JOSEPHINE BAKER’S LAST DANCE
by Sherry Jones
Biography/Historical
$11.00 (paperback) $11.99 (Kindle)
Author: Sherry Jones
Publisher: Gallery Books
Pages: 304
Genre: Biography/Historical
based on the life of legendary performer and activist Josephine Baker,
perfect for fans of The Paris Wife and Hidden Figures.
Discover the fascinating and singular life story of Josephine
Baker—actress, singer, dancer, Civil Rights activist, member of the
French Resistance during WWII, and a woman dedicated to erasing
prejudice and creating a more equitable world—in Josephine Baker’s Last
Dance.
In this illuminating biographical novel, Sherry Jones brings to life
Josephine’s early years in servitude and poverty in America, her rise to
fame as a showgirl in her famous banana skirt, her activism against
discrimination, and her many loves and losses. From 1920s Paris to 1960s
Washington, to her final, triumphant performance, one of the most
extraordinary lives of the twentieth century comes to stunning life on
the page.
With intimate prose and comprehensive research, Sherry Jones brings
this remarkable and compelling public figure into focus for the first
time in a joyous celebration of a life lived in technicolor, a powerful
woman who continues to inspire today.
My Review
I love reading historical fiction based on the lives of real people. There is something fascinating about reading events and situations and knowing that someone really experienced it. That’s one of the reasons I find historical fiction so compelling as a genre.
In this particular book, we meet Josephine Baker, first as a young child trying to survive in pre-WWII America. We follow her journey of harsh life lessons as she becomes a dancer, singer, resistance member, and activist. By reading this book, you are getting a glimpse of pre and post war society across the globe, and one woman’s attempt to change it.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, especially the format. The book starts with Josephine giving her farewell show, which is a song and dance story of her life. Josephine narrates each scene of the show, describing the dancers, songs and costumes, then the reader shifts into that portion of her life. It’s an extremely compelling way to frame a story, making the reader feel like they are traveling through her memories and back in time. This is an entire book set up as a pensieve (think Harry Potter), but with everyone who reads it having the required memory to use it.
At times the book dragged a little, weighed down by the shear volume of horrific and wonderful events experienced by Ms. Baker. I can see how some people would have wanted further editing to make the book more to the point, but I can also see why the editor refused to cut anything. How do you choose what events are insignificant in shaping a life??? I know I don’t want that job.
Overall, this is a wonderful book that taught me so much about the world and its history. I learned about cultural differences I didn’t know existed and fell further in love with Paris. If you love historical fiction, you will like this. But more importantly, if you want to read a book about a beautiful, talented, strong, courageous and smart woman, who overcame a harrowing childhood and a world that rejected her very existence, look no further.
Purchase Josephine Baker’s Last Dance in paperback, ebook, and audiobook formats on Simon and Schuster’s website (available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, BooksAMillion, Indiebound, Kobo, and other sites). Learn more about Sherry’s books at www.authorsherryjones.com
drop of rain hit her on the head. No, that was not a bad omen, only a
reminder to do her best, to shine like the star she was, or would be.
Wilsie came running up—Mr. Sissle was there, but Mr. Blake had yet to
arrive. “You’ll knock ’em dead, Tumpy. Just do your dancing and forget
the rest.” Josephine didn’t need to be told that. She was ready.
walked with Wilsie across the stage, past the musicians gathering,
trumpets and saxophones and drums and a clarinet, down into the
auditorium, where a slender man spoke to a white-haired man at his side.
He turned his head very slightly and looked her up and down from the
corners of his shrewd, hard eyes. His mouth pursed.
had even introduced them. The stage door opened, and a very
dark-skinned man with a bald head hurried in, talking about “the damned
rain,” scampering down the steps, striding up the aisle, shaking water
from his clothes.
manager—motioned to her and she followed him up the stage steps. Did she
know the songs? Could she dance to “I’m Just Wild about Harry”?
Josephine wanted to jump for joy. She pretended to watch as Wilsie
showed her the steps, which she already knew as if she’d made them up
herself. Josephine stripped down to her dingy leotard, tossed her
clothes on a chair, then ran and leaped to the center of the stage. This
was it. She bent over to grasp her ankles, stretching her legs, then
stood and pulled her arms over her head.
started, and she began the dance, so simple she could have done it in
her sleep. Practicing in the Standard, she’d gotten bored with it and
had made up her own steps, throwing in a little Black Bottom, wiggling
her ass and kicking her legs twice as high as they wanted to go, taken
by the music, played by it, the instruments’ instrument, flapping her
hands, step and kick and spin and spin and squat and jump and down in a
split, up and jump and kick and spin—oops, the steps, she didn’t need no
damn steps, she had better ones—and kick and jump and wiggle and spin.
She looked out into the auditorium—a big mistake: Mr. Blake’s mouth was
open and Mr. Sissle’s eyes had narrowed to slits. Don’t be nervous, just
dance. Only the music remained now, her feet and the stage.
on her dress and shoes, Wilsie came running over, her eyes shining. “You
made their heads spin, you better believe it,” she whispered, but when
they went down into the aisle Josephine heard Mr. Sissle muttering.
The world stopped turning, then, the sun frozen in its arc, every clock
still, every breath caught in every throat. Mr. Blake turned to her,
smiling as if everything were normal, and congratulated her on “a
remarkable dance.”
“Wasting my time,” he said. Mr. Blake looked at her as if she’d just
wandered in from the orphanage.
his arms as if she were underage on purpose. Mr. Blake led her toward
the stage door, an apologetic Wilsie saying she hadn’t known. Mr. Sissle
followed, talking to Mr. Blake about adding some steps to “I’m Just
Wild about Harry,” saying they should put in some kicks, that he’d been
thinking about it for a while. Uh-huh.
birthday, doll,” Mr. Blake said. “You never know when we might have an
opening.” He opened the door and let the rain pour in before shutting it
again. He looked at Josephine’s thin, optimistic dress. Where was her
umbrella? She hung her head. He stepped over to retrieve a black
umbrella propped against the wall and handed it to her. She took it
without even knowing, her thoughts colliding like too many birds in a
cage. She would have to stay in Philadelphia, she had failed—too young,
too dark, too ugly—she should have lied about her age, what had gotten
into her? Showing off, that was what.
would never get into their show; it didn’t matter how many times she
went back. As she stepped out into the rain with that big umbrella in
her hands unopened and felt the rain pour down her face; she was glad,
for now they would think it was water instead of tears, but when she
looked back, Wilsie was crying, too, in the open doorway.
stopped. They wouldn’t forget her; she’d make them remember. She walked
slowly, her silk dress dripping, while Mr. Sissle gesticulated with
excitement as he stole her ideas—authentic Negro dancing were the last
words she’d heard—and Mr. Blake looking as if he wanted to run out
there, scoop her up, and carry her back inside.
reprinted by permission of the author, Sherry Jones. Do not reproduce,
copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is
used for promotional purposes only.
in Spokane, WA, where, like Josephine Baker, she enjoys dancing,
singing, eating, advocating for equality, and drinking champagne.
Her latest novel is Josephine Baker’s Last Dance.
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