![]() ![]() And in the silence thick between us it feels like even the smallest dishonesty will ruin this reconnection. The same dark skin haunted with red, the same hair she once scorned as "mongrel." But it's been ten years since last we've spoken. ![]() An oncoming car shocks bright her face and it's true, she does look good. You look good, Aisha." She frowns but accepts from me a hug that lingers before we break apart and begin walking eastward, our chins hunched down against the wind tunnelling between the surrounding apartment towers. "You're not dressed for this weather," she says. The way she shoulders her belongings with a rough and impatient gesture before stepping onto the asphalt and crossing the salt-stained lanes between us. ![]() She's carrying a backpack, not a suitcase, and this really is how she becomes Aisha. A neighbourhood girl no longer, a young woman now in heeled boots and a coat belted tight against the cold and dark. The bus pulling away from a rotting bank of snow to show her standing on the other side of the avenue. You can read an excerpt from Brother below. How David Chariandy brought his novel Brother to life.Rooted in Chariandy's own experience growing up as a person of colour in the Toronto suburb of Scarborough, the novel is a beautiful meditation on discrimination, agency, grief and the power of human relationships. David Chariandy's Brother takes us inside the lives of the mixed heritage sons of Trinidadian immigrants. ![]()
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