The Girl Who Fell From the Sky
From its opening lines 鈥� 鈥� 鈥榊ou my lucky piece,鈥� Grandma says.... Her hand is wrapped around mine like a leash鈥� 鈥� Heidi W. Durrow pulls us into her stunning first novel, a moving story encircling us as firmly as that protective grandmotherly grip.
Like Kaye Gibbons鈥檚 鈥�Ellen Foster鈥� (1987) 鈥� another stellar debut novel published by Algonquin Books 鈥� Durrow鈥檚 The Girl Who Fell From the Sky is about a smart, plucky girl, already a survivor at 11, who wins our hearts instantly. Both writers handle devastating, potentially melodramatic material with an understated restraint, tempering bleakness with underlying reassurance about the strength of the human spirit.
When we meet Rachel Morse, the daughter of an African-American GI and a Danish woman, she is just moving into the Portland, Ore., home of her fiercely stalwart paternal grandmother and her warm, classy Aunt Loretta.
We soon learn that Rachel has miraculously survived a fall from a nine-story apartment building in which her mother, brother, and baby sister all died. Three months earlier, Rachel鈥檚 mother had left her alcoholic husband in Germany, following her 鈥渙range-haired鈥� (i.e. white) lover to Chicago. But Nella hadn鈥檛 been prepared for boyfriend鈥檚 drinking and racism, the destitution of the projects, or for the looks and questions she gets as the mother of three brown children.
Alternating with Rachel鈥檚 first-person, coming-of-age story are chapters exploring the tragedy as understood by Nella鈥檚 last employer and only confidante in Chicago, a firmly grounded African-American librarian. Another plotline traces its lasting effects on an 11-year-old boy who lived in the building and first mistook Rachel鈥檚 falling brother for a bird. Durrow gradually, artfully, reveals the terrible circumstances behind that fall.
Rachel鈥檚 disorientation and 鈥渘ew-girl feeling鈥� in her grandmother鈥檚 home goes beyond her recent trauma. Having grown up with a Scandinavian mother in the more colorblind society of an overseas Army base, this is her first time in a mostly black community. Her light-brown skin, 鈥渇uzzy鈥� hair, and blue eyes raise questions about her racial identity that are entirely new and baffling to her.
Starting sixth grade in her new school, Rachel notes, 鈥淭here are fifteen black people in the class and seven white people. And there鈥檚 me. There鈥檚 another girl who sits in the back. Her name is Carmen LaGuardia, and she has hair like mine, my same color skin, and she counts as black. I don鈥檛 understand how, but she seems to know.鈥�
Several years later, in high school, her status remains uncertain. 鈥淭hey call me an Oreo. I don鈥檛 want to be white. Sometimes I want to go back to being what I was. I want to be nothing.鈥�
Winner of the Bellwether Prize, created by Barbara Kingsolver to celebrate fiction that addresses issues of social injustice, 鈥淭he Girl Who Fell From the Sky鈥� comes at a time when biracial and multicultural identity 鈥� embodied so prominently by President Obama 鈥� is especially topical.
But set in the 1980s and focusing luminously on one unusually sympathetic girl overcoming apocalyptic tragedy and navigating her way through nascent sexuality and racial tensions, Durrow鈥檚 novel transcends topicality.
Like Rachel, Durrow is the light-brown-skinned, blue-eyed daughter of a Danish mother and an African-American father enlisted in the Air Force. With degrees from Stanford, Columbia Journalism School, and Yale Law School, it鈥檚 no wonder she endows her heroine with discipline and brains.
Rachel鈥檚 life, however, is clearly not Durrow鈥檚. A detailed plot summary of 鈥淭he Girl Who Fell From the Sky鈥� would give the impression of sensationalism or soap and fail to convey the power of this book. Yes, there鈥檚 alcohol and drug addiction; deaths by fire, trauma, and infection; and a runaway boy caught for a time in a downward spiral. There are mothers who lose their children, and a saintly drug counselor who loses his beloved fianc茅e. Through it all, what makes Durrow鈥檚 novel soar is her masterful sense of voice, her assured, nuanced handling of complex racial issues 鈥� and her heart.
After hearing the blues for the first time, Rachel feels what her mother called hyggeligt 鈥� 鈥渟omething like comfort and home and love all rolled into one.鈥� She wonders what might have happened if her mother had known about such soulful music, 鈥渢hat sometimes there鈥檚 a way to take the sadness and turn it into a beautiful song.鈥�
This, of course, is precisely what Durrow has done in this powerful book: taken sadness and turned it into a beautiful song.
Heller McAlpin, a freelance critic in New York, is a frequent Monitor contributor.
