Commentary on Smallie and Eden McKenzie-Goddard – the news that has embarrassed the Windrush | Fiction

There is a kind of British brutality that thrives on dignity. The 2018 The Windrush controversy it exposed this in full: instead of chaos or spectacle, it exposed the medical decision-making machinery that captured black and brown people in detail. Now it’s part of our national narrative, often told in light or as a cautionary tale. But what can be hidden, in this story, is the form of harm, in which a difficult life was turned into a document.

Smallie, Eden McKenzie-Goddard’s romantic debut, insists on restoring the humanity of people from the Windrush generation who were erased by the official language. The story begins several decades before, in 1961, when 19-year-old Lucinda Brown left Barbados for England, in search of Clarence Braithwaite, a jazz musician who gave birth to her son (who lives in his family’s arms) and then lost the promises of Britain. On the ferry crossing she meets Raldo, a magnetic Trinidadian – “the kind of man women slap each other to point” – whose easygoing charm belies a relaxed lifestyle.

However, when they arrive in London, instead of dating, they are disappointed. The England he was promised is cold and indifferent – on his first day, he is beaten by the police, his body takes on the power of a system he does not understand. She shares a small flat in Hackney with three other new arrivals from the Caribbean, and works long hours as a cleaner. Clarence’s dream, too, quickly becomes a shocking reality. Changed by the hardships of British immigration, he is unstable, unstable and unfaithful. “This is not my Clarence,” Lucinda realizes. “This is not the land I was promised.”

Today’s episode, when Lucinda receives a brief letter from the home office informing her that she is an illegal immigrant, due to deportation. They have given me six weeks to prepare to leave a life of more than 50 years. His children – especially Patrick, an alcoholic who has recovered – must reconstruct his life in written words, proving that he has the right to remain by writing the old spaces that are not well written. Their search leads back to Raldo, a man who may hold the missing evidence, and the ghost of another soul.

This double production allows McKenzie-Goddard to briefly describe Lucinda’s life with the cold, ambiguous state of mind. A woman who has spent many years working, raising children, building a house, can be immediately reduced to unnecessary administrative errors. “Grandpa. Seventy-five. The cage,” says their son Mark, referring to the removal of the van Lucinda is forced to enter. “Where is the justice?”

There are contemporary political scenes in the works: one of Lucinda’s sons, Chris, is a Conservative MP with hard-line views on immigration, a man whose features resemble several real-life politicians. McKenzie-Goddard pushes this in a clear, extreme way: what does it mean to participate in a system that can, literally, drive your mother away?

Later, the judge will explain that Lucinda lived a life “too small to be seen by the records”. Lucinda didn’t change the world, or set herself apart in ways that made people feel sorry for her. He is not a model stranger, or always a “good” person. But Smallie insists that respect should not depend on clear morals or ethics.

Despite the weighty nature of the story, Smallie moves with a dynamic energy, built around cliffhangers and mysterious revelations. McKenzie-Goddard’s record is musical without being overwhelming, and is surprisingly assured to begin with. There are many moments of wisdom: the night Lucinda dances for the first time in Barbados, McKenzie-Goddard writes: “This is what freedom feels like … The Bible got it wrong … Much of the dialogue is translated into the Caribbean language, its words and expressions that give the book a constant joy. At less than 300 pages, Smallie is full. Some relationships – Lucinda and Raldo, Patrick and his son, Jevan – feel a little reduced, and could have benefited from space It does a lot for a little book, but sometimes one can’t help but wish it could do more.

As one of the first books to deal directly with the chaos of Windrush, Smallie captures something of the inevitable. In describing the life of Caribbean immigrants in London, it is similar to the way Andrea Levy enjoyed it Small Islandbut to be reformed is to look back on how fragile things are, and how easily they can be removed. It sounds like a book that will be among the most telling stories about this shameful period in British history.