It shaped my early experience of reading, because I was always looking for those elements in stories. It was rare in the West African storytelling tradition, and in my case, the Vai tradition, to hear a story that didn’t include someone casting a spell or someone flying or shape shifting or displaying some other supernatural ability as they went about their lives. But, speculative fiction in storytelling is a form that is most organic to me. Wayétu Moore: When people ask why I chose to write in magical realism, I explain that my introduction to storytelling was through what the West calls magical realism and fantasy. What impact did that oral tradition have on your experiences with reading as you grew up? PoR: You grew up surrounded by West African storytelling, which often features magical realism, something you adopted in your own book, She Would Be King. Perspectives on Reading was delighted to explore with Moore storytelling’s influence on her as both a reader and a writer. Her debut novel, She Would Be King, reimagines the formation of Liberia through a blend of historical fiction and magical realism and was selected as a title for actress Sarah Jessica Parker’s American Library Association Book Club Central picks. For Liberian-American author Wayétu Moore, the stories of West Africa were her introduction to imaginative worlds and speculative fiction. The slight puncture where the bullet would have made its permanent hole quickly healed in their sight, and the helper dropped the gun and ran away from them like a bullied child.By Jill Grunenwald, Staff Writer | March 2019īefore the written word, stories were passed down through the oral tradition of storytelling. They expected that it would kill him on impact, expected that this would be his end and the boy would go from them as mysteriously as he had come.īut the bullet, as if repelled by his skin, fell to the ground. The bullet soared toward June Dey and Darlene. The maids screamed at the sight of the gun and the helper immediately fired it. Embarrassed and pale with trepidation, he lifted his gun from his belt. While beating him, the helper with the other whip looked down at his trousers as his bladder weakened and poured onto his clothes and shoes. Each time they whipped him, he became more infuriated and they sensed it in him. Instead, each time he was struck his strength grew. “The whips fell onto June Dey’s chest now, but as on his back, his skin did not break.
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