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In her own words, Jesmyn Ward is a "failed poet." At face value, this statement sounds like another lofty, author-y quip that makes many of us roll our eyes. After reading Salvage though, you understand. Ward is an extremely talented wordsmith. She's the kind of writer that was supposed to be a poet, but somehow tripped and fell into prose. This is mostly a good thing.
Early on, we're treated to lines like this: "Seeing him broke the cocoon of my rib cage, and my heart unfurled to fly," (5). It's brief, beautiful, and for a moment, we drift away from a novel into what could be the start, climax, or ending to a really good poem. We know, however, that we are not in a poem; we are reading fiction. At times, the elaborate images can ware on you as you trudge through a narrative that practically bruises the pages with motherless survival and ever impending storms. There's no questioning the skill in her "poetry," but within the prose, it seems out of place at times, like an extra spoon at a table setting. Don't be dissuaded though: the dramatic imagery certainly makes a home for itself in the subjects of the story--the current and imminent hurricanes overhead of a desperate family.
The impending "storms" are both literal and figurative, the former being none other than Ms. Katrina. The figurative spin around young pregnancy, dog-fighting, and a motherless girl in a family of men. You don't get any story about Katrina without lines that turn your stomach, and force your eyes open to the grotesqueries of life. Namely, childbirth. Perhaps the most vivid passage is when our young hero, Esch, describes the birth of her younger brother and subsequent death of her mother:
"I can see her, chin to chest, straining to push Junior out, and Junior snagging on her insides, grabbing hold of what he caught on to try and stay inside her, but instead he pulled it out with him when he was born" (4).
Consider this line a gift. Now, you can say that being a mom is the hardest job with conviction, rather than an obligation to tinkle kindly in polite society.
From the beginning, Ward treats us to a savage image of survival, and a heart rendering image of relief (page 5), setting the tone for a bloody, messy, and--miraculously--hopeful narrative of a young girl trying to stay alive.
