Andrea Levy

**evanovitch** · 01-31-2007, 02:56 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

Every light in the house burnin'

'Better opportunity' - that's why Angela's dad sailed to England from Jamaica in 1948 on the Empire Windrush. Six months later her mum joined him in his one room in Earl's Court.

Angela is the youngest of the Jacobs' four children. The book opens as her father becomes seriously ill and starts to move unsteadily though the care of the National Health Service. As she tries to help her mother, Angela begins to relive her childhood years spent on a council estate in Highbury.

These are the days of regulation navy school knickers, games of tin-tan-tommy out in the yard; holidays at Pontin's; church on Sundays; teenagers; complex hair-dos; relatives from 'back home'; occasional, half understood, half remembered slights.

With humour and compassion the world of the Caribbean immigrant family is opened up, showing how two generations lived and adapted to a fast-changing London. The finely drawn portraits of the parents, their dignity and solid values, contrast painfully with their drab surroundings in a London that is not always welcoming.

My dad

My dad was a man - most dads are. But my dad had been taught or was shown or picked up that a man was certain things and a woman was others. I don't know whether he ever questioned the assumptions but I can identify him now as a man thought up in the 1930s and 40s.
He was head of a family - a breadwinner. He should go out to work in the morning and come home at night. He had to discipline children and occasionally do things around the home that required some degree of physical strength. A man did not have to be loving and affectionate. A man had to know everything and never be seen not to understand the world. A man would help around the house only when asked but a man always emptied the bins.
My dad was a man and he did what he thought was expected of him. But he couldn't understand when more was demanded.
'What!' he'd say if he had to take any of us to the dentist. 'What!' if expected to attend a school function. 'Cha,' if expected to wash up. And 'Oh my God!' if mum ever announced that she would not be in so he'd have to look after us.
My dad was from Jamaica - born and bred. He came to this country in 1948 on the Empire Windrush ship. My mum joined him six months later in his one room in Earl's Court. He never talked about his family or his life in Jamaica. He seemed only to exist in one plane of time - the present. There is an old photo of him - grainy black and white that shows him dressed in an immaculate tailored suit with wide baggy trousers, wearing a shirt with a collar held by a pin, and a proper tie. His hair is short and well groomed. He is standing by a chair in the grounds of what looks to be a beautiful house. The photo looks like my dad as a 'Great Gatsby'- type millionaire. When I asked my dad about the photo that fascinated me, he would grudgingly admit that it was where he lived. But when I pressed him to tell me more he would shrug and tell me not to bother him. Or he'd suck his teeth and ask me why I was interested. He would ask this in the manner of somebody who does not want an answer - of somebody who would like you to leave them alone.
My dad had a job with the Post Office. He'd been in the same job for as long as I knew him. But I couldn't tell you what he did or who he did it with. I'm afraid I can't tell you if he enjoyed his work - if he longed to go every day because it brought him fulfilment and happiness - or whether he dreaded every morning and watched the clock until he could leave. I can't tell you because I don't know. My dad was a man and men didn't talk about their work. It was a secret between him and his wage packet. If you asked him what he did at work, he'd shrug and say that he worked for the Post Office.
My dad called my mum 'Mum' and my mum called my dad 'Dad'. I was about ten years old before I know their actual names - Winston and Beryl. My dad didn't like anyone to know his name. It was another secret. If we said it in public he would look embarrassed and tell us not to say it again. And if we said it too loudly at home he would tell us to be quiet. As for my dad's age - well that was shrug-shoulders age, that was absolutely-none-of-my-business age, that was don't-bother-me age.
I should describe my dad - tell you what he looked like. But who would I describe? Should I describe the young man I knew with the neatly greased-back wavy hair who would throw me up in the air or ask to hold my hand when we crossed the road.
Or should I tell you about the pot-bellied middle-aged man who spent hours in from to the mirror trying to conceal his grey hair. Or perhaps I should describe the old, wild-haired man - fat and bloated by steroids aimed at keeping his dying body alive a little longer. My dad was all these men and many more. Some said he showed a resemblance to the late President Sadat of Egypt in his younger days. And he did sometimes - around the nose.

**evanovitch** · 01-31-2007, 02:57 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

Never far from Nowhere
Never far from nowhere tells the story of two sisters, Olive and Vivien, born in London to Jamaican parents and brought up on a council estate. They go to the same grammar school. Vivien's life becomes a chaotic mix of friendships, youth club, skinhead violence, A levels, discos and college. Olive three years older and a skin shade darker, has a very different story to tell

Never Far from Nowhere

Vivien

Nothing stopped Carol and me going up Chapel Street market on Sunday morning. Nothing. Not rain, not snow, and definitely not Olive standing sideways in the mirror, puffing out her huge pregnant belly and saying 'Vivien, come and feel, quick, quick, it's kicking.
Now everyone knew she was pregnant she would spend hours looking at her bulge - fiddling with her protruding belly button, fascinated with every new line and wrinkle. All she wanted to talk about was her wedding, her husband-to-be, her baby. She started every sentence with, 'When I'm married', as if she was going to be born again in a better form. 'I can't believe I'll be a married woman and a mother,' she'd say with a vacant stare. My mum stopped shouting at her altogether and started smiling instead. Occasionally I would hear them in the kitchen discussing things.
'The baby will need a little cot and a pram, Olive, I can get you one from the catalogue - a sort of wedding present.'
'Thanks, Mum - and Peter said his mum's still got a baby bath.'
'Ah yes. You know, we should make a list.'
'Yeah, I've got one - look...'
I made Carol swear not to tell anyone about Olive. Made her cross her heart on Upper Street. 'On your life - no, on your mother's life - no wait a minute on...on...' I tried to think who Carol really wouldn't like to see dead, but I couldn't.
'On my nephew's life,' Carol said helpfully.
'Yeah, on Jason's life.'
'What?' she shouted.
'My sister's going to have a baby.'
Carol didn't look as shocked as I'd hoped.
'I thought she was getting a bit fat,' she said, without even opening her eyes wide and shouting, 'But she's not married.' Or screaming that I was going to be an aunt. Or laughing and asking me when Olive had done it. I looked at her, ready to answer any further questions, but none came.
When we got to Chapel Street we went straight to Otis. Otis was a clothes shop, a boutique it said above the door, but there was also a record shop at the back. Paul, the man who ran it, was famous. Or at least we thought he must have been because he was in a group in the sixties called yellow Sun. there was an LP tucked away in the Y section of rock and pop that had a picture of him and his band. Four smiling men standing around in suits with neat haircuts and guitars.
'I look different now,' Paul said, when he showed us the picture. And he was right. Now he had grey hair, 'prematurely grey,' he said, and wrinkles round his eyes when he smiled. Carol said he was mature, 'Not like the tossers down the club.' When she was around him she didn't swear. She laughed at his jokes, even sat on his knee, giggling. Or she'd look at record sleeves and ask him what sort of music it was and if he thought she'd like it.
'I like Ray Charles,' she said, although I knew for a fact that she'd only just heard of him. Olive had his Greatest Hits record and Carol said 'Eh, what's this rubbish,' when I put it on. But Paul liked Ray Charles, so carol listened on headphones to him singing 'The Long and Winding Road' and declared it better that the Beatles version. Sometimes Carol got on my nerves.
We stayed with Paul in the shop for a few hours, until it got really busy and he didn't have time to talk to us and 'educate our ears'. We walked up the market, in the middle of the road looking at the stalls on either side. Then on the pavement past Manzies café and Carol breathed in heavily and sighed, 'Oh, smell that pie and mash -I love it'. And I breathed in the sweet fumes and felt sick.
'It's dirty food,' my mum had said. 'Don't you go eating that dirty food, you hear me, you don't know what they put in those pies, and what is that green stuff? Disgusting.'
We watched people eating bacon sandwiches in De Marco's café.
'You see him?' Carol said. Pointing a young man who was pushing egg on toast into his mouth. 'He's the one that killed a bloke with a pole.'
I remembered the story going round the club about the boy who hit another boy in a fight with a pole you use to open high windows. It knocked him out and he never regained consciousness. So he was being done for murder. He got the nickname Polar, and the boys bragged about how they knew him. 'He's hard. He's a wanker. He's mad in a bundle.' And girls stared at him and his girlfriend often cried in a corner.
'He looks normal, dun he?' Carol said. And he did, sipping tea and looking around.
We got a lemon ice-ream from the window at the side of the café. No matter how cold the weather we always bought a lemon ice-cream when we were 'up Chap'. My fingers went numb holding the little tub and scoop. And when we passed the apple fritter stall I wished I'd got two of the hot, sugary fried fritters instead.
'Rock 'ard yer tomatoes ' come on ladies, rock 'ard tomatoes,' Tony sang out from a vegetable stall.
'This one's soft,' Carol said, pretending to squeeze a tomato as we approached.
'Al'right,' Tony said. He looked pleased to see us. I smiled.
'Get us a cup of tea, Carol?' Tony asked.
'Get off,' she said. He looked at me but didn't say anything.
'Well give us some of your ice-cream then,' he said, trying to grab at Carol's tub. Carol twisted out of the way, stuck the scoop on her mouth and bumped into Dor.
'Where'd you come from?' Carol said, surprised.
'I was behind you all the time,' Dor laughed. She opened her mouth wide so she could eat a hot apple fritter using only her front teeth.
'Get us a cup of tea, Dor?' Tony said, as politely as he could.
'Get your own,' she said.
'Oh, come on Dor, I can't leave 'ere and it's [censored] brass monkeys.' He put his hands up to his face and blew his breath into them.
'Come on then,' Carol said, holding out her hand, 'I'll get you a tea.'
Tony smiled and felt in the blue pouch round his waist that had a little sprig of leftover mistletoe pinned to it.
'I'll let you kiss me under me mistletoe when you get back,' Tony said, sticking his crotch forward and laughing.
'I'll bring me tweezers ' help you find your dick,' Carol grinned. She grabbed the change from Tony's hand and before I had time to say, 'I'll come with you,' I could see her back disappearing through the crowds. I turned back to Dor who was wiping sugar off her chin. I looked at Tony and prepared to smile, but he started serving a customer.
'Where's Pam and Linda?' Dor said.
'Dunno,' I said, 'I don't think they could come out.'
'They working?'
'No.'
'Have you got a job?' Dor asked, as she screwed up the fritter bag and threw it on the ground.
'No, I'm still at school.'
'I've got a job,' she said. I looked around for Carol and nodded.
'Oh,' I said, 'You left school then?' Tony pushed Dor gently out of the way so his customer could get by.
'Yeah, I couldn't stand it. I got a job now though.'
'What you doing?' I asked.
'When?' Dor said, looking puzzled.
'In your job - what job you doing?'
'Well,' Dor took a breath and started. 'I get this box and get this label and what I have to do is put the label on the box and then close the box up with this tape stuff and put it back on the belt and then get another box - you know.'
I stared at Dor not knowing what to say next. Then Tony came close to Dor and whispered out the side of his mouth. 'Here Dor, look at that.' He nodded his head out into the crowd.
'What?' Dor said, straining to look.
'Over there - that wog with that white bloke - I hate that, I [censored] hate that.'
He turned away from her and started stacking tomatoes and serving a woman with a pushchair. Dor was still looking into the crowd when I saw Olive and Peter walking towards us. I turned my back and pretended to look at the cauliflowers. Dor started nudging me and giggling. 'Oh yeah, look Viv, over there.'
I didn't turn back. I could feel myself warming up. I closed my eyes. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped.
'What's a matter with you?' Carol said, when I turned round. I looked into the crowd but couldn't see my sister. She hadn't seen me.
'Nothing,' I said.
Tony took the tea.
''Ere Viv,' Carol said, giving Tony some change. 'I think I just saw your sister.' She looked into the crowd and pointed. ''In't that your sister over there?'
'No,' I said, without looking

**Magician** · 01-31-2007, 03:56 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: evanovitch</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Angela's dad sailed to England from Jamaica in 1948 on the Empire Windrush. Six months later her mum joined him in his one room in Earl's Court.[...] My dad had a job with the Post Office. He'd been in the same job for as long as I knew him.
</div></div>

Is it me, or does this seem like a sequel to Small Island ??? [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70402-thinking.gif[/img]

That's why I buy it, with that possibility in mind. [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70384-praying.gif[/img]

**swedishrasta** · 01-31-2007, 05:10 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

So Magic...(off topic a bit and hopefully I won't get banned)...did you to go the Border's website or they actually have Borders stores where you are? Just curious..and thank you for the tip..will check it out.

**Gen** · 01-31-2007, 05:17 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Magic</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: evanovitch</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Angela's dad sailed to England from Jamaica in 1948 on the Empire Windrush. Six months later her mum joined him in his one room in Earl's Court.[...] My dad had a job with the Post Office. He'd been in the same job for as long as I knew him.
</div></div>

Is it me, or does this seem like a sequel to Small Island ??? [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70402-thinking.gif[/img]

That's why I buy it, with that possibility in mind. [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70384-praying.gif[/img] </div></div>

so she change up dem last name [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70402-thinking.gif[/img]

**Magician** · 01-31-2007, 05:22 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

Swedish, they actually have a Borders here at the mall. It's only about 5 minutes away from where I live.

I wish they had a Barnes n Noble though. I never used to shop at Borders until I came here.

**evanovitch** · 01-31-2007, 06:12 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

Small Island

Andrea Levy's third novel published 1999

Never far from nowhere
Andrea Levy's second novel published 1996

Every light in the house burnin'
Andrea Levy's first novel published 1994

**swedishrasta** · 01-31-2007, 09:14 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

Thank you...I haven't read any of those except small island.

E-saw Tsotsi last night....Man...powerful movie....OMG-I was glued to the TV the entire time. And the music....I wonder if they have a soundtrack. End was a little abrupt for me...I kept on wondering if the cops where going to just shoot him down.

Thank you for recommending it. It was worth the hunt it took to find it. [img]/forums/images/%%GRAEMLIN_URL%%/70409-waytogo.gif[/img]

**Sisda** · 02-01-2007, 02:41 PM

Re: Andrea Levy

I read 'Small Island' and thought it was very nicely writen and could very much relate.
Also read 'Every Light in the House Burning'. This one I wasnt too impressed with. I could relate to it but the grammar/patois threw me. The fact that it seemed to go back and forth in time with not much smoothness alo used to have me confused. It seemed that each chapter was just a pice of a history.
As for 'Fruit of the Lemon'I think i read the first chapter and didnt go any further.

Andrea Levy

Andrea Levy

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