This is one of those books that is highly acclaimed, recommended, and talked about but I just felt zero desire to read. Apparently, FX even created a series based on it and a bitch didn't even sit still long enough to watch the previews.

I can't tell you why I fought this story so hard. But I can tell you that I did myself a disservice in doing so. This story deserves all the hype it has been receiving. If I could go back and kick my own ass for not picking up this book sooner I would.

Per the blurb, Dana, a black woman in the 1970's married to a white man and living in California, is somehow transported to pre-civil war antebellum south to save a downing white boy. After saving him she returns to her time. This back and forth continues as the boy grows into a man. The two have a familial connection making her obligated to keep him safe.

As a black woman who has experienced a majority of racism in the forms of microaggressions vs outright physical aggression, as a child who was fed watered down slave history by the public school system, as a woman who has rights today that my ancestors never believed possible, reading Dana's journey left a mark on me.

It crushed every last bit of grace I had for the "kind" plantation owners. The ones who cared about their slaves and "treated" them well. The ones whose ancestors of today claim that their family was different somehow. Never will placate the feelings of an excuse filled acquaintance who tries to convince themselves that their generational wealth wasn't accumulated by monsters and on the backs and blood of blacks.

Dana and Rufus are two names that will take up space rent free until the day I die.