add to the story? Whose point of view did you most enjoy reading? Whose could you have done without? What was the impact of the historical sections?
I chose this line of questioning because it covers both the things I enjoyed most about this book and the things that made me the most frustrated. I'm a sucker for stories that move all around in time (helpful to know that I nearly wished myself into a Tralfamadorian view of time as a tween). But it can be a difficult feat to pull off, and for me, I was far more interested and compelled by the historical sections than Ebby and co's modern day story.
I'll acknowledge that some of that comes down to interest -- I was lucky enough to see the Hear Me Now: The Black Potters of Old Edgefield, South Carolina exhibit when it was at the High Museum of Art last year. It was incredible and moving, and I really sunk into Moses and his mother's stories, and those of Willis and his family. On the otherhand... I can't say I'm particularly invested in the lives of wealthy New England elites, no matter the nuance that came with Ebby and her family's race and history.
But the other factor that kept me from feeling immersed in the modern story was that the p.o.v.'s and characterization felt... fuzzier? Too often, the characters came across as flat or the same. From the dialogue and the mannerisms and the internal thought patterns, everyone was so similar. Which frustrated me because there was ample room to further characterize and explore all of these characters!
-------------
Quick sidebar, on the topic of differentiating/characterization. If y'all haven't seen Sinners, Ryan Coogler's newest film yet, you should go! Right now! It's incredible, it touches on Black artistry in the Jim Crow era, and Michael B. Jordan plays twins with an incredible amount of skill. He really pulled off crafting them as separate people without relying on charactures.
-------------
Last thought: I do think it's a shame that we didn't get to see more of Baz in this book. He's awfully absent for a large part of it, despite how vital he is. Perhaps that was purposefully, so the reader could feel his absence as the family did. But just like the stories of Moses and Willis made Ol' Mo come alive, I think some further time spent with Baz would've given a fuller shape to the family's grief. Like Soh said, she also needed stories of her son living.
Merick, I love reading your responses. It reminds me of all the good things about bantering about books in my college classes.
Speaking of college: I really didn't get that history mattered until college. Which is wild, but true. I've always loved books--but we all know that when something is written and by who is important to the story as well. But because they kept history and literature pretty well siloed in high school, I didn't commit to (or care about) history as a discipline much.
I was lucky enough to have a great professor of American Studies/American Lit at FSU who really got me interested in narratives of enslaved folks. Which is to say that I can whole-heartedly embrace a historical narrative. But I need it to simply be historical. The jumping back and forth in time is hard for my brain (although to the best of my recollection, Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi had a lot of time jumps and I adored that book). So maybe it was the easy flowing form of narrative in Good Dirt that lent itself to the modern story? It's hard for me to say. Because the historical details were crucial to the story. But I didn't connect with the historical pieces the way I connected with the modern story of evolving trauma and grief (which also ties into the generational trauma of enslavement).
So, I think we had an inverse experience reading this book. Which is cool and fascinating. I love that books land differently.
Also, I need to check out Sinners. It sounds stellar.
I definitely see your point that Baz was absent while being an essential character to the story. I do feel it was a tactic to heighten the loss, play into the mystery. Thanks to the opening scene I still felt a strong connection to Baz that did ensure I understood the grief and the weight of his absence. The school day photo of Old Mo was a single moment in time that provided a robust portrait of who Baz was to me.
And on your sidebar, have you seen any of the articles/videos on how Coogler made the movie? Fascinating stuff. It made me fall even more in love with the film. Also, as a fashion history fanatic, I think the release so close to Met Monday with this year's exhibit being Superfine: Tailoring Black Style is a beautiful sync.
I felt Baz's presence as well. But I wonder if my personal experience moving around the loss of my best friend's brother impacted my understanding of loss and absence in the narrative.
Oh, it’s so interesting that your pseudo-prompt—“You are only as sick as your secrets”—really stood out to me, because without realizing it at the time, that was probably one of my favorite parts of the story. The freedom of the truth kept rolling out in heartbreaking waves—and every time, I found myself thinking, “Yes! More honesty!” More information—which is my favorite way to arm myself, and very much the way I was rooting for Ebby.
The grief after Baz’s death didn’t just hurt because of the loss—it got heavier and more tangled because a child turned into an adult who’d kept secrets. Grief got stuck. Truths were warped. And all of that shaped the adults we were reading about—not just as people who experienced great trauma, but as people who got stuck in deep grief laced with shame.
Even small lies—things said to protect someone else or keep the peace—just added more weight. Watching that unfold reminded me how easily we can torture ourselves with silence and emotional mud. I grew up pretty emotionally independent—the kind of kid who picked up on adult feelings and tried to make things easier for everyone else. That turned into a grown-up version of “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” I’m great at being the good friend, the good listener, the reliable one. But it took me a long time to get selfish in some really important ways. And saying the hard thing out loud—even when I know it’ll help me feel better—is something I’ve had to learn. And keep learning.
It’s genuinely a theme I’ll always tune into, because I’ve done so much work to see and undo those patterns in myself.
This book felt like both an incredible story—that yes, even tricked me into enjoying historical fiction (!!)—and also a really timely, mid-April reminder that “we” (me and all my inner dialogues) don’t keep the lid on emotions anymore.
Letting the pressure out—speaking what’s true, even if it’s messy—isn’t weakness. It’s survival. It’s growth. It’s the only way the soil gets good again.❤️