Chantel's Reviews > Calling for a Blanket Dance

** spoiler alert ** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on substance abuse, terminal illness, grief, graphic depictions of violence, racially motivated bigotry, parental abuse, fertility, & others.

Beginning in the late 1970s, the matriarch recalls the event that became the stone that broke her grandson, Ever. In this introductory way the reader is welcomed into the thoughts &, sometimes, written dedications from members of Ever’s family; waltzing us through cataclysmic events that shaped him to be the man sitting in line waiting for the gift of a safe home. Regarding Ever, one never truly knows him; preferring to keep the main character & ultimate study of this generational account a mystery sulked in the lore of his people, Hokeah allows the reader to come to their own conclusions.

I will begin with noting the aspects of this book that I enjoyed & will do so firstly by stating that I had been eagerly anticipating this book for months. The cover art stands on its own as an aspect of great beauty & power; a sliver strangling the skin of the man who wishes to be all that he is; broken down by the actions of those who were not enough themselves to allow him to see his wish fulfilled. The story behind the cover art does not disappoint. Presenting the inter-generational accounts of a single family as they divulge precious moments in the life of Ever & culminating in his final appearance in the story, in a fashion eerily similar to that of his father’s last months on earth.

I find it difficult to review this book because I find myself standing at something of a mental crossroads. On the one hand, I very much appreciated the narrative that was being presented in this book. The writing style was dissociated to the point of leaving me feeling exceedingly disconnected from the experiences as though I really were a friend of a friend & someone had been telling me Ever’s story. However, in that same breath, I do not enjoy that presentation in literature. I would say this is specifically something I seek to avoid because it is very difficult to present readers with a story—at once overwhelmingly moving while steadfastly realistic—& keeping them at arm’s length, asking them to become emotionally involved with a person they cannot begin to know.

Working through chapters wherein family members recounted specific events in Ever’s life, ones they were privy to knowing, left me initially intrigued because I felt that there might be a connection to the man we were beginning to know. However, at some point in the middle of the book, I grew tired of the seemingly random recounts & wondered when we might, once again, regain traction & return to the essence of the plot. I acknowledge that my feelings towards the general format & presentation of this book are exceedingly personal. Many readers who do not mind sustaining such a casual distance will be fine with this approach. As well, readers who do not find the jumble of casual accounts off-putting, for lack of realistic details that they might provide, might also enjoy this read.

That is not to say that I do not trust Ever’s family but, in essence, they are not him & therefore cannot accurately account for the person he became. I feel this principally in the chapter that explores his mother’s memory of the moment when he enlisted in the Army. For the entirety of Ever’s childhood, his parents were both physically abusive & entirely neglectful. I cannot think to care that Turtle felt worried about the behaviours of her 20-year-old son when the time had long since passed for her to present herself as a parent worth commemorating. She remained in a house with a partner who literarily beat their child senselessly, leading him to evoke distressing behaviours. Not once did she think that it would be to her children’s benefit to leave the abusive home.

It’s important that I highlight that I am in no way saying that it is an easy feat to leave an abusive relationship or home. I have first-hand experience of the difficulties that surround these environments. However, because I have that first-hand experience, I am also, unfortunately, lacking in patience to see children placed in situations in which they do not belong nor should they ever have to live through. Coming across instances such as these, wherein the actions of a character are reinforced by the deliberate repetition of a cycle, I find it most difficult to swallow my annoyance—please do better for your children. Yet, in that same breath, I understand that when you are that person—when you are Turtle, in this case—breaking the cycle of abuse seems practically impossible. In the end, she maintained her relationship with her father who was a violent alcoholic & absentee parent for the majority of her existence. Why? I cannot begin to assume her many reasons for doing so. Nor would I want to appear insensitive towards her choices as, again, I have a leg to stand on in this situation as well.

Hokeah has written a story that appears personal while retaining an air of unawares, as though the premise simply came to him by a rain cloud. Much of what transpires within the chapters lingers in the mind due to the lacking depth that would expound this story into the hearts of every reader, not just those who find themselves within the pages. I do acknowledge that one is able to propel a profound story into the minds of many a reader, with simplistic & distinct prose however, this was no such case. This book might have done well had the chapters included someone worth rooting for; someone who had emotional depth without being out to lunch. Saying this I acknowledge that the grandmother figure was indeed very emotionally driven yet, neither of her children took her seriously.

I appreciate those amongst our species who are able to be vulnerable & gentle—to be soft is the utmost strength & I admire that, innately. However, no character within this book presented themselves in ways that might lead the reader to feel that they were to be trusted; that this character truly had their act together. Even within the first chapter one is left feeling that there is a distinct detail within the story that is missing. Why is Lena so transactional with her children? Why does she need to sway them with money to spend time with them? Were her feelings towards Ever having a sickness in his soul accurate?

Perhaps the sickness is the experiences that haunt our memories without granting us the reprieve of a window in which to filter fresh air; cloistering the confines of our strangled mind. Perhaps the sickness was a lack of health; a morphing malaise running through the blood of all those sliced at the knees by figures meant to love them.

In all, I wanted more from this book. I wanted the writing to sweep me away. Instead, I found myself longing to skim the majority of the chapters. It is not enough to simply present events that are relatable, familiar, common, or otherwise communal; one needs to swindle the reader into the story, leaving them feeling that there is little disconnect between their own lived experiences & the tenderly swaying emotions of the characters. Those present in this book were strangers; hidden figures in an otherwise troubled river of water. I am left feeling that something intrinsic was missing from this story to rivet me to the core with floundering feelings of fondness for a book written well.