Candice Iloh gives a gripping performance of this semi-autobiographical novel in verse. Listeners will meet Ada, the daughter of a Nigerian father who is unaccepting of American customs and an African-American mother who is mentally ill. Ada’s life is difficult. Nonetheless, she explores her sexuality and wants to study dance rather than accounting. Iloh unhesitatingly portrays Ada in grade school and in college, where she experiences her first taste of freedom. This coming-of-age story is enhanced by an unflinching look at child sexual abuse and the pressure placed upon a first-generation immigrant to meet family expectations. Iloh excels with portraying the polar opposite parents and in contrasting bullying versus supportive classmates. Verse makes audio a must for this exceptional story. S.G.B. © AudioFile 2020, Portland, Maine
Every Body Looking
Narrated by Candice Iloh
Candice IlohUnabridged — 2 hours, 54 minutes
Every Body Looking
Narrated by Candice Iloh
Candice IlohUnabridged — 2 hours, 54 minutes
Audiobook (Digital)
Free with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription | Cancel Anytime
Already Subscribed?
Sign in to Your BN.com Account
Related collections and offers
FREE
with a B&N Audiobooks Subscription
Overview
Every Body Looking is an intense yet beautiful coming-of-age tale written in verse about a young Black woman on a journey of self-exploration. Ada’s story alternates between the past and present day, giving readers insight into how her childhood traumas and conservative familial expectations help shape her decisions as a freshman in college. A powerful and relatable read for many.
When Ada leaves home for her freshman year at a Historically Black College, it's the first time she's ever been so far from her family-and the first time that she's been able to make her own choices and to seek her place in this new world. As she stumbles deeper into the world of dance and explores her sexuality, she also begins to wrestle with her past-her mother's struggle with addiction, her Nigerian father's attempts to make a home for her. Ultimately, Ada discovers she needs to brush off the destiny others have chosen for her and claim full ownership of her body and her future.
“Candice Iloh's beautifully crafted narrative about family, belonging, sexuality, and telling our deepest truths in order to be whole is at once immensely readable and ultimately healing.”-Jacqueline Woodson, New York Times Bestselling Author of Brown Girl Dreaming
“An essential-and emotionally gripping and masterfully written and compulsively readable-addition to the coming-of-age canon.”-Nic Stone, New York Times Bestselling Author of Dear Martin
“This is a story about the sometimes toxic and heavy expectations set onthe backs of first-generation children, the pressures woven into the familydynamic, culturally and socially. About childhood secrets with sharp teeth. And ultimately, about a liberation that taunts every young person.” -Jason Reynolds, New York Times Bestselling Author of Long Way Down
Editorial Reviews
★ 10/19/2020
In this remarkable novel in verse, introspective Ada moves out of her Nigerian father’s home in Chicago to begin her freshman year at an unnamed historically Black university in Washington, D.C., where she experiences the anxieties and rewards of living independently and making her own decisions. However, traumatic memories of her past persistently haunt Ada, particularly the volatile relationship she has with her estranged mother who suffers from addiction, the gendered expectations that accompany her father’s Christianity, and a childhood sexual assault. Uninspired by her accounting classes, Ada meets Kendra, a charismatic Black dancer, who encourages her to pursue her secret lifelong love of dance. As their relationship deepens beyond friendship, and dance becomes a priority, Ada must bridge the gaps between her past, her father’s projections of her future, and how she wants to define herself and her life. In this stunning debut for young adults, Iloh crafts succinct, beautiful poems to illustrate the difficulties of navigating the tangle of family history and obligation, the power of art to heal and express, and the strength it takes to chart an authentic, independent path. Ages 12–up. Agent: Patricia Nelson, Marsal Lyon Literary Agency. (Sept.)
A Finalist for the National Book Award
A Michael L. Printz Award Honoree
One of Reader's Digest's 50 Best YA Novels of All Time
"Candice Iloh's beautifully crafted narrative about family, belonging, sexuality, and telling our deepest truths in order to be whole is at once immensely readable and ultimately healing."—Jacqueline Woodson, New York Times bestselling author of Brown Girl Dreaming
"An essential—and emotionally gripping and masterfully written and compulsively readable—addition to the coming-of-age canon."—Nic Stone, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin
"I can't remember the last time I read a story that stood this effortlessly at the axis of so many slivers of young American life. To show complexity without box-checking, and empathy without melodrama, to me, makes this a story with legs, and Iloh a writer to watch." —Jason Reynolds, New York Times bestselling author of Long Way Down
“This blazing coming-of-age comet will have everybody looking up.”—New York Times
"Lyrical, insightful, and searing."—Teen Vogue
“[Iloh] makes a stunning debut with this brilliant coming-of-age tale.”—Buffalo News
"[A portrait] of a young woman struggling with issues both universal — wanting to be liked, to feel seen, to make a friend — and specific to the experiences of a Black woman and child of immigrants.... [T]riumphant."—Vox
★ "In this stunning debut for young adults, Iloh crafts succinct, beautiful poems to illustrate the difficulties of navigating the tangle of family history and obligation, the power of art to heal and express, and the strength it takes to chart an authentic, independent path."—Publishers Weekly, starred review
★ "This book is a testament to the beauty of Black girls, their circumstances, bodies, and cultures."—Booklist, starred review
★ "Iloh uses verse beautifully…[A] captivating, sometimes heartbreaking, yet ultimately hopeful story."—Kirkus, starred review
"Every Body Looking is a powerful acknowledgement of what we gain when we grant ourselves permission to embrace who we are fully and completely."—BookPage
"A hopeful, beautifully written, deeply affecting story of what we endure and overcome in the journey to become ourselves."—Teen Librarian Toolbox
“Readers will be left wishing they could accompany Ada as she pursues her passion and finds her way to a genuine relationship, while left hopeful and inspired by her beautifully-told story.”—SLJ
A Feminist Book Project Top Ten Title
09/01/2020
Gr 7 Up—Ada, pronounced Aah-dah!, means "first daughter" in Igbo and, as Ada shares, such a name carries the heavy weight of expectations. Written in verse, Ada's narrative unfurls from her high school graduation, then jumps around in time while she navigates her early college days at an HBCU, dipping in and out of scenes from first, second, and sixth grades. Pivotal and sometimes wrenching episodes are seared into each of these time periods, from sexual abuse in first grade to a betrayal of her privacy by an aunty who arrives from Nigeria in sixth grade. Iloh poignantly captures the tension and jagged emotion required for Ada to juggle her needy and absent mother with the heavy expectations of her father, all while trying to figure out who she really wants to be. Amidst all this uncertainty and seeking lies dance. While Dad is the one to introduce Ada to dance lessons to connect her to his home country, it is the deep desire for movement that consumes Ada and begins to pull her in the opposite direction of his more practical aspirations for her. VERDICT Readers will be left wishing they could accompany Ada as she pursues her passion and finds her way to a genuine relationship, while left hopeful and inspired by her beautifully-told story.—Jill Heritage Maza, Montclair Kimberley Academy, NJ
Candice Iloh gives a gripping performance of this semi-autobiographical novel in verse. Listeners will meet Ada, the daughter of a Nigerian father who is unaccepting of American customs and an African-American mother who is mentally ill. Ada’s life is difficult. Nonetheless, she explores her sexuality and wants to study dance rather than accounting. Iloh unhesitatingly portrays Ada in grade school and in college, where she experiences her first taste of freedom. This coming-of-age story is enhanced by an unflinching look at child sexual abuse and the pressure placed upon a first-generation immigrant to meet family expectations. Iloh excels with portraying the polar opposite parents and in contrasting bullying versus supportive classmates. Verse makes audio a must for this exceptional story. S.G.B. © AudioFile 2020, Portland, Maine
★ 2020-07-08
A Black girl’s journey from a stifled life to self-discovery through dance.
Seventeen-year-old Ada grew up in Chicago with a Nigerian immigrant father who raised her in line with his strict, traditional Christian values. Her mother struggled with addiction and was mostly absent, both physically and emotionally. Ada was indoctrinated to be submissive to her elders and learned to suppress vital parts of herself, from her opinions to her love of dance. Brought up to keep so much of her life a secret, Ada has even kept quiet about a tragic sexual assault at the hands of her older male cousin. She is finally given the physical freedom she had been denied her whole life when she graduates high school and heads to college in Washington, D.C. There, she starts to unpack what she has been taught by her dysfunctional family and begins to bloom and unlock those guarded parts of herself. In the end, Ada reclaims her body and her life through dance, exploring her own beliefs and values and finding her voice. Iloh uses verse beautifully to show readers the world through Ada’s eyes, incorporating flashbacks and time jumps to piece the whole picture together. With complex relationship dynamics and heavy-hitting issues like rape, overbearing and neglectful parents, and addiction, this book will leave readers deeply affected.
A young woman’s captivating, sometimes heartbreaking, yet ultimately hopeful story about coming into her own. (Verse novel. 14-18)
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940177625386 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 09/22/2020 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
GRADUATION DAY
Just look at me
they got me out here
wearing a dress
heels
makeup
hope Mama’s proud
she sure does look like it
looking at me and squealing
like proud mamas do when
their baby looks something
like she came from them
her squeals bounce
from every wall of this hotel lobby
her screams shake from
her fragile body exploding
like she’s shocked by her own joy
unsteady heels click
against the tile toward the person she can say
was the best thing she ever did
with her life
Here’s the scene: I’m seventeen and graduating
from high school
and this weekend I learn to juggle
my father and his new wife
are on their way to the Home of the Chicago Doves
decked out, like they’re about to glide down the church’s red carpet
him in his crispiest suit, her bulging from a flowered dress
my baby brother dressed
as Dad’s mini identical twin
belted in the back seat
of my father’s golden Toyota Camry
is giddy knowing nothing
about what day it is
or how his big sister
will survive it
after picking up her own mommy
keeping her seated somewhere
she can fidget
far from his side of the family
Mama fidgets
in my passenger seat
more on edge than me
maybe cause it’s been
like five years since we’ve seen
each other but she is here
scoffs under her breath
thinking, just like her
this hoopty is proof
of yet another thing
I don’t need
shrugs away small thoughts
not knowing
Dad demanded
I save and buy my first Camry
myself
sits and tugs
at her lopsided wig
pulls down the mirror
reapplies bloodred lipstick
smudges some on her cheeks
with her fingers
and I thank god knowing
without this
I may not
recognize her
We pull into my high school’s parking lot
for the last day I will ever have to smile at these people like I ever belonged here / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field, a place she has never seen / I imagine the sounds of our heels to be / like a song we are for once dancing to together / today / I’m not angry / at her slurred speech / I’m not angry / at her missing teeth / I’m not angry / at her fuss / I’m not angry / that she looks nothing like / the last time I saw her / or that / I don’t know when the next time will be / for the ten minutes it takes Mama and me to get to the stands along the football field / I’m just happy we’re both here / alive
My name is Ada
but not really
it’s what my father’s side
calls me cause I was born
first
and on this day
I’m only three months
from leaving this place behind
they tell me there’s
a big world out there
and they tell me
there’s so much I can do
and I know nothing
but this city
but my father
but these schools
where I’ve always
been one of few specks
of dingy brown
in a sea of perfect white
but I know the bible
and I know how to do
the right things
so how hard could college
really be
How hard could it be to
1. Find a dress that both Mama and Dad would like.
2. Make sure the dress was loose enough to hide all my heavy.
3. Put on heels I could stand for more than three hours.
4. Pick Mama up in my own car.
5. Get Mama to my soon-to-be old school.
6. Sit Mama somewhere I could see her.
7. Run back and forth between Mama and Dad.
8. Smile for every camera.
9. Smile with Mama.
10. Smile when Mama insists that she be the first, after it’s over, to have dinner with me.
Dad smiles for his final picture with me
loosening the awkward grip
tightly held on the outside
of my right arm
his sharp signature cologne
left to linger across
my shoulders
a scent just as strong
as the bass
in the shifting tone of his voice
proud of you, Kid
you did good
he says
as if I’d done
my entire high school bid
just now, all in one day
thanks, Dad
I smile back, bashful
warm under the way
he looks at me
on the days
I do right
standing back I look
at the softness peeking through
thick folds of my father’s face
watch yet another attempt
to pull his belted suit pants
over the bottom of his round belly
now at the end of a long day
under the football field sun with beads of sweat
faithfully dabbed across his widow’s peak
by an old white cloth always tucked
in his back pocket basking in the praise
of his job well done
After the pictures are done
caught back and forth
on opposite sides
of the crowded field
buzzing with families proud
of children
they don’t really know
we pull into the driveway
as the sky surrounding Dad’s house
is deepening toward black from gray
Mama glances toward
his front door and back
toward the road behind us
scared
I think to place a hand
on her trembling shoulder
but settle for telling her it’s okay, Mom
tell her we’ll be a minute
tell her I just need to change
tell her they’re not home yet
but Dad’s house is my house too
Mama looks back at me
wanting too much
to see where I live
but too proud to admit
she needs my permission
stares into the side of my face
hungry for any scrap
I might drop for her to catch
reaches for my hand
as I lift it just in time
from the gear stick for her to miss
shifting my foot
from the brake pedal
checking my phone for the time
I tell Mama
we’ve got thirty minutes
before my father and that woman
come home
Some kids grew up coming home
to the smell of mustard greens
special recipe mac and cheese
cornbread from scratch and cookies
baking in the oven
to the sound of their mama
screamin at somebody on the tv
getting on her nerves for the tenth time
while she watches the same shows
announcing to the whole house
that this will be
the last time I trip
over a child’s raggedy school shoes
or telling them you better
clean up that funky alleyway
that you like to call
your bedroom
some kids grew up
being asked about
why their grades ain’t
better than that and fussin
over homework they need to do
but my mama
was different
my mama just
wasn’t reallythe type
To keep tabs on me like that
wasn’t really my mama’s style I learned years ago
when she started asking me my age
I’d look back at her and wonder
how she could forget when she had me
how she could push out a whole person
and just forget
Mama and I both forget
about time the minute I turn the key
unlocking the front door to Dad’s house
suddenly it’s like we’re surrounded
by a museum of forbidden family
knowing she can look but not touch
Mama is everywhere her feet
take her wanting to see what we’ve
been up to while she’s away
the walls covered with me at every age
that she struggles to remember
Mama getting lost in all the picture frames
my fancy life of birthday parties and school plays
my first dance recital on a park stage
dressed in colorful West African cloth like the other girls
a buzz from my phone reminds me
to get her upstairs so I can change my clothes
From upstairs I can hear Dad’s car door slam
and I know they are home already
Mama’s fidgets come back again
and I’m angry
when just seconds ago
her soft hands were gliding
across my pictures
my clothes
my animals
stuffed with love
and a pillow with her picture
stuck inside its plastic cover frame
freshly painted red fingernails
touching just about everything
happy to be in the room
where her child sleeps
happy to be inside
and here she is
now filled with fear
filled with how they will see her
a stranger squatting
in her own daughter’s
bedroom
I run from my room
closing the door behind me /
down the stairs / I run / so I can
smile and twirl / real sweet once more /
for Dad / and his new wife
to dance / in their still-fresh
pride of the new high school graduate
where is she, Dad asks
I tell him
she is upstairs
tell him
we’ll only be a few minutes
tell him
this is my house too
his new wife looks and sucks her teeth
upstairs, one of the first, down here the last
my baby brother off playing and oblivious
and suddenly I know somewhere
it’s written, somewhere it says
my mama shouldn’t be here
Mama shouldn’t be here
so we’re gone quick and quiet five minutes later to eat anywhere but here and Mama is cussin but I smile and turn on the radio, blast the ac cause it’s just her and me
I ask her where she wants to go and she tells meanywhere girl I’m with my baby
I knew we shouldn’t have gone in there! chile, did you see how she was lookin
I pretend it’s all nothing and drive us to my favorite restaurant thumping my fingers
on my lap to the beat, leave Mama to keep talking and talking to the tune of herself
She already answered this herself
when I come back to the motel for her the next day
a question she asks in the car on the way
to my graduation party and it sounds like some
kind of silly joke where she’s playing or must have
forgotten the party where we are headed is for me
I don’t really feel
like bein bothered
with all them people
all them people I don’t know
and they just gon be
lookin at me and I’m just gon be
sittin by myself and I just ain’t
in the mood to be bothered, you know
I ask her what she wants to do instead
but tell her I’m going to my party, after all
it was thrown for me, it’s either she comes
or she gets on the next train back, cause
today is supposed to be about me
oh I don’t know but
I don’t feel like bein bothered
I really ain’t tryna go to no party
she says
Away from the party on this drive to the train station
it’s only silent for a few minutes
before I’m called every name
I’m sure I’m not supposed to be
called by my mama but I know
this is how she says she’s angry
this is how she says this is her day too
this is how she says she’s sorry
in her own way, as a mother
for breaking all the rules
The first thing I do after everyone is gone
is shut the door
close the blinds
sometimes being dramatic
is my thing but
this really was
the first time I’ve seen
this much cash
ever
the room I’d slept in
for the past seven years
painted a Pepto-Bismol pink
was now marked
an old green
at the center
I’d opened each
graduation card alone
skipped Hallmark notes
telling me Good Job! and Great Things Ahead!
skipped every Congrats on your big day!
in search of what mattered most
told Dad I didn’t feel like
being mushy
in front of all
those people
but truth is
I just wanted
to count my money
in peace
Videos
