A young man, torn between two women, struggles to find his way in the world in Michael D. Dennis’s touching new novel, A Native’s Tongue.
Charlie Winters is used to just getting by while living with his single mother and working a dead-end job. Meanwhile, he’s constantly grappling with the voice of his sister, who died in a tragic car accident years earlier, echoing in his head.
Soon Charlie finds himself immersed in a destructive relationship with an older woman who still fails to fill the void within him.
But then he meets Jennifer, whose energy and life convinces Charlie to pursue her—even through the darkest corners of Los Angeles.
Escaping to the California coast, Charlie and Jennifer finally find what they’ve always needed. But a sudden illness quickly pulls them both back to LA.
It is there, amid the sex, drugs, and split-second decisions that pulse through the city, that tragedy strikes—threatening to tear Charlie and Jennifer apart forever.
A young man, torn between two women, struggles to find his way in the world in Michael D. Dennis’s touching new novel, A Native’s Tongue.
Charlie Winters is used to just getting by while living with his single mother and working a dead-end job. Meanwhile, he’s constantly grappling with the voice of his sister, who died in a tragic car accident years earlier, echoing in his head.
Soon Charlie finds himself immersed in a destructive relationship with an older woman who still fails to fill the void within him.
But then he meets Jennifer, whose energy and life convinces Charlie to pursue her—even through the darkest corners of Los Angeles.
Escaping to the California coast, Charlie and Jennifer finally find what they’ve always needed. But a sudden illness quickly pulls them both back to LA.
It is there, amid the sex, drugs, and split-second decisions that pulse through the city, that tragedy strikes—threatening to tear Charlie and Jennifer apart forever.
Jennifer Bannister’s footsteps echoed down the hall. The uniforms of the inmates dampened the sound. Her ears tried to follow the faint sound, if only to affirm that she was still moving forward. There wasn’t anyone to hold her hand. She just trusted that each sign would guide her in the right direction.
I’ll get there at some point, Jennifer thought, trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. You can’t get lost in here; they don’t let you go off course. Her words slipped away. She felt the cold air settle over her skin. She glanced at a placard marked Visitors Only.
In the cool air, her skin tightened. Jennifer shivered and wished she were somewhere warmer. Seeing Violet for the first time was going to be hard enough. She was going to look the woman she hated most in the world in the eye. She didn’t want to be shaking from the cold and covered in goose bumps.
Jennifer peered through the bulletproof glass at Violet. There were markings embedded in the glass, swirls that made it harder to look directly into Violet’s eyes. Jennifer picked up the phone and listened. Violet grabbed it and began to speak, “It was never you that he loved. You know that right?” Violet’s voice was raspy.
Her expressions and mannerisms changed from static to fully engaged. She stood up and waved her hands maniacally at Jennifer, and then she slammed her fist against the glass.
Jennifer hung up the phone. Her blonde hair got caught in between her hand and the receiver as she placed it back on the black hook. Turning, she slid out of the red plastic chair and down the corridor, guided by the exit sign’s green light. In the stale air of the prison, she searched for a pack of cigarettes, unsheathed a Parliament, lit it, and smoked nervously.
Two overweight guards carrying guns in nylon hip holsters directed her to the parking lot, where they offered her matching robotic waves good-bye. The midnight blue 2005 Jaguar xk8, which her parents loaned her for this visit, was the only vehicle in the parking lot row. Her parents thought she would feel safer in their car rather than her own bright red Honda.
In either case, she seemed to fit this car, or the car fit her a lot more. Her lean physique matched the lines on the Jag, and it made her feel more mature. She was constantly trying to act older than she was. Jennifer went around to the passenger side of the car and opened the rear door. She set her oversized black leather purse on the back seat and took out a translucent orange bottle filled with tiny white pills. She slung her head back, popped two, shut the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.
The heat had melted the surface of the Jaguar’s leather seats, reducing the fabric to a buttery texture. Jennifer’s blonde hair clung to the sides of her shoulders, heavy with sweat. She retrieved her car key from the passenger seat, pressed the key into the slot, and burst into tears, suddenly unable to move.
Jennifer hadn’t eaten all day. The heavy dose of Xanax caused her to feel excessively nauseous. She blacked out and fell forward, hitting her forehead on the steering wheel. The car increased in temperature with the late afternoon heat. Her powder-white skin grew red.
“Miss. Are you alright? Miss?” A young guard, Bill Marsh, had spotted the car, and decided to go in for a closer look.
When Jennifer didn’t move, he took out his club and smashed the window. She woke up from her temporary coma and lashed out.
"You Fuck!" Her voice was barely audible, even with the window smashed. Her energy was gone.
"Miss--I, I’m sorry you didn't look okay."
"I am! What business do you have involving yourself in my business? Do you know what you did? You just fucked up my car, you moron.”
“Look, I just saw you from my station.”
To Bill, her face looked familiar, though he couldn’t place where he had seen her before.
"You have no idea. Sitting in your stupid box, behind that intercom.
"I’m sorry, I know we’ll pay for the window. Hell, if the prison won't, I personally will." Bill said.
Wow! So much of Michael Dennis's novel, A Native's Tongue, is genuine with lines like, "I was ready for some more alcohol. I wanted to use it like mouthwash." Dennis's narrative is hard to look away from and equally challenging to become immersed in as a witness to this painful journey.
I love the cover and how it ties to Jennifer's first chapter as she considered how a drawer of clippings might explain the many questions about Charlie to which she lacked answers. As the novel opened, I was pulled into Jennifer's visit to see Violet in prison and drawn forward by the question of what had gone on between the three points of view. Introduced to Charlie's first-person narrative, I was curious to learn his story, which had gone awry, leaving Violet in prison and Jennifer contemplating how much of what they shared was real.
I enjoy stories that reflect on love in multiple forms and found this novel an exemplary example, with plot elements closely tied to the explored emotions. Power struggles, desperation, drugs, and family dysfunction come into play as Charlie and Jennifer navigate a need for something more from life against Charlie's destructive relationship with Violet. Facing these challenges along with self-destructive tendencies, Charlie hopes for an upswing and finds love with Jennifer, but as is the case in real life, obstacles stand in their way.
Though, very early on, I struggled to care about the characters as much as I wanted to, the more I read the story’s first half, the more I was drawn into their experiences and desires. The novel kept my interest with sharp dialog, poignant scenes, and tensely realistic conflicts.
I greatly respect Michale Dennis as an author and admire his skill at making many aspects shine above other novels of its caliber. I'm glad to have read this novel, and I expect many literary readers will no doubt love this book for its darkly realistic details and inner yearnings for more from life.