Ruby

Cynthia Bond narrates her own rich novel with a deliberate, almost sleepy pace reminiscent of the plodding tempo of life in East Texas in the 1950s--but too tedious for this listener's taste. Bond employs a rich, softly rounded accent for the voice of Ruby, a beautiful but simple-minded mixed-race girl who survives abuse and child prostitution. But Bond's flat, methodical tone for her narrative doesn't enhance her exquisite prose. As Ruby's persecution eventually results in borderline insanity, she experiences a supernatural side to her desolate life, simultaneously lovely and terrifying. The deep darkness of this novel, rife with racism and violence, is relieved by Ruby's journey to overcome her demons. N.M.C. © AudioFile 2015, Portland, Maine

January 27, 2014
Bond’s debut novel is difficult to read for its graphic and uncomfortable portrayal of racism, sexual violence, and religious intolerance in East Texas in the 1960s and ’70s. Bond is a gifted storyteller, able to make the reader squirm with anger and unease as she vividly depicts how easily bad things happen to good people. Ruby Bell is a middle-aged black woman living a feral existence in the woods of Liberty Township, a poor black community where the intolerant and superstitious inhabitants treat her with disgust as a social outcast and an unrepentant sinner because she’s a prostitute. Ephram Jennings grew up with Ruby and has been in love with her for years, despite her reputation. He too is shunned and ridiculed—because of his feelings for her. Their romance remains sad and painfully one-sided, regardless of Ephram’s tender good intentions. Even his doting older sister, Celia, is embarrassed and ashamed by Ephram’s behavior, and her deep, visceral hatred of Ruby goes back decades. Flashbacks reveal why Ruby chose a life of prostitution and why Celia hates her, as well as why Ephram struggles to get out from under his sister’s influence. All of the family drama is set amid an ingrained culture of sexual exploitation of women and children, racial brutality, and the community’s passive acceptance that these things are facts of life. This is a grim tale, well told, but there’s no comfort in these pages—just tragedy and heartache.