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Loom With A View
Time and space flow through the words of a healing elder in 'An Open Weave'
Reviewed by Nehanda Imara
If time were liquid, An Open Weave would be decades of warm sweet milk, deliciously consumed in one day. San Francisco poet devorah major's first novel is nourishment and healing for the wounded souls of all.
In this nonlinear tale, two story lines gradually unfold, interwoven through journeys in time in and out of the lives of three central characters: Ernestine; her daughter, Iree; and her granddaughter, Imani. In defiance of time, their 17-year odyssey is collapsed into one exceptional 24-hour-period.
One strand of the story involves Imani and her best friend, Amanda, who is pregnant. They spend the entire day eating, walking along the beach and hanging out while they contemplate Amanda's dilemma. Amanda is experiencing morning, afternoon and evening sickness, and Imani attempts to keep the mood lighthearted, joking and offering support.
The other strand allows us to discover much about both of them--and indeed, all of the primary characters--through the eyes of those awaiting Imani's arrival. The day is a special one. It is Imani's 17th birthday. Friends and relations are gathered at the family home. Through them, we revisit Imani's birth, Amanda's abandonment and the day of a great earthquake.
An intimate and emotive story, An Open Weave is full of colorful characters, at once familiar and strange. They are so immediately vivid, you can sit beside them on the porch or, just as easily, observe them from afar, reposing under a tree, a tree that becomes significant later in the story. Each scene unfolds like cloth flowing from Ernestine's loom.
Ernestine, the blind grandmother, is a natural woman, a healer. She is also a weaver. She abhors modern technology; she owns neither phone, television nor car. In spite of her blindness, Ernestine can feel colors through her fingertips. Imani is a seer. Iree is a time traveler; she is also an epileptic, whose seizures trigger odysseys into worlds of spirits and past events.
major provides no clues regarding date, time or place of the story. There are no familiar automobile models, no popular television shows or radio songs. It could be Fresno, 1950; Bakersfield, 1960; or Sacramento, 1980. Yet, by avoiding temporal barriers, a kind of universal space is created that is infinitely whole.
This feeling of shaped timelessness allows the readers to create their own sense of time and place. This sense is particularly noticeable in the novel's central chapter, "An Open Weave." In one passage, Ernestine is sitting at her loom while granddaughter Imani boasts about a jar full of sunbeams she has collected.
Imani asks, "Gramma? How come you never really finish your cloth? Just weave and weave? We got cloth all over the walls, but ain't none of it finished, just cut off in funny style ways."
"Nuthin' to finish, Imani," Ernestine replies. "Nuthin' never finished. Only things stop sometimes and then start up again. Nuthin' never finished."
While observing Imani and Ernestine's exchange, Iree is also worrying about losing their home because they don't have a deed to prove they own it. Ernestine continues to weave, certain they own the place. After all, Ernestine's son, Ezekiel, had promised he had the deed and that it was legitimate. But Ezekiel had died before he could explain its whereabouts. So, where is the document? "Well I guess he's got to come back and tell us, daughter," Ernestine surmises.
Iree: "Mama, he's not coming back. He's dead."
Ernestine: "Ain't no dead, daughter."
Iree: "Oh, Mother. Nuthin' finished, no tomorrow, no dead."
A short time later, Iree falls into one of her spells. When she comes to, she remembers witnessing the death of Ezekiel. He visits her for a while in a time and space of spiritual dwellers. Ezekiel informs Iree where to find the "mystical" deed proving ownership of their home.
The dialogue illustrates a rich cultural language with which the author is wholly familiar. When, for instance, Iree rocks herself rhythmically into one of her trance states, the scene evokes images of African drums beckoning her to a never-ending trek through time and space.
Ernestine's weavings, draped over the walls, are also symbolic of African spiritualism, as the narrative illustrates: "Each color was a call to an ancestor, a prayer to an orisha, a calling for guidance and protection." The textures are certainly African, but the message is fundamentally human.
We are all weaving a cloth that never finishes. As Ernestine avers, "Nuthin' finished." Our lives are journeys through infinite time and space. We each take part in contributing to the single interwoven cloth of humanity. An Open Weave may give guidance to us as we travel our different paths. Indeed it may simply help us catch a few sunbeams to brighten the way of never-ending journeys.
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An Open Weave
by devorah major
Seal Press; 182 pages; $20.95 cloth.