March 5, 2024
Broughtupsy, by Christina Cooke
It’s dizzyingly (dazzlingly) disorienting, the narrative of Christina Cooke’s debut novel Broughtupsy, and that’s by design, for it’s protagonist, Akúa, is racked with raw unprocessed grief after the death of her younger brother and the end of her relationship. Never mind that she’s been trying to outrun grief and gathering losses since the death of her mother years before, after which their father moved the family from their home in Kingston, Jamaica, to Texas, and then Vancouver, Akúa’s older sister, Tamika, refusing to come along for the ride. Akúa, only twenty, is so old and so young at once, essential parts of her stopped at the point where her mother died and her family fell apart. She’s not thinking clearly, her choices are impulsive. She’s decided to take out a student line of credit and bring her brother’s ashes back to Jamaica, to face her fierce older sister for the first time in ten years, both sisters bringing so many grievances and resentments that it’s impossible to connect. But the kinetic vibe of Kingston’s streets turn out to be a useful counter to Akúa’s grief and numbness, and Tamika’s own volatility has a similar effect, however complicated. It’s not healthy, but Akúa doesn’t want healthy, instead she desires to push her luck and flirt with danger, indulging herself with sensory experiences, reminders of who she used to be, the fact that she’s alive.
She meets Jayda, a stripper, and can’t help but be drawn to her, to her world, a world so far away from the staunchly devout Tamika and her judgments of Akúa’s sexuality, her relationship with a woman. Tamika insisting this judgment is not simply morality, but also practicality, because it’s different for a gay woman in Jamaica, it’s dangerous… But what does Akúa really have to lose?
The novel entire is the answer to that question, and it’s ending is powerful, moving, and so satisfying cathartic.
