Cora’s Kitchen

The inequities of womanhood come across clear and strong in Cora’s Kitchen by Kimberly Garrett Brown. And how timely for this book to come out now.

It is no one’s sane desire to occupy the lowest rung on society’s ladder. And yet that is where Cora James finds herself relegated as a young black mother, working, married, and living in Harlem in 1928. But Cora has dreams beyond those confines. She seeks to become a legitimate, professional writer. Her journey to reaching that goal is poignantly recorded in her journal, which makes up the essence of Brown’s story.

Cleverly immersed within Cora’s journal entries are correspondence between herself and writer/poet Langston Hughes. Brown introduces Langston as a frequent visitor at the library where Cora worked, and they develop a rather spirited relationship as they enthusiastically discuss books, authors, and the art of writing. When Langston moves away for another assignment, Cora writes a letter to Langston about his poem “Troubled Woman,” and thus begins a correspondence spanning seven months.

Cora begins her journal by pondering two phrases from “Troubled Woman.” The phrases “quiet darkness” and “troubled woman” had resonated with her as she pondered her own situation. “I’d never thought of myself as troubled before, but I am… I sure have a lot of stories to tell about being a troubled woman.”

Things become complicated when Cora’s aunt asks her to take over her “sick” cousin’s job as a cook to a wealthy white woman, Eleanor Fitzgerald, and her four boys and husband. Cora agrees begrudgingly, and as time passes, she develops an unlikely friendship with Eleanor. She’d never had a white friend before; nor Eleanor, a black friend. They test the boundaries of friendship, daring to cross the line between race and class in a time period averse to such relationships. Through the events that occur in their relationship, Cora’s perspective on life is not necessarily changed, but rather enhanced and justified. It’s inevitable that Eleanor’s perspective would shift as well, and it does so satisfactorily.

Brown addresses the sensitive topics of domestic violence, racism, and sexism through the unfolding friendship and conversations between Cora and Eleanor, providing the black and white perspective from both angles. She is open with Eleanor in a manner she is not with Hughes; perhaps she feels a greater emotional affinity to a woman than a man. She shares her thoughts with Eleanor with uncanny clarity. She certainly sees and feels the injustices of being a woman, black or white, but even more so black. She shares these thoughts with Hughes, and he seems to agree. Until he doesn’t.

And yet Cora flourishes.

Brown’s story digs much deeper than the plight of women. It gets down to the plight of self-preservation in a society bent on suppression, not solely based on gender, but also on class, money, and specifically color. To be black and female in the 1920s and survive was an accomplishment in itself. Issues are many: family violence, marital problems. Never enough of money. Never being enough. Always being looked down upon, frowned upon. And this is not lost on Cora.

Relationships are tested in a heart-pounding climax.

Brown masterfully guides us through Cora’s relationship with both Hughes and Eleanor, and how Hughes’ “Troubled Woman” poem reflected Cora’s life. Cora’s letter-writing relationship with Hughes evolves from a bright-eyed young student in awe of the accomplished writer/teacher to one of a self-confident woman in owning her talent and in no further need of instructive criticism from the likes a chauvinistic self-assuming man.

Amen to that. I’d buy that book.