The Twelve Tribes of Hattie
By Ayana Mathis
Loneliness and hard-won grace pervade The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, Ayana Mathis’ virtuoso debut novel. This portrait of three generations of an African-American family spans more than half a century and most of the life of its indelible title character, Hattie Shepherd.
Mathis’ novel was rushed into print early after it was anointed an Oprah’s Book Club 2.0 selection. It deserves the media buzz. Mathis is an elegant stylist with a sure eye for telling detail and a deft hand for creating and controlling suspense. As her characters suffer and stray, she walks the fine line of treating them with compassion but never sentimentality.
Although the book’s time frame contains the years of the Great Migration of blacks out of the South and the civil rights era, those sweeping forces appear only indirectly. Mathis’ focus is personal, not historical.
The Twelve Tribes of Hattie opens in 1925 with a glimpse of an all-too-temporary Eden. Two years before, Hattie and her mother and sisters fled their Georgia home after her father was murdered by white men. When Hattie stands for the first time on the streets of Philadelphia and sees black people walking freely on the sidewalk rather than stepping off it for whites to pass, she never wants to leave.
By age 17, Hattie has married a young electrician named August Shepherd and is the doting mother of twins. “The neighborhood rang with birdsong. The twittering lulled the twins to sleep and put Hattie in such high spirits that she giggled all the time. … the grass in Hattie and August’s tiny square of lawn was green as the first day of the world.”
But that green day darkens with sickening speed. The twins, not yet a year old, die in their mother’s arms of pneumonia — a loss Mathis describes in spare but shattering detail — leaving their mother with a hole in her heart that never heals.
At first, she struggles with depression so deep that she can barely care for the children that quickly come along — there will be nine that live. Then she rebuilds herself into the family’s hard-working rock, whose kids call her the General (behind her back) and endlessly calculate both how to dodge her strict discipline and win her perhaps impossible affection.
Although Hattie is very much the central character — its unsolvable enigma, its unattainable beloved — Mathis tells her story through her children. Each chapter bears the names of one or two of them, and plunges us into their very different lives.
Each chapter also bears a date, moving forward from 1948 to 1980, but within them Mathis moves back and forth in time, filling in past and present. As years pass, some of Hattie’s children seem to have found good lives, but not without searing losses.
Oldest son Floyd becomes a successful musician, but only by resolving to suppress his sexuality. Daughter Alice marries a doctor and uses her wealth to take care of her damaged brother Billups, or so we think until it becomes clear who is the damaged one. Daughter Ruthie is born of Hattie’s second short-lived bout of happiness: an affair with a dashing man named Lawrence Bernard. Son Six, who bears terrible scars from a childhood burning, tries to become a preacher, discovers he is not touched by God — and becomes a preacher anyway.
The most harrowing chapter, perhaps, is daughter Bell’s. As a teen, Bell was shocked to catch a glimpse of Hattie with Lawrence; when Bell meets him years later, she begins a breathtakingly cruel affair with him. We learn her story as she is near death, but Hattie isn’t done with her.
In the chapter named for Ella, Hattie’s last child, whom she gives up to be raised by her well-off sister, we get a heartbreaking sense of what lies beneath Hattie’s coldness. And in the last chapter, named for granddaughter Sala, we see how far her strength extends.
Racial prejudice and inequality are among the forces Hattie and her family contend with, to be sure, but Mathis’ novel is about human experiences that we all share, about love and loss, and about the tremendous distances and inextricable bonds that form our families.