Triumph A Novel of the Human Spirit : Historical Fiction by Jodi Lea Stewart ➱ Book Tour with Rafflecopter
Seething with old prejudices, wealth, poverty, voodoo, and young hot blood, TRIUMPH, a Novel of the Human Spirit will take you through the Louisiana swamps, New Orleans, the Texas prairies, and into the bustling but racially troubled city of St. Louis in the mid-twentieth century . . . and lead you to a place where people are accepted because of character and heart—nothing more, nothing less.
Triumph
A Novel of the Human Spirit
by Jodi Lea Stewart
Genre: Historical Fiction
At a time when the world needs more warmth and acceptance, two little girls – Mercy and Annie, take us on a journey where color doesn’t matter, and character and heart are the only things that do!
Deep in the Louisiana swamps, 1903, five-year-old Willy is kidnapped by a Vodou Priestess. One day, he will fight bloody battles in France and come face-to-face with the horrors of Vodou.
In
bustling New Orleans, 1903, bachelor Jack—a former Texas Ranger—has
an encounter with a young beauty hiding in his hotel room. What she
wants and needs will change his life forever.
1958
St. Louis, two girls of different races, Mercy and Annie, meet in the
fifth grade. Together, they secretly explore St. Louis via bus and
streetcar, encountering cultural prejudices at every turn—
including from within one girl’s own family. The turbulent times
and the Civil Rights Movement will test the girls’ loyalty and
affect their choices on
In
a saga spanning from 1903 to 1968, compelling characters navigate the
stormy paths of life in New Orleans, St. Louis, and Texas until they
all collide in a startling and dramatic way.
Editorial Reviews
Review
*5-star rating by
K.C. Finn, Reviewer with "Reader's Favorite"*
"Author
Jodi Lea Stewart has crafted a mighty tale that packs a huge
emotional punch, and you can feel its impact on every page of this
excellent novel. The central protagonists, Mercy and Annie, could not
be more different on the page, and the dialogue and descriptive work
put into this distinction are effective and highly imaginative. It is
the twisting events of the intriguing and unusual plot line that
brings out their similarities and the true human spirit, which is a
wonderful thing to become more and more invested in as the story
continues. The historical atmosphere of the piece was also vividly
portrayed. I really adored St. Louis in a time of such progress, yet
so much tension. Overall, I would definitely recommend TRIUMPH,
a Novel of the Human Spirit to readers who enjoy historical
sagas that deliver on friendship, hope, and heart.
Written for
an adult readership, the work does contain graphic scenes and some
disturbing imagery that is relevant to the present danger of the
plot."
* Five Stars for Jodi Lea
Stewart's latest literary treasure*
"In her new
book, TRIUMPH, prolific author, Jodi Lea Stewart,
brilliantly tackles a lineup of some of the toughest literary
challenges a writer can face. Writing in the present tense. Telling a
dual time frame story. Dealing with dialect. Writing from a young
protagonist's perspective. And, the most challenging of all--shedding
a light of hope and encouragement on the most incendiary social
concern of our nation--racism. Ordinarily, in the hands of a less
skilled writer, any one of these could be the kiss of death of a
novel. That's not the case with Stewart. The characters are
compelling and believable. The settings are powerful and rendered
with a touch of uncanny realism. The literary magic spell Stewart
casts over this story is so effective, you do not realize the
commanding lesson it teaches until you close the cover and replay all
the clever and endearing elements that make it so
thought-provoking.
I have read Stewart's other books, and I am
always pleasantly surprised at her ability to deliver her deep
universally themed messages wrapped in disarmingly simple
premises."
~ DB Jackson, Author, Screenwriter,
Winner of the WesternHeritage Award
*5-star Review by Cyrus
Webb - Media Personality, Author, and Top-Amazon
Reviewer*
"In TRIUMPH, author Jodi Lea
Stewart shows that time and place have nothing to do with the
power of the human spirit. The reader will see themselves in
characters that might not look like them but carry their desire to
rise and thrive--and therein lies its power and a lesson..."
Reviewed by Ruffina Oserio for Readers'
Favorite
Review Rating: 5 Stars - Congratulations
on your 5-star review!
A beautiful story that is deftly
told, Triumph is set over long years and has the reader drifting
through different timelines and across different cities. The author
writes about three storylines in the novel and combines different
narrative voices, including an irresistible first-person narrative
voice that stays with the reader throughout. The lyrical writing,
coupled with the apt use of the local accent, enriches the story and
augments the realism that permeates it. The reader can picture the
characters and know about their background from how they speak. The
author handles themes that are as relevant and sensitive to
contemporary readers as these were to characters since 1903. This is
one of those novels that compel readers to think about one of the
pressing problems of America: the color line. And it also asks
serious questions about identity. Triumph: A Novel of the Human
Spirit is a powerful testimony that we can outgrow the pettiness that
defines people by their color and see a human spirit behind the shade
of skin.
From the Author
TRIUMPH, a Novel
of the Human Spirit is extra special to me for many reasons,
not the least of which is because it exemplifies my personal feelings
about ethics and the differences in human beings as something to be
celebrated, not feared or hated. The keys are always respect
and acceptance regardless of race or creed or whatever the
world wants to call "imperfect" or "different."
Other
sub-reasons for writing this novel were to highlight life in St.
Louis and beyond in the 1950s and early 1960s. I wanted to expose
some of the dangers (okay, the horrors) lurking in old New Orleans,
honor the Texas Rangers, and express my respect for people who learn
how to overlook the color barriers that separate and dishonor us as
people.
TRIUMPH, a Novel of the Human Spirit is for readers who enjoy high-concept books written with a literary pen, and those who wish to see justice fulfilled and old prejudices shattered.
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TRIUMPH, a Novel of the
Human Spirit
1903
Flo’s
piercing screech cuts the air like a sharp axe. “Simon-man, pull up on those
mules for gawd’s sake!” she cries.
“Whoa
there, Gabriel. Easy now, Michael. Su-su-su, boys,” utters the man called Uncle
Simon by four of the six kids in the buckboard. He pulls the lead reins tight,
resting them across his lap. He turns to gaze at Flo sitting in the seat beside
him and swipes a hand with neatly trimmed fingernails over the beads of
perspiration on his dark forehead.
“My
soul, you scared me, woman. I thought Doctor John himself was come back to
life.” He chuckles in uneasy relief. “Or, for a minute, I was thinking, maybe,
well… you know who had figured out some things, and—”
“Shush
now. It’s gettin’ dark time, but I knows I seen a woman over to there by those
trees.”
Simon
rises to his feet, his neck stuck out like a gander eyeing a snake. His eyes
canvas the trees slouched over the narrow trail before them. “Zeke, hand me
that lantern up here, won’t you, sir?”
Zeke,
thirteen but growing fast out of his britches and shirts and appearing mostly
to be grown, hands the lantern he fired up minutes before around the side of
the buck seat to Simon. Simon’s nerves are already taut from driving the
buckboard wagon over the checkerboard ground greedily hoarding space between
the swamps, marshes, and Lake Pontchartrain. Everybody knows that kind of
ground isn’t wholly stable, but Flo asked for a little drive-about for the kids
before he left tomorrow morning on the train back to New Orleans.
Flo,
with her exotic eyes and shapely form, gets about everything she asks for, and
then some, and Simon finds that to be a pride unto himself.
Water
mosquitoes ramp up their hungry search for blood as Simon strains to see
through the humid tar of dusk slurping up the wagon and its occupants like a
hungry towel. Five other kids besides Zeke jumble around in the back of the
small buckboard to see what’s causing the excitement. Curious eyes stare into
the gloom spreading across the watery cypress as a pale moon rises over
moss-swathed oaks on the shore. Hands slap at the carnivorous insects diving
toward their skin for nourishment.
“There
she is, Mama, by the black water!” Zeke shouts.
He
and Flo jump from the wagon to the ground. Zeke takes the proffered lantern
from Simon while Flo directs a silent finger at the small horde of squirming
youngsters, warning them to stay put. As soon as her back is turned, they scale
the wooden sides to the ground—delirious mice abandoning a ship long at sea.
Simon’s
gentle reprimands never make it past the toe board at his feet. He patiently
climbs from the wagon and trudges toward the stranger standing in the lush St.
Augustine grass spreading like a carpet from the banks of the water. He
patiently climbs from the wagon and trudges toward the stranger standing in the
lush St. Augustine grass spreading like a carpet from the banks of the water.
An ancient crape myrtle burdened with fuchsia blossoms frames the unmoving
figure standing before them. Zeke’s high-held lantern casts a ghostly light
over a brown-skinned woman of great beauty. She is swaddled in a pale-lilac
shawl from her neck to below her knees. Her arms hold a rolled blanket about
equal in size to a small log. Her hair is arranged high on her head and
fastened in place with pins of creamy ivory. Red ribbons loop through her
locks.
A
surge of sickness invades Simon’s belly as buried reminiscences dance on the
edge of his mind. The woman mumbles incoherently in soothing tones to the
blanket, sporadically covering it in tender kisses. Flo frowns at Simon, then
looks back at the stranger. “Honey-girl, you be all right?” she asks softly.
The
woman ignores her spectators, smiles at the blanket, crushes it flat to her
breast. She commences a slow rotation, lifting her eyes to fall long seconds
upon each person as she turns. She traps Simon in her gaze the longest,
coagulating the air in his lungs. Long-forgotten memories creep from a deep pit
in his subconscious. He swabs the rolling sweat from his face with a sleeve.
“Fl-Flo,
we best be getting on-on back to R-Ruddock. It’s g-g-getting late out here, and
these young’uns n-n-need to be tucked in their beds.” Simon coughs in his hand.
“We’re l-leaving now, ch-children.” He turns toward the buckboard. The woman
strikes up a humming rhythm replicating the cadence of a drum. Simon stops,
turns back around.
Flo,
confused about her Simon-man’s stuttering, shoots him a questioning look he
doesn’t see. She steps nearer the woman. “Come on, chile, let us bring you to
town. Us womens’ll help you with whatever’s ailing yer purty self. We gots our
medicines to heal yer heart and yer body, as well. Let’s go now, honey. We
understands how it feels to lose a little baby not barely in this world yet.”
The
woman seems not to hear Flo. Her feet move rhythmically, slowly—mesmerizing the
onlookers. She gazes into the sky. Undulating. Singing.
Danse
Calinda, boudoum, boudoum.
Danse
Calinda, boudoum, boudoum.
Molten
terror blossoms inside Simon, spreading hot into his arms and legs. The
children sneak closer to gaze at the spectacle before them. Simon visualizes
grabbing hold of his two children and the other four who call him Uncle Simon
as an eagle hooks a fish to safely wing into the heavens, but he cannot move.
The
woman sways side to side. She flicks her hand across her left shoulder. The
swaddling shawl falls to the ground. She stands before them wearing a flimsy
strip of material tied to her waist and dropping barely past her buttocks.
Layers of gold chains hang from her neck and spread over her naked bosom. Her
eyes gleam as she writhes and sings.
Eh!
Eh! Bomba, ben! Ben!
Canga
bafio, te,
Canga
mou ne de le,
Canga
do ki la,
Canga
li!
Trapped
by the gossamer web spun by the woman’s beauty and peculiarities, the captive
audience stares as she stops moving. For a few frozen moments, she deliberately
gazes at each one. She tilts her face upward and shrieks, a strange animal
sound. She tosses aside the empty blanket, bends to scoop up five-year-old
Willy as though he is weightless, and dashes toward the brackish water of the
estuary. She makes a sharp turn toward the swamp waters.
“My
baby! Give me back my baby!” Flo shrieks, the heavy darkness quickly gobbling
up her cries. Her screams shock the troupe from their trance-like stupor. One
by one, they take to their legs.
“Mama!
Mama! Mama!” Willy shouts.
The
woman vanishes behind the curtains of Spanish moss draping the trees along the
water bank. Her feet splash into the water. Willy screams.
Then,
silence.
In
moments, the agonizing quiet surrounding the band of confused people is filled
with a cacophony of frog croaks and cricket chirps. A black-crowned night heron
emits a barking-squawk complaint from a nearby tree.
Simon,
running fast, reaches the water’s edge and strains to see through the darkness.
He cups his hands. “William! Willy-Boy! Where are you, son?”
An
insect ensemble begins strumming nocturnal melodies across the calm waters
before him, rendering his soul bloodied and bare. He sinks to his knees, lost
in an agony for which there are no words. Flo witnesses his collapse. She falls
beside him onto the damp earth.
The
wails of her other five children rise like a pillar to the cold moon eyeing the
scene below.
Jodi Lea Stewart is a fiction author who believes in and writes about the triumph of the human spirit through overcoming adversity via grit, humor, and stubborn tenacity. Her writing reflects her life beginning in Texas, Missouri, and Oklahoma, later moving as a youngster to an Arizona cattle ranch next door to the Navajo Nation, and, as a young adult, resuming in her native Texas. Growing up, she climbed petroglyph-etched boulders, bounced two feet in the air in the backend of pickups wrestling through washed-out terracotta roads, and rode horseback on the winds of her imagination through the arroyos and mountains of the Arizona high country. Her lifetime friendship with all nationalities, cowpunchers, and the southern gentry allows Jodi to write comfortably about anything in the Southwest, the South, and far BEYOND.
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This looks like an enthralling read. Thanks for hosting this giveaway.
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