Orphans of the Living is a novel steeped in generational trauma, racial violence, and the slow unraveling of the American dream. Kathy Watson tells the story of Lula Stovall and her tangled family history, spanning from a Mississippi plantation in the 1920s through decades of poverty, migration, and social change. Lula, a white sharecropper’s wife, becomes both victim and agent in a life defined by loss and desperation. The novel, inspired by Watson’s own family, shifts between perspectives and decades, revealing how choices, often forced, sometimes chosen, echo through generations. It is part historical fiction, part personal reckoning, layered with the grit of real events and imagined truths.

Watson’s writing hits like a storm. The language is raw, unvarnished, and aching with honesty. The prose feels lived-in, like the old quilts and wood stoves that fill her characters’ homes. The pain is immediate and unrelenting. Lula’s desperate act with a piece of fencing wire early in the book stunned me. Not just because of what happened, but because of how real it felt. Watson doesn’t write for comfort. She writes to bear witness. There were moments when I had to put the book down and walk away, not because I didn’t want to keep going, but because it hurt too much to stay in the scene. That kind of writing is rare.

But it’s not just the writing that stuck with me. It’s the ambition of the book. Watson dives deep into race, class, history, and motherhood, often all at once. She gives space to the Black characters in Lula’s orbit, making sure they aren’t just there to prop up a white story. Violet Byrd, especially, is a force. Her presence radiates power and calm in a world built to crush her. The author makes the brave decision to include racist language and brutal events for historical accuracy. Nothing in this book is simple. No character is purely good or purely bad. Everyone is just trying to survive.

Orphans of the Living is not just a story about one woman’s brutal life. It’s about inheritance. What we’re given, what we pass on, and what we bury. I respected the story deeply. It’s a hard, unblinking book that left me gutted, moved, and wide awake. I’d recommend this book to readers who aren’t afraid of discomfort. If you’re drawn to stories like Jesmyn Ward’s Salvage the Bones or Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, this will resonate. It’s a hard read, emotionally, but one worth sticking with. Anyone interested in Southern history, generational trauma, or the quiet violence of poverty should read this.

Pages: 352 | ISBN :  978-1647429782