Reviewed by Davidae Stewart
An excerpt from Let the Lion Eat Straw…
God has plans, which mortals don’t understand. He rests in the womb when the new baby forms. Whispers the life dream to infinitesimal cells. It is God who lies under the thoughts of man. He is cartilage. Memory.
Amistad re-releases Let the Lion Eat Straw, twenty-five years after its first release. The novel albeit compact is just as profound as it was before, even more so now.
Abeba Williams is not just the novel’s main character, but the story’s heart as it chronicles the most poignant moments of her life.
Six-year-old Abeba left her North Carolinian home and the only mother she knew-Mama Habersham, the midwife, to live with her “New York Mama,” Angela Williams Lavoisier. Angel left North Carolina when Abeba was born, in search for a better life for the both of them. She found that and more, a good father for Abeba-Arthur Lavoisier. Arthur adopted Abeba as his own child and taught her an appreciation for New York and the piano. However, as Arthur’s health fails, Abeba’s piano becomes more than just a musical instrument, but a healing tool for her sick father. And it still remains her soul’s solace even after Arthur’s death, asthma attacks,meeting her real father, selling sweet potato pies on Brooklyn’s troubled streets to help Angela make ends meet, and incest. Abeba perseveres despite the hardships, graduates from a girl’s prep school and lands a coveted scholarship at The Juilliard School, performing arts conservatory in New York City.
Life appears to be making sense again for Abeba until Daniel Torch, a young evangelical psalmist catches her attention in church one Sunday. His deep voice lifted her spirits and reminded her of both Arthur and her happy southern childhood. “The South’s heat soft in the body of his song…His voice wide as the sun, filled with pain.” But Angel [her mother] did not approve of David’s undisciplined country ways. Yet, they married despite Angela’s reservations and palm readings. Juilliard would have to wait for a while…until Angela stopped having children. Would Angela find her way back to Juilliard or the piano again? Or would she find a greater love?
Although this book is not a CBA [Christian Booksellar’s Association] title, it is Christian themed and chock full of biblical choruses that crescendo until Mother Habersham’s return. The title references The Old Testament’s Isaiah 11:6, whereas the lion symbolizes peace and redemption– Daniel and Abeba. One of the most illuminating passages in this book is when Abeba accepts her life [the above excerpt.]
The villain in this novel takes many forms. Sometimes it is Abeba’s mother, Angela, a southern stoic who believes that Daniel has ruined her daughter’s life. Or death-this fate that stole Abeba’s father, or race–this unspoken demon that lurks in one’s faith and steals souls from God.
In structure, the novel has a definite plot (beginning, middle and end.) Style and flow to this piece is charming poetic prose. At times, however, the poetry overpowers the theme and camouflages the story’s conflict, which is the most brilliant part of Let the Lion Eat Straw.
Southerland’s book, albeit lyrical, yet succinct creates loads of conflict through her diction, the way she makes words come together in unordinary ways, this tension, this closing off of sentences, dropping adjectives, making nouns verbs. It all creates conflict. It all creates feeling. It also shows the universal conflict everyone has with their own faith, their own family and their own future.
But, Abeba’s actions rarely drive the plot. She reacts to whatever outside forces Southerland throws at her: Daniel’s mental illness, her stepfather’s death, the many pregnancies, Daniel closing the bakery, etc. Yet, the richest moments of the novel are when Abeba takes action: gets even with Uncle CJ, chooses to marry Daniel, has her mother removed from he hospital, takes control of her own treatment. The story shines when Abeba acts. Her strength shines. Angela’s influence shows. Abeba lives.
Nonetheless, Let the Lion Eat Straw is a great reminder of how African American’s have come and how far they must go.
It is short (186 pages,) lyrical and personifies the beauty of the human condition. It should be commended because it holds an overflow of magic and soul’s wonder, snippets of moments that will melt into the reader’s own soul.
The novel deserved its praise twenty-five years ago and much more now. With many novels glossing over and glamming up African American realism Southerland created something tangible, easily felt and remembered.