By Zora Neale Hurston, Maya Angelou
First released in 1942 on the top of her attractiveness, "Dust Tracks on a street" is Zora Neale Hurston's candid, humorous, daring, and poignant autobiography, an resourceful and exuberant account of her upward thrust from youth poverty within the rural South to a favourite position one of the best artists and intellectuals of the Harlem Renaissance. As compelling as her acclaimed fiction, Hurston's very own literary self-portrait deals a revealing, usually audacious glimpse into the lifestyles -- private and non-private -- of a unprecedented artist, anthropologist, chronicler, and champion of the black adventure in the USA. packed with the wit and knowledge of a proud, lively lady who started out low and climbed excessive, "Dust Tracks on a street" is a unprecedented treasure from one among literature's so much adored voices.
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Additional info for Dust Tracks on a Road
As soon as breakfast was over, I sneaked off to the meeting place in the scrub palmettoes, a short way from our house and waited. Carrie didn’t come right away. I was on my way to her house by a round-about way when I met her. She was coming to tell me that she couldn’t go. It looked so far that maybe we wouldn’t get back by sundown, and then we would both get a whipping. When we got big enough to wear long dresses, we could go and stay as long as we wanted to. Nobody couldn’t whip us then. No matter how hard I begged, she wouldn’t go.
He was there a few minutes after I was born. Seeing the front door standing open, he came on in, and hollered, “Hello, there! ” That is the regular way to call in the country because nearly everybody who has anything to watch, has biting dogs. Nobody answered, but he claimed later that he heard me spreading my lungs all over Orange County, so he shoved the door open and bolted on into the house. He followed the noise and then he saw how things were, and being the kind of a man he was, he took out his Barlow Knife and cut the navel cord, then he did the best he could about other things.
It seemed like a good place to go. Later on, he was to be elected Mayor of Eatonville for three terms, and to write the local laws. The village of Eatonville is still governed by the laws formulated by my father. The town clerk still consults a copy of the original printing which seems to be the only one in existence now. I have tried every way I know how to get this copy for my library, but so far it has not been possible. I had it once, but the town clerk came and took it back. When my mother joined papa a year after he had settled in Eatonville, she brought some quilts, her feather bed and bedstead.