By Susan Straight
From nationwide publication Award finalist Susan directly comes a haunting ancient novel a few Louisiana slave girl's perilous trip to freedom.Daughter of an African mom and a white father she by no means knew, Moinette is a home maid on a plantation south of recent Orleans. At fourteen she is bought, separated from her mom and not using a likelihood to assert so long. vibrant, innovative and good conscious of every little thing she dangers, Moinette immediately starts off to organize for a chance to flee. encouraged by way of a real tale, A Million Nightingales portrays Moinette’s experience–and the treacherous global she needs to navigate–with unusual richness, intricacy, and drama.
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Extra info for A Million Nightingales
Then speak her fair, An’ straik her cannie wi’ the hair, An’ to the muckle house repair,° Wi’ instant speed, An’ strive, wi’ a’ your Wit an’ Lear, To get remead. Yon ill-tongu’d tinkler, Charlie Fox,° May taunt you wi’ his jeers an’ mocks; But gie him’t het, my hearty cocks! ° Tell yon guid bluid o’ auld Boconnock’s,° I’ll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, An’ drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock’s1° Nine times a week, If he some scheme, like tea an’ winnocks,° Wad kindly seek. ° Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; She’s just a devil wi’ a rung; An’ if she promise auld or young 1 A worthy old Hostess of the Author’s in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies Politics over a glass of guid, auld Scotch Drink.
190 It’s true, they need na starve or sweat, Thro’ Winter’s cauld, or Summer’s heat; They’ve nae sair-wark to craze their banes, An’ fill auld-age wi’ grips an’ granes; But human-bodies are sic fools, For a’ their colledges an’ schools, That when nae real ills perplex them, They mak enow themsels to vex them; An’ ay the less they hae to sturt them, In like proportion, less will hurt them. indd 10 9/18/2012 3:33:44 PM poems (kilmarnock, 1786) Her dizzen’s done, she’s unco weel;° But Gentlemen, an’ Ladies warst, Wi’ ev’n down want o’ wark are curst.
My roupet Muse is haerse! Your Honor’s hearts wi’ grief ’twad pierce, To see her sittan on her arse Low i’ the dust, An’ scriechan out prosaic verse, An’ like to brust! 10 Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an’ me’s in great affliction, E’er sin’ they laid that curst restriction On AQUAVITÆ;° An’ rouse them up to strong conviction, An’ move their pity. Stand forth and tell yon PREMIER YOUTH,° The honest, open, naked truth: Tell him o’ mine an’ Scotland’s drouth, His servants humble: The muckle devil blaw you south, If ye dissemble!