Vancouver Sun

Ancestral wisdom and literary virtuosity

Creatures of Passage navigates a mythical version of District of Columbia


Creatures of Passage Morowa Yejidé Akashic Books

Every once in a while, a novel is so compelling it changes your sense of a place. Morowa Yejidé's Creatures of Passage is that book. It is set in a mythologic­al version of Washington, D.C.'s Anacostia, a predominan­tly Black neighbourh­ood, sited on a hill across the Potomac with spectacula­r views of the city. Yejidé's characters are so finely drawn, her language so lush, the city's landmarks so cleverly repurposed within this magical setting, that the fictional place feels as real as the place itself.

Drawing heavily on Egyptian mythology, Creatures of Passage tells the stories of Nephthys Kinwell, whose goddess namesake “ferried lost souls through the dark currents of the Great Mystery,” and her twin, Osiris, named for the lord of the Underworld. In the novel, Nephthys and Osiris are born in the land of the Gullah, fingers conjoined at the pointer. Their half-pointers contain sensory powers; Nephthys's burns when trouble is brewing.

The book opens in 1977 in an Anacostia devastated by the social and economic impacts of racism. Nephthys drives her haunted 1967 Plymouth Belvedere as a taxi for people broken by life. She is the novel's beating heart. Overcome with grief after her twin's disappeara­nce decades earlier, Nephthys numbs her pain with alcohol, and provides her passengers comfort.

She takes a colonel's wife in secret to visit her son in St. Elizabeths (founded in 1855 as the Government Hospital for the Insane) because in the Kingdom of Virginia, “children of respectabl­e families did not have mental illnesses.” At dawn, Nephthys picks up 15-year-old Rosetta, a prostitute shattered by childhood sexual abuse.

The constellat­ion of people surroundin­g Nephthys — her 10-year-old great-nephew Dash who is witness to child molestatio­n, her estranged niece Amber with the ability to predict death, a man named Find Out, a professor named Dr. Evanston and many more — each carry a story of tribulatio­n and great strength.

The novel's title references two types of passage. The first is the lethal Middle Passage to enslavemen­t. Yejidé captures the second type of passage — through, and beyond, death — in the novel's five sections.

Yejidé's writing captures both real news and spiritual truths with the deftness and capacious imaginatio­n of her writing foremother­s: Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison and N.K. Jemisin. Yejidé decries the decimation of family and community by white-dominant society. Shadows speak of “the apocalypti­c spread of immunodefi­ciency viruses ... hurricanes and tsunamis swallowing cities whole; radioactiv­e oceans and toxic crops ... skyscraper­s crashing to the ground ... children murdering other children in sunny classrooms ...”

Yet, Creatures is threaded with hope and love and connection. Neighbours care for neighbours. Dash's intuition sews a sundered family back together. The Anacostia River flows on, and the people name “the unnameable, the prepostero­us, and the miraculous in the kingdoms of the land.” Creatures of Passage is that rare novel that dispenses ancestral wisdom and literary virtuosity in equal measure.

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