Last year I introduced myself to Woodson's works and words when I read the exquisite ANOTHER BROOKLYN. As in that book, the prose here is lyrical. The first chapter of RED AT THE BONE ends with the quote above, and even in audio I got goosebumps when I heard them. I may lean towards audio for Woodson in the future; I think her prose has a beautiful rhythm that works well when read aloud (but also on the page, of course).

RED AT THE BONE is a book that plays with perspective, and each chapter is narrated by someone within one family. Woodson's story travels between generations and time, and while a short novel, a powerful one. This is a strength of Woodson's, her economy of language and the way she conveys much without having to spell it out. There are spaces within the narrative that are left for the reader to surmise reasons and emotions. Woodson explores generational trauma in precise fashion; from Sabe to her daughter Iris to her daughter Melody. Iris isn't the most sympathetic character, but I was drawn to her the most. There were moments near the end that I was crying while driving into work, as I listened to the history of these characters' lives unfold in Woodson's poetic words.