The Magic and Mystery of Jewell Parker Rhodes's 'Ninth Ward'
RSSDaryl Grabarek, Curriculum Connections--School Library Journal
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Jewell Parker Rhodes was raised by her grandmother, "a southern girl," who, states the author, provided her with the perfect entrée "to understanding the complicated, magical, and mystical world of New Orleans." That world is palpable in several of the American Book Award recipient's titles for adults and in her first novel for children, Ninth Ward, published this month by Little, Brown. New Orleans and its ghosts play a role in that book, as do Mama Ya-Ya, Lanesha, and TaShon, characters who find themselves in a parish below the levees as Hurricane Katrina makes its way toward the Louisiana Delta. In this interview Rhodes discusses New Orleans, her influences and characters, and the aspects of the novel that make it, ultimately, "joyful."
You've written other novels that take place in New Orleans and write with such affection for the characters that people the Ninth Ward. Your connection to the South seems to run deep. Can you talk a little about that connection?
My Grandmother Ernestine who raised me was a southern girl, who migrated north seeking a better life for her children. Grandmother never finished elementary school, but she was a terrific storyteller and a gifted healer who also believed in signs. For her, numbers, colors, and dreams all had meaning.
Within the first few paragraphs of Ninth Ward readers know that the relationship Mama Ya-Ya and 12-year-old Lanesha have is special. The details the girl shares about Mama Ya-Ya tell us so much about the woman, the child, and their life together—and your dialogue is pitch-perfect. Do your characters speak to you first, or do you visualize them, then give them voice?
I need to hear my characters' voices before I can write about them.
In 2005, when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, I was transfixed by the news stories and images of the survivors. I kept asking, "What about the children?" Still, it wasn't until 2008 when Hurricane Ike was threatening New Orleans that Lanesha spoke to me. I wrote furiously...and as I wrote, [she] became more real.
Mama Ya-Ya's voice is based upon my memory of my grandmother. However, Mama Ya-Ya's vulnerability surprised me. She becomes quieter and quieter as the storm approaches. I think children are shocked when grown-ups are confused and don't know what to do. I was shocked by Mama Ya-Ya's silence. Eventually, I realized her silence became a "sound"—a cue for Lanesha to grow up.
While Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Ninth Ward form the backdrop of your book, you tell that story through individuals—Mama Ya-Ya, Lanesha, and TaShon (and his dog, Spot)—all of whom possess unique abilities or characteristics, and all described as abandoned, lost, or as orphans at some point. Tell us a little about them.
Everyone knows the story of Hurricane Katrina, but we don't know the particulars. I wanted readers to see themselves in my characters and to connect with their humanity.
All children should have a loving elder like Mama Ya-Ya. And every child, like Lanesha and TaShon, should develop a bond with someone they didn't see, at first, as a potential friend. Add experiencing a pet's love...and, I think, you have the recipe for a very good life.
Still, my characters are all damaged in some way. Mama Ya-Ya has lost her fiancé and her community's faith in her midwifery, and Lanesha has been orphaned. TaShon is the alienated, short kid, not quite nurtured enough by his hard-working parents, and Spot has been [neglected] and abused. When I was writing the story, I wasn't conscious of these...connections and interconnections, they just happened.
I think I must've been echoing the losses in my own life. My mother abandoned me [when I was] an infant and I often felt isolated and rejected. I didn't have a pet though I wanted one. And my grandmother wasn't perfect but often frazzled and harried....And yet-my childhood was good.
So-what does this mean? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe all along I've been trying to say that perfect families and perfect lives don't exist. Nonetheless, we can create, if need be, alternative families. We can have friendships without betraying our sense of self. To me, Ninth Ward is a joyful book.
Early in the book, before the storm is arrives, Lanesha remarks about her day, "I thought this day was going to be ordinary. But it was full of surprises." To me those lines say so much about her incredible strength and her positive outlook. Where do they come from?
Lanesha's strength comes from Mama Ya-Ya's unconditional and abiding love. She lives in a neighborhood that despite [the presence and effects of] poverty, provides her with a sense of family. Faith supports Lanesha's positive outlook. Her perception of the world isn't static. There are things seen and unseen. Good and bad can ebb and flow....Most significantly, she's been taught, always, eventually, "the universe shines down with love."
Several characters in the book see ghosts, and ghosts—both neutral and benevolent—are a real presence in the story.
Lanesha, when she first spoke, told me she was "born with a caul." In folklore, this means the child will have "sight." She was telling me, matter-of-factly, that she accepted and experienced mysteries.
It's impossible to live in New Orleans without experiencing remnants of the past. It is not uncommon for someone there to talk about receiving comfort and guidance from their ancestors. The ghosts in the book help, I think, to deepen the sense of place. Most of them aren't ready to move on. They feel comfortable, like Lanesha, living in two worlds, the seen and the unseen. In a sense, the ghosts are Lanesha's alternative community.
Mentions of bridges appear throughout the book. Lanesha's teacher tells the girl she would make a great engineer. Mama Ya-Ya says that Lanesha's "feet bridge two worlds." What can we hope for a bright future for Lanesha? For New Orleans?
Bridges kept many New Orleans citizens above water; bridges took them to a safer place. Bridges occupy a nether world, a space that seems to defy air, land, and water. Bridges are signifiers for human ingenuity, intelligence, and interconnected-ness.
I have always thought New Orleans would thrive, no matter what. Hurricanes, land erosion, the BP oil spill have challenged my optimism. But there are thousands of Laneshas and TaShons in New Orleans who will not be daunted. As nature heals what humanity has done to it, I think lots of good people will be there, too—healing and loving that unique southern state back to health. It will take time. Louisianans have the requisite grit, determination, and abounding love.
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