Sinners, James and a small island

Stirred up by a film, a book and a walk

May 2025

Sinners, James and a small island

This weekend.

I read James by Percival Everett. I saw Sinners by Ryan Coogler. I went on a walk to Roosevelt Island.

I saw a Southern Magnolia flower larger than my hand, it waxy white petals bigger than Chinese spoons. I wondered if it smelt like the South.

In James, the Mississippi River was a character – with currents that gripped and pulled; a steamboat’s wake that that sucked a raft into blades; a muddy 50-pound catfish with its jaws around a man’s arm.

The river was a line between slavery and freedom – a shifting line. It could be a murderous line, an exposing line too. It never stopped swirling under the surface. It was opaque and dangerous.

I saw a turtle lift its head from the water. Its neck looked like a brown stick, its shell like a handmade bowl. I saw a cartoonish bug – it looked like it had been drawn by Robert Crumb – with false eyes like a moth.

I saw yellow irises that looked like they belonged in cellophane. They were nestled between cattails, clumped along a stream.

The fluff of the cattails looked like cotton, ready to be picked.

In Sinners, and the silver guitar was a character. The guitar stopped people in their tracks. Their mouths fell open, their bodies jerked. The piano played along; the voice sang along.

The guitar opened a seam between life and death. It held sway over good and evil. It aroused movement and granted rest. The guitar was a metaphor, both for art and for humanity.

I saw shy deer and a glimpse of the Washington Monument through the arch of a bridge.

I stood on a muddy beach, aeroplanes flying overhead, and I was reminded how travelling on water was like travelling through air. It is to be a spectator.

Crossing the river for freedom made targets of Jim and Huck.

The freedom of dancing and drinking, releasing to the music in the barn, drew predators.

The arrival of spring splits open buds.

The capital is a dot on the map, a bump on a border. It was cut into the land, a graft.

James hid his learning and opinions, for safety. Away from wife and child, he spoke a false language. Engaged by his oppressors, he resisted eye contact, contradiction, even suggestion.

His methods of deception were listed by the author.

Women employ similar strategies. So do children. And people who live with fear.

The dancers in the barn dared to be free. The twins dared to buy the barn. The musician dared to play.

Flames rose in the night, blood stained the ground.

I saw nature and smelt rot on an island, here in DC, on the line drawn on a map, between North and South.