Maybe it's because she calls her father-a housepainter-slash-philosopher-"Baba" instead of "Daddy," or because her parents' friends gather to pour out libations "from the Creator, for the Martyrs" and discuss "the community."
Maybe it's because she celebrates Kwanzaa, or because she's forbidden from reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. It's not because she's black-most of the other students in the fourth-grade class at her West Philadelphia elementary school are too. Kenya Curtis is only eight years old, but she knows that she's different, even if she can't put her finger on how or why.
An elegant, vibrant, startling coming-of-age novel, for anyone who's ever felt the shame of being alive
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