Ain't Burned All the Bright

A profound visual testimony to how much changed while we all had to stay inside and how much--painfully, mournfully--stayed the same.

Author Reynolds and artist Griffin, friends and previous collaborators (My Name Is Jason. Mine Too.), explore recent events in America through a poetic multimedia partnership told in three "breaths." As a journal-like volume opens, a nameless Black narrator takes readers into their thoughts with what becomes a variable refrain, wondering "why/ my mother won't change the channel// and why the news won't/ change the story// and why the story won't/ change into something new." Spare lines that emphasize the weight of recurrence also describe the figure's sister planning to attend a protest in the wake of George Floyd's murder, their brother's attention indivertibly set on a video game, their father's violent coughs, and the frustration of "how we won't cure the sick/ because we won't wear a mask/ and wash our hands." The combination of experiences sends the narrator into a spiral, hoping to catch a breath ("I should be.../ looking for an oxygen mask"), then eventually toward succor within the actions and personality of family ("Maybe that oxygen mask/ was hidden on the hinges/ of my mother's mouth"). As Reynolds's lines depict Black people facing police brutality, Covid-19, and general concerns regarding safety, Griffin's captivating collages literally and metaphorically capture a constant state of worry and panic, leading to visual moments that encourage the reader to find solace and inspiration in the everyday. An interview between the creators concludes. Ages 12-up. (Jan.)

Copyright 2021 Publishers Weekly, LLC Used with permission.

A profound visual testimony to how much changed while we all had to stay inside and how much—painfully, mournfully—stayed the same.

Reynolds' poetry and Griffin's art perform a captivating dance on pages of mixed-media collage and emotive reflection on the pronounced threats facing a contemporary Black family. In "Breath One," the opening of the verse narrative, the unnamed boy protagonist struggles with the onslaught of TV news coverage of the systemic violence and death experienced by Black people—coverage that is both overwhelming and insufficient. The television then forms the backdrop of the narrator's concerns for his bedridden father, who is struggling with an acute respiratory illness while isolated in a bedroom. The art is sometimes spare and monochrome before shifting to a bright and striking palette as Griffin deploys aesthetics that enliven the rich flow and rhythm of Reynolds' words. The two skillfully go back and forth like rap duos of old, each with a distinct voice that enriches the other. The result is an effective critique of the ways we've failed as a society to care for one another. By "Breath Three," however, a complicated optimism shines through for a family that perseveres through closeness and connection despite what is broadcast from their TV. While grounded in 2020, many of the issues touched on explicitly are very much not over and not even new, making this remarkable work both timely and timeless.

Artful, cathartic, and most needed.—Kirkus Review STARRED REVIEW "11/01/2021"