You Can't Keep a Good Woman Down: Stories

You Can't Keep a Good Woman Down: Stories

Alice Walker

Language: English

Pages: 108


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In Alice Walker’s second story collection, women stand their ground in the midst of crisis  

This collection builds on Alice Walker’s earlier work, the much-praised In Love & Trouble. But unlike her first collection of stories, the women in these tenderly wrought tales face their problems head on, proving powerful and self-possessed even when degraded by others—sometimes by those closest to them.

But even as the female protagonists face exploitation, social asymmetries, and casual cruelties, Walker leavens her stories with ample wit and, as always, an eye for the redemptive power of love.  

A collection that reveals a master of fiction approaching the fullness of her talent, these are the stories Walker produced while penning The Color Purple.

This ebook features an illustrated biography of Alice Walker including rare photos from the author’s personal collection.

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You Can’t Keep a Good Woman Down Alice Walker This book is dedicated to my contemporaries I thank my sister Ruth for the stories she tells. I thank Bessie Head, Ama Ata Aidoo, Buchi Emecheta, Wa Thiong’o Ngugi, Okot p’Bitek and Ousmane Sembene for the stories they write. I thank Gloria Steinem, Joanne Edgar and Suzanne Braun Levine of Ms. magazine, who greeted each of the many stories Ms. published from this collection with sisterly welcome and enthusiasm. I thank Ma Rainey, Bessie (A Good

perhaps the trades; she who told far and wide the remarkable insights of her grandmother’s enslaved cook; he who…) now rose to drone her praises. She munched her chicken and five hundred others munched along with her, their chewing a noisy, incessant and exuberant ignoring. She was suddenly back at the plantation. But where? Mississippi? Too hot, and already a cliché. Ditto Alabama, Georgia and Louisiana. She picked Virginia, where there were cool mountains and where it was not too severe a

home to dinner. That was Monday. By Tuesday I thought that dirty nails were just the right nonbourgeois attribute and indicated a lack of personal concern for appearances that included the smudged bifocals and the frazzled but beautifully fitting jeans; in a back pocket of which was invariably a half-rolled, impressively battered paperback book. It occurred to me that I could not look at Laurel without wanting to make love with him. He was the same. For a while, I blamed it on Atlanta in the

however, she had not thought this through. She was afraid to, and this was one of the major failings in her character. If she thought this through, for example, she would have to think of what becomes of poor whites when (if) they become rich (and how could she waste her time teaching incipient rich, white people?) and what becomes of blacks when they become middle class; she was already contemptuous of the black middle class. In fact, for its boringly slavish imitation of the white middle class,

her friends, boys who were in her class and who called her “Thia.” Boys who bought Thunderbird and shared it with her. Boys who laughed at her jokes so much they hardly remembered she was also cute. Her tight buddies. They carefully burned Uncle Albert to ashes in the incinerator of their high school, and each of them kept a bottle of his ashes. And for each of them what they knew and their reaction to what they knew was profound. The experience undercut whatever solid foundation Elethia had

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