Bakersfield, Georgia, 1958: Thirteen-year-old Tangy Mae Quinn is the sixth of ten fatherless siblings. She is the darkest-skinned among them and therefore the ugliest in her mother, Rozelle’s, estimation, but she’s also the brightest. Rozelle–beautiful, charismatic, and light-skinned–exercises a violent hold over her children. Fearing abandonment, she pulls them from school at the age of twelve and sends them to earn their keep for the household, whether in domestic service, in the fields, or at “the farmhouse” on the edge of town, where Rozelle beds local men for money.

But Tangy Mae has been selected to be part of the first integrated class at a nearby white high school. She has a chance to change her life, but can she break from Rozelle’s grasp without ruinous–even fatal–consequences?

Never have I read a book that is so devastatingly raw and powerful! Set in the racially segregated South of the late 1950s, it unflinchingly explores the brutality of abuse, the scars of systemic racism, and the unyielding resilience of a young girl who dares to dream of a better life.

The story follows thirteen-year-old Tangy Mae Quinn, the sixth of ten siblings born to Rozelle, a cruel and abusive mother whose mental health issues drive her to unspeakable acts of violence and control (like – seriously bad. She is quite possibly the worst mother I have ever laid eyes on). Tangy Mae, the darkest-skinned of her siblings, is seen as the least desirable in Rozelle’s eyes, a fact Rozelle makes no effort to hide. Yet, Tangy Mae is also the brightest of her siblings, her intelligence and determination standing out in stark contrast to the despair and dysfunction that define her family’s existence. Tangy is also the kindest of the children and often takes on the responsibility of looking out for her older and younger siblings, hoping for a better and brighter future for herself.

The novel’s strength lies in its complex characters and unflinching honesty. Rozelle is a deeply flawed figure whose actions are monstrous, yet Phillips does not reduce her to a one-dimensional villain. Her beauty and light skin offer her social leverage. Still, her deeply rooted insecurities, paired with a traumatic past and mental health issues, manifest in the tyrannical rule she exercises over her children. Her exploitation of her children, whether by forcing them into labor or, more horrifically, prostitution, is hard to stomach but central to understanding the gravity of the challenges Tangy Mae and her siblings face. As the layers of Rozelle’s history are revealed, readers are forced to grapple with the cyclical nature of trauma and the role societal pressures play in creating monsters like Rozelle.

On the other hand, Tangy Mae’s character is the complete opposite of Rozelle, acting as a symbol of quiet resistance and hope. Her acceptance into the first integrated class at a local high school is not just a personal achievement but a radical act of defiance against her mother’s wishes and the oppressive societal norms of Bakersfield, Georgia. Tangy Mae’s journey is heart-wrenching yet inspiring as she navigates the perilous intersection of her mother’s wrath and desire to hold Tangy back while also battling the systemic racism of the segregated South.

Tangy Mae’s siblings, each with their own burdens and coping mechanisms, add even more depth to the narrative, illustrating the varying effects of Rozelle’s abuse on her children.

Sensitive readers beware: Trigger warnings abound in this book. Phillips does not shy away from depicting the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse endured by Tangy Mae and her siblings, nor does she gloss over the harsh realities of racism, substance abuse, and violence. For those who can endure its heavy themes, it offers a profoundly moving experience, but believe me when I say it’s rough. There are no fairy-tale endings here, only the hope that Tangy Mae’s determination will be enough to forge a better path for herself. My heart was heavy long after finishing this, and I still think about Tangy Mae – because you know she represents so many Black women.

This is a harrowing but essential read. It is not for the faint of heart, but for readers who can handle its weight, it is an unforgettable and profoundly moving exploration of resilience in the face of unimaginable hardship. Tangy Mae Quinn’s story will stay with me for a very long time.

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