By Kim McLarin
After a chain of annoying own transitions, Grace Jefferson unearths herself in a brand new residence in a brand new urban and in a brand new profession for which she feels dangerously unsuited: a stay-at-home mother. an informed and comprehensive smooth lady, a toddler of the Civil Rights dream, she is stuck among the one versions of mothering she has ever known—a sharecropping grandmother who deserted her teenagers to avoid wasting herself and a mom who sacrificed all to save lots of her kids—as she struggles to discover a center floor. yet because the days cross and the pressures mount, Grace starts to trap herself in small acts of abandonment that she fears may perhaps foretell a destiny she is powerless to avoid . . . or maybe secretly seeks.
leap on the solar is a unique approximately an keeping apart suburban existence and the continued legacy of slavery, approximately generational switch and the cost of residing the dream for which our mom and dad fought. In her daring and fearless voice, Kim McLarin explores either the highs and lows of being a mom, and the way breaking the cycle of suffocation and remorse, whereas infuriatingly tricky, is actually valuable.
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Extra resources for Jump at the Sun: A Novel
The older boys took over the cropping and the older girls took over the house and nobody paid much attention to Hootie except to feed and diaper him and ﬁnally name him Hootie when he was two and hooting around the house like an owl. “Hey,” she said, and moved to go around him, expecting Hoo tie to continue on his way. But to her surprise he fell in line with her, walking. ” Hootie asked. ” She waited for him to ask what happened to the teacher’s son, why she had come back alone. But Hootie, he was silent, the only sound his steady breathing as he walked.
J U M P AT T H E SUN 47 When I was ﬁve months pregnant with Harriet he would wake up some Sunday mornings, kiss me on the forehead, wrap his arms around me, and ask how I was feeling, what I was feeling, what I was thinking about, what was going on. I would wake up and think, Why is this person talking to me? Part of that was just a personality clash: Eddie was the chirpy morning bird while I was the nightest of owls. But some days the feeling would stretch past my shower and past my coffee and straight on into noon.
She didn’t have to worry about that mess from the men. She had only to wait until they came around. ” It was Miss Grant, calling from her porch. “What that with you? ” Rae called before Hootie could answer. She would speak for herself. ” Miss Grant called. It was not so much a question as a triumphant statement of fact. No doubt Miss Grant had predicted just this thing. ” and did not slow her pace. Miss Grant cackled her glee. They passed on from sight of Miss Grant’s house and kept on walking.