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很久以后，我和姐姐才承认我们的种子不会长出绿芽了。我们的天真、信念跟她父亲的兽欲或者绝望相同，全都颗粒无收。佩科拉的父亲死了，我们的纯真也死了。种子枯死了，她的孩子也死了。
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There’s something about reading a novel free from the white gaze, even when the story is tragic and meant to indict me, pushing me to examine my role in my community. There’s so much to unpack, but what stuck with me most was the use of soil as a metaphor for society—how a hostile, racist, and indifferent environment fails to nurture Black children, especially Black girls. The soil is poisoned, and it has been from the moment the first Europeans arrived in the United States. Which raises the question: is there freedom for Black people on this soil? Can the soil be transformed? And if not, what does that say about the prospects of Black folk in the US of ever being materially and psychologically free from the confines of a white patriarchal capitalist imperialist society?
SO graphic and intense but obviously she is forever the queen of exposing racism
When the book is so good, you finish it and instantly want to read it again.