PAGE ONE:

>>>COMPETITIONS, CONTESTS, AWARDS, etc

PIC CAP: Seven receive Claude McKay Book Scholarship [pic: claude mckay]

Recipients of the 2014 Claude McKay Book Grant with President of the Jamaica Association of Maryland (JAM) Noel Godfrey (centre). The recipients comprise seven students of Jamaican heritage attending colleges and universities in the United States. From right are: Janeila Benjamin (University of Maryland), Dylan Godfrey (Penn State University), Akeem Henry (University of Maryland College Park), Daquon Mayo (University of Technology in Tennessee), Alexander Murdock (Morgan State University), Marcia Simms (Temple University) and Dr H Dunstan-Hunte, who accepted the award on behalf of Mervin Thomas (Morgan State University).

The presentations were made at the 26th anniversary and scholarship awards banquet held at the Best Western Hotel in Baltimore on Saturday, June 14. In delivering the keynote address, lecturer in Electrical Engineering and Urban Transportation at Morgan State University, Dr Petronella James, said, “The survival of Jamaicans as a people living in the 21st century and beyond will depend on trained minds that have developed their abilities through education and training to navigate our world, to garner the benefit to our society.”

She urged the awardees to make use of the educational opportunities afforded to them, as this is the key to success. Dr James, who is Jamaican, encouraged the awardees to consider giving back to the island after completing their studies, as the country needs their expertise.

Over the past 26 years the organisation has awarded book grants totalling US$70,000. Godfrey informed that the grants, now valued at US$500, will be increased to US$1,000 per student next year. JAM will also make awards to needy students in Jamaica who are enrolled in a tertiary institution. He stressed that it is important for the association to continue supporting students of Jamaican heritage who are enrolled in tertiary institutions throughout the USA as these grants will assist students to achieve their goals, and give back to Jamaica.

Claude McKay was a Jamaican writer and poet who moved to the US in 1912 and eventually became a seminal figure in the Harlem Renaissance, a major literary and cultural movement in the 1920s and 30s in New York.

–JIS

Deadline approaching for entries to the Alice Yard Prize for Art Writing

The Alice Yard Prize for Art Writing, a new annual award for an original piece of critical writing on contemporary Caribbean art by a Caribbean writer aged 35 or under, which was conceived and administered by the co-directors of Alice Yard, the contemporary art space and network based in Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago, will see deadlines for entry closed on July 14, 2014. The prize, opened for entries on May 16, 2014, aims to encourage writing on Caribbean art and artists, and identify emerging voices in contemporary Caribbean art criticism.

The winner of the prize will receive a cash award of US$1,000 and publication in The Caribbean Review of Books. The winner will be announced in September 2014 to commemorate Alice Yard’s eighth anniversary.

The guidelines explain that a piece of writing entered for the prize does not have to be a conventional critical essay or review. The prize administrators are interested in writing that investigates different forms and genres, as long as it is driven by genuine critical engagement.

Full entry guidelines are available at the Alice Yard website: aliceyard.blogspot.com/2014/05/2014-alice-yard-prize-for-art-writing.html

For queries about eligibility requirements or the submission process, please contact the prize administrators at helloaliceyard@gmail.com

Call for submissions

A new Caribbean anthology, to be published by In Our Words Inc, a Canadian publishing company, is looking for submissions featuring subject matter reflecting Caribbean content. Submission guidelines: prose and poetry, prose, 2,500-5,000 words; five poems. No fee to submit and no remuneration. Upon publication, writers will receive a free copy of the anthology. Deadline to submit is August 31, 2014. Please e-mail submissions or queries to petagayenash1@gmail.com.

PAGES TWO & THREE:

Writer credits: Emma Lewis

Caribbean Book Bag:

Introducing Joanne C Hillhouse [pic: hillhouse, credit – emile hill]

Antiguan author Joanne C Hillhouse has emerged the second-prize winner of the inaugural Burt Award for Caribbean Literature, announced in Trinidad in April, at the Bocas Lit Fest, for her manuscript Musical Youth. The award celebrates young adult novels, and Hillhouse was runner-up to winner Jamaican A-dziko Simba Gegele, for her novel All Over Again.

The Burt Award is funded and orchestrated by CODE, a Canadian NGO dedicated to advancing literacy, in combination with philanthropist William ‘Bill’ Burt, after whom the award is named. CODE currently organises prizes in Canada, Africa and the Caribbean.

Hillhouse was among a shortlist of six writers from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, Antigua and Barbuda, and Dominica. The competition received a total of 38 manuscripts and published books. The other shortlisted entrants were Colleen Smith Dennis for Inner City Girl (Jamaica, LMH Publishing), which took third prize, Diane Browne (Jamaica, Carlong Publishing) for Island Princess in Brooklyn, Joanne Skerrett (Dominica, Papillotte Press) for Abraham’s Treasure and Gynis Guevara (Trinidad and Tobago) for Barrel Girl.

Bookends spoke to Hillhouse about the award, among other things.

You’re the second-place winner for the Burt Award for young-adult writing. Some writers say writing awards are political, what are your thoughts? Would you encourage writers to enter writing competitions, etc, especially Caribbean writers?

I don’t think of myself as an eternal optimist, but when it comes to writing competitions, I probably am. I do try and try again, no matter how many times I get knocked down. So clearly I’m not the one to knock writing competitions. I’ve been disappointed many, many times and I’m just feeling extremely grateful to have made the cut this time around. And since I do run a writing competition – or as I call it a writing challenge – for young writers here in Antigua and Barbuda (the Wadadli Youth Pen Prize, HYPERLINK “wadadlipen.wordpress.com/” t “_blank” wadadlipen.wordpress.com), hell yeah I would encourage writers to enter. The odds may not always be in your favour, especially if there are other things at play besides the quality of the writing, which I’m sure there sometimes are, but win-lose-draw aside, it’s an opportunity to challenge yourself.

What is Musical Youth about?

It’s about music, friendship, growing up, becoming bold, secrets, discoveries, teenage angst and teenage love in the little bubble of a group of musical theatre geeks, Caribbean style. You have a young guitar player and a young playa, their friends and families, and the production they’re trying to get right before the end of summer. It’s a fun book which I think Caribbean teens will be able to relate to, about a group of young people I absolutely fell in love with while writing them.

When’s it scheduled to hit stores?

I’m not sure of the release date as yet. Stay tuned. I’ll be updating as things develop on my blog HYPERLINK “jhohadli.wordpress.com/” t “_blank” jhohadli.wordpress.com and my Facebook HYPERLINK “www.facebook.com/JoanneCHillhouse” t “_blank” www.facebook.com/JoanneCHillhouse But, as you know, there’s a lot of dotting of i’s and crossing of t’s in the publishing process. But all of us – from Code, the organisers of the Burt award, to the interested publishers, to me, the writer, and hopefully the reader – are keen to see it in the marketplace sooner rather than later. I can’t wait to actually hold it in my hands, and better yet, see it being read by Caribbean teens too absorbed to put it down.

Readers, or maybe I should say I, know you as an adult-fiction writer. Is this story an indication that we’re going to be seeing a shift away from that genre?

I’m not a genre writer. I know publishing likes to pigeonhole but I just write. My first two books, The Boy from Willow Bend and Dancing Nude in the Moonlight, were written in that spirit but marketed primarily to the teen and young adult market, and so for a long time, that’s how people, those who knew that I and my writing even existed, thought of me…until they read the books and realised, I think, their appeal to both teen and adult readers, and some younger readers as well, especially in the case of The Boy from Willow Bend. Then came Oh Gad! – a novel – a novel published under the Strebor imprint, a Simon & Schuster imprint by bestselling author Zane, which had some wondering if it was erotica, which it isn’t…sure it has love and romance but it is an adult drama set in the modern Caribbean and touching on the history and development politics of our space…more than anything, it’s about family. Maybe Oh Gad! – which broadened my readership – allowed some critics and reviewers to see me as a writer of books for adults which I feel I’ve always been, or just books. Then I did a picture book, Fish Outta Water and finally had something age-appropriate to share with some of the children’s groups I’m invited to read to. Factor in my poetry and short fiction, journalled and anthologised in different places, and you realise that I write sort of all over the map, drawn in by the questions that trouble me and the characters that intrigue me, and sometimes the desire to experiment with form, and hopefully emerging on the other side with a good story. Musical Youth was, I think, my first attempt to write specifically for the youth market and even then it was the characters and the story that drew me in, not the genre. I read widely, I write widely, and frankly I hope that never changes.

Why did you decide to write a story for young people?

I knew about the Burt award, and I felt the urge to enter – I don’t like to let opportunities pass me by and the idea of penning a Caribbean story for the underserved teen Caribbean market appealed to me – but I had no story. So though the existence of the award provided incentive it wasn’t enough to inspire, the creative process is wily like that. I had given up on the idea of having anything submittable, then one day this girl shows up toting her guitar. I recognised her and our first point of connection was being teenage girls who would just as soon be invisible being conspicuous as hell with this red and black guitar slung over our shoulder; so music and awkwardness was our first connection… and then he showed up with his mouthy self, with his talent and swagger… and then his friends were there…and then her grandmother …all crowding into the frame and it was all I could do to keep up. Literally this story was birthed in less than two weeks…of binge writing and sleeplessness….so it wasn’t so much a decision as a compulsion …I didn’t even know if I had anything when I was done with mere days to submit…I overnighted it to my 15-year-old niece for feedback and she got into it and she’s the target audience so with that and some encouragement and assistance from my sister, I leapt – sent it off and then put it out of my mind. Binge writing and last-minute submissions are not recommended, by the way.

For Jamaican readers who may not be familiar with you, please tell us about Joanne.

I am a writer from Antigua and Barbuda, don’t forget the “and Barbuda”, we’re very particular about that, about as particular as I am about the ‘C’ that often gets dropped from my name. That’s not vanity, by the way. Unlikely as it is there is, on our little island, another Joanne Hillhouse… so I am Joanne C Hillhouse. I was just a bookworm growing up, always with a book in hand. I daydreamed a lot. And I was really just into anything creative – which is probably how I ended up playing the guitar – though not as well as Zahara in Musical Youth. I’m a music lover, a film lover, I have a curious mind and a sensitive and rebellious spirit both of which have served me better as a writer than perhaps in life. I’ve written several books, mentioned earlier, and when I’m not writing, I’m writing… I make my living as a freelance writer, editor, writing coach and workshop facilitator, in case anyone’s hiring. I’m just someone who believes in the power of the arts; that great music, great literature can give some insight to the human spirit and connect us with ourselves, individually and as a society, in a really profound way. What else? I love Carnival, mangoes, sunsets, good conversation over cold beer…and always a good book.

What books influenced your decision to become a writer?

None specifically since I didn’t decide to become a writer, I simply accepted that that’s what I was…and that acceptance took some doing. One of the books that made that acceptance possible was Jamaica Kincaid’s Annie John because it was a highly relatable and enjoyable read, and because it sort of opened the window to that idea that writers didn’t just come from other places, stories didn’t just happen in other places – which is a sensibility I’m trying to generate in the writers coming behind me through the Wadadli Pen programme, the idea being to help them tease out the stories they have locked up in themselves and realise that this desire to tell stories doesn’t have to be a dead end …e na easy but with determination you can make a go at it.. So, yeah, Annie John. As for the books that inspired me and continue to inspire me, period, that list is much longer.

What are you reading now? What are the books on your summer reading list?

I have a shelf of books unread. I have a feeling there are pixies that sneak in and add to it when I’m not looking. No it’s not me acquiring more books than I’ll ever be able to read… I read several books at a time, and these days mostly on buses and in interminable lines, so I grab whichever one I’m feeling. Currently, active reads are Mansfield Park by Jane Austen; A Letter for My Mother edited by Nina Foxx – one of those letters is mine; A Conflict of Interest by M J Greene – who was someone I interviewed some months ago and as authors do she gave me a copy of her book to read so I’m finally doing so; Paradise by Toni Morrison; The White Witch of Rosehall by Herbert G de Lisser; two literary journals – New Millennium Writings, that one’s been on my bookshelf since 2011, and Volume 27 of the Caribbean Writer, my contributor copy; a book from a friend who normally gives me books like this Stormie, a Story of Forgiveness and Healing – Just Enough Light for the Step I’m On – Trusting God in the Tough Times; and, whew, finally, The Other Tongues; An introduction to Writing in Irish, Scots Gaelic and Scots in Ulster and Scotland which was a gift from the organisers when I participated in the Aye Write! Festival in Scotland earlier this year. I’ve cracked each of those and they’re kind of piled there for when I have time and/or inclination to read.

Excerpt from Musical Youth

When Zahara had first picked up the guitar, it had been bigger than her; like if she stood behind it, she could completely disappear. Holding it on her lap had been comical. And for the longest while her grandmother would drive her away if she saw her so much as reach for it.

“Leave that! It’s not a toy!”

But when she plucked it, it made sounds; and she couldn’t resist the pull of it; even if it meant licks.

It was in the room with all the things. Boxes of books. Feathers, standards, and head pieces from Carnivals past. A sewing machine and a basket full of scraps. She remembered sitting on the floor, the motor of the machine humming under her as her mom Cinderella’d a random piece of cloth into something beautiful. And in the corner was the Stella Harmony. Her mom didn’t play; at least she’d never heard her play. Her grandmother didn’t play; in fact didn’t even seem to like music. Though Granny Linda’s radio was her steady companion, as soon as it turned from the talk Zahara found boring to music, Granny Linda often turned the station, or turned the radio off altogether to go hoe another line in the backyard garden that was her pride and joy, and winner of more than one Home and Garden competition. Zahara had only ever heard either of them sing in church on Sundays, and Granny Linda no longer went to church.

She sent Zahara like clockwork though, and it was there in the shadow of the statue of the Madonna that Zahara got her first lesson. It was before Holy Communion class and while the other kids ran around and round the round church playing some hybrid of catch-a-man and freeze-a-man, she’d sat listening to Father Ellie strum something that didn’t sound like church music, there at the sanctuary for the Lady. She was out of sight, scrunched up behind the purple bougainvillea draping itself over the gazebo. She doesn’t know, to this day, how he knew she was there but when the music that made her feel kind of happy-sad stopped playing he called to her.

“You like jazz?” he asked.

She didn’t know what he meant, but it was rude not to answer an adult when spoken to and a Priest at that, so she found her tongue.

“I don’t know jazz,” she said, climbing to her feet.

He’d smiled then, looking kind of happy-sad himself.

“Now you do,” he said.

He patted the bench next to him and she sat and he placed the guitar, not as pretty as the Stella Harmony, in her lap. He placed her fingers under the spine, just so, placed her other hand atop the fat belly of the thing, guided her through the playing of her very first chord ever. It was a C, her fingers shaped like a claw, framing the thing.

She’d been surprised by the giggle that leaked out of her at the sound.

She made the C more times, not tiring of the game, even when the strings started cutting into her fingers, lines of red forming at the tips.

Father Ellie seemed pleased with her.

But then Ms. Adderly called them in for class. She found it hard to pay attention to the Beatitudes though, rubbing her fingers where the sting felt fresh until the red lines disappeared, remembering the music.

Father Ellie became her first guitar teacher, tutoring her every Thursday before Holy Communion class; and then after she’d passed through that Sacrament, meeting up with her every Thursday anyway, until just a couple of years ago when he’d been reassigned.

Before long she’d started fiddling around with the guitar at home, the one no one ever played. It was out of tune and didn’t have all the strings. She hadn’t then got the hang of tuning, but she’d saved up for strings from Mike’s music shop anyway and plucked and pinged, turning the keys, until it sounded kind of alright.

“Ent I tell you leave that thing,” her grandmother said when she finally caught her. She looked up from the floor, not even feeling guilty about being found out. “Granny, listen to this,” she said. Her Granny hated that word, Granny. She made her ‘I’m not a Granny’ face; Zahara couldn’t see how saying Granny Linda was better than saying just Granny but it made a difference to her grandmother. Normally she’d stammer an apology at the mild transgression but she was too excited. Immediately she started plucking out a song Father Ellie had told her was about heart break and defiance, accepting life as it was and not bemoaning what couldn’t be, regretting nothing. She didn’t quite know what he meant and she couldn’t quite play it right, it had a lot more chords than she knew, but she felt kind of proud of herself anyway. She’d worked really hard on it and in-between she could hear an echo of what he’d played. And she didn’t like being an echo of things substantial but in this she felt like she could make herself more solid, more real, more than just a weak not quite good enough clone. She couldn’t ever change who she was, what she looked like, or that her mother was gone; but with practise, she could get better at this, she felt a certain power in that. And so she played the song, and looked up at her grandmother, face open, hoping she’d hear that there was something more there too.

But Granny Linda had only stared at her once she’d stopped, her lips in a moue the girl didn’t know how to read. Then she’d grunted a “Hm” and left the room.

After that, Zahara took the guitar to her room and there it stayed, propped up in the space between her bed and dresser where she could reach for it before going to bed, on waking, every spare moment in between, to practise and practise and practise.

Granny Linda never asked her for it and when, when she got to high school, Father Ellie, just before he left, introduced her to Mr Patrick, the music teacher and glee club director, who agreed to continue her lessons, Granny Linda didn’t object to that either.

Musical Youth by Joanne C Hillhouse (c) 2014. Excerpt printed here by permission of the author

PAGE FOUR:

Bookshelf:

Gillian Royes’ latest whodunit satisfies [2 pics: sea grape, royes]

The Sea Grape Tree by Gillian Royes (Atria Books, 2014, 368 pages)

There’s nothing more satisfying than a good whodunnit. In my teens I devoured Agatha Christie’s entire output of detective novels, staying up late at night to see whether this mysterious young man or that sophisticated woman of the world was, indeed, the villain of the piece – or not. I usually read these books at one sitting; I just had to know the answer.

Gillian Royes’ novel is one of those “un-putdownable” mysteries – with a delicious Jamaican flavor. It is the third in a series of novels featuring a bartender with a bit of a past, Shadrack Myers — the Jamaican equivalent of Hercule Poirot. Shad is not a paragon of virtue, nor does he have the greatest intellectual qualities; but he always makes the best use of his past experiences and street smarts, to his own advantage and for the benefit of others. He knows how to work with people, considering himself a “problem solver” in the village of Largo Bay. He dispenses wise advice when required, with “slow and steady” one of his guiding principles. And most importantly, he is kind and trustworthy. All excellent qualities for a successful private investigator, you would agree.

Yes, Shad puts two and two together.

We first meet our hero preparing a modest welcome party for a highly anticipated visitor – a potential investor from the United States, Danny Caines. The arrival of the ebullient Danny – bursting with energy and confidence – is the catalyst for the unfolding narrative. His relationships with the inhabitants of Largo Bay propel the action. Is he trustworthy? Will he partner with Largo residents and invest in a new hotel? Can he create the prosperity Largo Bay longs for? That remains to be seen.

The setting of mystery novels is always of importance. Largo Bay is a struggling village on the coast of northeast Jamaica (the parish of Portland), where the prevailing mood is one of quiet desperation. The residents, especially the younger ones, are on the verge of either departing for greener pastures in Kingston or turning to a life of crime. The most ambitious Largoites harbour hopes of a green card or a visa of some kind. A hurricane has destroyed a small hotel built by Shad’s boss, Eric; and things rust quickly in the salty air.

We get to know small, intimate corners of the windswept village. Most importantly, there is the rundown seaside bar where Shad works. It is the only social gathering place in Largo Bay, frequented by white rum-drinking locals and red wine-drinking visitors (quite a bit of drinking goes on in the story, Red Stripe included). We become familiar with the path to the beach; the spot under the palm trees where a visiting Englishwoman sets up her easel to paint every morning; the dilapidated guesthouse run by Miss Mac, a retired teacher; the well-groomed homes of the wealthier residents on the hillside. There are crabs and turkey vultures and pelicans and tree frogs, and always the rough waves tossed on the beach. The place has its own unadorned natural beauty.

As in the best detective stories, the writer introduces us to the cast of characters, one by one. The reader must consider each one with care and figure out how they will all get on together. Many have not met each other before. None have met Danny Caines before. The bar’s owner Eric is an American resident, who is feeling his age, regretting a lost lover and anxious about the future. Shad’s wife Beth is determined, hard-working, and wears spiky hair rollers in bed that Shad must negotiate with care. The predatory Janet is a seamstress by profession, with an eye for opportunity, who makes a dramatic entrance at Danny’s welcome party in a tight white dress. The cautious and introverted English artist Sarah paints miniatures. She leaves her North London flat for an “adventure” in Jamaica at the invitation of a fellow artist.

And an adventure it turns out to be. Sarah, in particular, has to confront some dark corners of her past, harshly exposed in Jamaica’s bright sunlight.

Wryly observed details illuminate character in a charming and often amusing way. The state of Eric’s feet, for example – he often looks down at them in his most dispirited moments, contemplating his dry, cracked toes. In contrast to Eric’s habitual flip-flops, Danny wears Reebok sneakers and white socks. Miss Mac rests her capacious breasts on the kitchen table when she sits down at it. Janet wears metallic eye shadow and makes emphatic statements with large handbags. Sarah has doubts about her bright red dyed hair and realises her best lavender outfit is too dull for Jamaica. Her skin burns steadily pinker.

The well-crafted dialogue weaves it all together, a variety of accents and speech patterns – Jamaican, American, English and in-between (Ohio-born Eric speaks “pseudo-patois”).

I should have stated at the beginning that this review continues no spoilers. That would be unforgivable. Once the characters have settled in, though, we can feel the tension begin to inch higher. Nothing works out quite as it should. The main characters steadily move out of their respective comfort zones. Amateur detective Shad changes gear, skilfully negotiating increasingly difficult and dangerous situations and putting his considerable investigative skills to work. The complex and carefully constructed action scenes are worthy of a superior Hollywood thriller.

Some thoughtful social commentary on contemporary Jamaica emerges at intervals. While Danny and Sarah, coming directly from the First World, struggle with perceptions of race, they are told that in Jamaica “class is more important than race”. This is clearly illustrated by doubts over Shad’s ability to partner in the hotel project, for example, and the arrogance of a local lawyer.

And what of the sea grape tree? With its sturdy, rounded leaves, veined with red, it becomes a symbol of comfort in a confusing, often frightening world – for someone, at least.

I will end on that mysterious note. I urge you to explore further!

–Emma Lewis

Editor’s note: The Sea Grape Tree will be launched on Tuesday, July 1, 2014 at Bookophilia, 92 Hope Road, at 7:00 pm.