Grace by Natashia Deón is a historical horror novel that follows the life and death of a young Black woman named Naomi. Told through a nonlinear narrative, the novel follows Naomi as a ghost after her death, watching over her daughter Josephine while reflecting on the trauma, violence, love, and resilience that shaped her life. The story blends ghost story, historical fiction, and lyrical prose into something emotionally devastating and deeply human.
Gender roles and the brutality of slavery play a major role throughout the novel. Naomi begins as a hidden child, concealed by her mother from Massa, the slave owner who controls their lives. After witnessing abuse and violence against her family, Naomi kills Massa in order to protect herself and avenge her mother. She is then forced into survival alone, wandering through a world where Black women are constantly vulnerable to exploitation and violence.
Throughout the novel, men repeatedly fail the women around them through manipulation, abandonment, rape, cheating, and abuse. Yet alongside this darkness is an equally powerful theme of motherhood and feminine endurance. Naomi’s mother survives by complying outwardly while secretly protecting her children. Hazel, Naomi’s sister, becomes an example of survival and sacrifice. Even when Naomi herself is betrayed by Jeremy—the first man she truly loves—she eventually refuses to remain trapped in abuse. Jeremy attempts to pimp her out, abandons her during pregnancy, and later returns only to shame her. Naomi ultimately walks away, choosing both herself and her child over submission.
Motherhood Beyond Death
Shortly after Josephine’s birth, Naomi is killed by slave catchers. However, death does not end her connection to her daughter. As a ghost, Naomi remains tethered to Josephine, unable to fully let go. Some of the most haunting moments in the novel are not the supernatural ones, but the emotional truths surrounding motherhood, attachment, and grief. Annie tells Naomi’s spirit:
“One day you will leave her, by your choice. It’s what you’re supposed to do. At some point, every mother has to let her child go” (185).
That line stayed with me long after reading the book. It transforms the ghost story into something much larger about the pain of motherhood itself: loving someone enough to eventually release them into the world.
Lyrical Prose and Emotional Rhythm
One of the strongest literary elements in Grace is Deón’s lyrical prose. She slows down intimate moments and emotional observations until they almost feel suspended in time. Her writing often moves with a poetic rhythm that makes even painful scenes feel beautiful and deeply sensory.
“I wish he would smell sweet to me like a man looking for love or seemed soft like a man who could love me silly and forgive me for the thangs he didn’t know about me” (38).
The prose lingers inside physical sensation, emotion, memory, and desire. Rather than rushing through events, Deón allows moments to fully breathe. Her storytelling carries humor, sexuality, tenderness, and humanity even within the horror of slavery and violence.
What I take from this novel for my own writing is the importance of slowing down and honoring the details of life itself. Grace reminded me that storytelling is not only about plot progression but about fully inhabiting emotional moments, relationships, and sensory experience. The novel feels like a ghost story not simply because of Naomi’s spirit, but because it honors the cycle of life, motherhood, trauma, love, and memory itself. It suggests that even after death, the emotional imprint we leave on one another persists.
As Malakai gets older, more boundaries are set on how motherly I can be. From both of us. His constant reminders that he is not a baby while I’m trying to get him to sleep in his bed. The need to nurture and the reality that he can’t get everything he wants the moment he asks for it. In a way, things were easier when he was a baby. A time when he used to crawl around, take naps, and sleep wherever we put him. It’s silly, but our relationship is a catch-22, Malakai and I both want him to grow up and not be babied, while both of us are stuck from breaking away from the babying habits.
This year, we had a SpongeBob birthday. Krabby Patti wall streamer, featuring little paper and plastic jellyfish. The temporality of it all irks me. We would all have SpongeBob Birthdays after this if only the plastic decorations lasted more than one go. (Next time, I’ll get more sustainable decorations and switch my Tupperware from plastic to glass. I know these are the changes I need to make.) Water-themed tablecloth, with a net table runner. The fake tattoos and lollipops, all SpongeBob themed. It’s not that Malakai watches SpongeBob much, even though I’m sure he’s seen it before. We are just settling back from a family trip to Hawaii with my husband’s parents, so the theme of the ocean seemed to match.
Malakai went through his presents on his own time while waking up. He was less interested in the presents and more interested in relaxing on his day home from school. Each grandparent called him throughout the morning, and as he answered, they tried to tempt him to open their present sent in the mail, some in rectangular gift bags, others in Amazon sacks. Getting his attention wasn’t easy, but one grandma managed to coax him into opening her present. Malakai received Nerf guns, Legos, a Monster Truck, and some nice clothes. He played for a while before resorting to a screen.
At least until his best friend came over. It wasn’t an immediate excitement, like I’d like to type out. It started with him hiding, and then rejecting, and then finally wanting to show off all his toys and play. She announced, “He is Mountain Love! And I am Dennis.” I’m going to refer to her as Dennis. They ran around with the bug catcher and built their terrarium. Malakai was satisfied with just bugs, but Dennis decorated it with grass, leaves, and flowers. They jumped on the trampoline and practiced slamming down on their butts, running from soccer balls that dipped to them when they jumped, and crack-the-egg to see whose jump was stronger. We sat down at the table and enjoyed SpongeBob Pineapple sodas, along with brisket and chicken. Malakai’s dad came home right in time to sing Malakai Happy Birthday, and Malakai blew out the candles- all four.
The next morning, Malakai fought us to go to school. This is a regular morning routine where he doesn’t enjoy getting up and going to his daycare. Once he’s there, he always has fun, and when I pick him up, he is often very happy. I feel safe at the school he’s at, and I worry about the next step. I’m worried that he will fight even harder at a new school, which will make it harder for me to drop him off. When he fights me about going to school, I think of all the ways I can keep him home. What kind of work can I do while still giving him all the benefits of going to a school? In the long run, I’m going to have to let go, and again, the push and pull of not wanting him to grow up, and also being ready for him to grow up. The beautiful fours.
Everything about my daughter is spicy and wild. She is creating a storm, and her actions and movements express the full seasoned attitudes she stomps with. Running down the dirt paths into the Sunny Brea Forest my son takes off down the trail after her. Taking long running strides without resistance. Like Sonic the hedgehog on a track. The idea of siblingship drives my children bonkers. They want to push, pull, resist but they can’t help but to collide back into one another with love and compassion. Being a child even though full of wonderment and adventure it is also filled with a victim mentality, as the children blame each other every step of the way, sissy pushed me, Malakai left the water bottle not me, etc.
Under the Hunter’s moon I felt emotions stir that I had no control over. I felt so passionate about my feelings, I had to act on them, I couldn’t resist. Now in the new moon, I am wondering if I could have held back those feelings. If I was able to suppress them, hide them, until they dissipated. In the new moon I wonder what I could have done differently to not have acted on my emotion, how to be a new me, how to be a different me. I don’t regret having feelings, but I do regret not having the tools, knowledge, and power to have formulated those feelings in a different way.
All Hallows Eve is among us and we are preparing with trips to the pumpkin patch, making costumes, and preparing sweet treats for friends and family. There is nothing better than being surrounded by your best friends, and Halloween is a great time to indulge in doing fun things with the people you love. We went to the pumpkin patch and got lost in the maze. It was a relief to find the exit (I think we exited where we entered, we were that lost.) Our family and friends took their time choosing the best pumpkins. My husband chose mine, an orange and green pumpkin with lots of warts and a twisted stem. I took the kids to the haunted museum, then we went to see the witches on paddle boards. Bonding and spending time with the kids in this manner was very rewarding to me.
My daughter has been working on her Therian costume. If you didn’t know, Therian’s believe they are a non-human animal species, but are human on a physical level. They may mimic the behaviors of their animal identity. She burnt her hand with the hot glue gun making her costume and I realized even if she thinks she’s old enough (age 11) to do these things on her own, she still needs adult supervision. My son also wanted an animal costume to match his sisters. He got a wolf tail and ears, we’re going to make it out to look like Max from Where the Wild Things Are.
I’ve been sharing with my best friend/ roommate ideas for Halloween dishes. Dishes like corn fritters, pumpkin cake pops, stuffed sweet and savory butternut squash (stuffed with chicken, brussels sprouts, and beets,) pumpkin cheesecake cookies, and honey lavender white chocolate truffles. I’m fascinated with all the good recipes we can find on the internet.
On that note, my roommate cooks the best meals. He makes fish, fresh pizza, and the best tasting quinoa. I am constantly so busy from work and childcare that I can’t always perform as the best cook. But I want to cook like my roommate. I want to dedicate time in the kitchen. I want to enjoy the work. I love being a mom but it’s taxing. To find the balance that offers my children the best life possible and the healthiest options.
Last of all childcare for toddlers; It is so scary to put your children in the hands of someone else. As a substitute teacher I strive to give the kids the best experience possible. The experience I want my children to have while I’m away. Part of me doesn’t want to return to work in the New Year. I’d rather stay home with my children, so I know they are safe. Work on cooking and home life. To become a better writer and artist by dedicating time at home. My mom was a stay-at-home mom till I was four. My son doesn’t have to attend school for another year. Yet, childcare has a lot to offer too. Will I be able to work with him on his education, give him the socializing skills the school offers, and the play structure? Will I be able to keep my calm as a stay-at-home mother, or will it be a burden on my child’s and my relationship? Is there a hybrid version (stay-at-home mom + daycare) that won’t make me feel obligated to be at work? Coming to the end of the year I wonder what I can do to better my child’s lives.
Last year on August 10, 2021, my husband, Jeremy, delivered Malakai, at our home in the seaside town of Eureka, California. I am very grateful for the beautiful experience and the baby it brought me. Malakai is developing quickly for his age and is rather a large (2-3T/tall) boy. He is kind and plays well with others. Malakai’s birth has also been a transformational experience for me; I have found myself much more organized and future-focused. I have taken up business classes and organizational skills I didn’t have before. I had a summer off from substitute teaching and played in the sun with my children going from one campsite to the next, one town to the next.
It was a beautiful mothers day in May when my son started repeating his first word, “Dada.” The ramblings of “Da Da Da Da” went on for months until Halyaya (his sister) and I couldn’t help but reply, “I am not dada!” Toward the end of the summer, my son started saying, “Mama.” I might close the door behind me, and he will stand with his arms outstretched, screaming, “Ma ma! Ma ma!” Or he will be in a sour mood and ask to be held with his hands opening and closing and a crying plea “Mama, Mama,” snuggling his head into my chest and rubbing his nose against my blouse. This little victory was exciting for me, just as much as his little first step, which led him to run through the house with other children or play outside in the backyard.
Malakai started eating food which felt like it took forever as my friend’s babies were being fed bananas, strawberries, and avocados, but Malakai refused it all. He eats meals with us, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He loves snacks. Like Halaya, he prefers warm foods over cold foods. On my birthday, two days after his, Malakai fell into the fireplace and got a cut on his eye that bled profusely. We rushed him to the ER, and by the time we got there, he didn’t seem fazed by it. He is one tough cookie.
I love the community I have met, the friends and acquaintances my son draws in at festivals or parks. Even at the grocery store, I can have a sour attitude, and a lady will approach me and comment on the kindness in my son’s eyes or how much they love his smile. At his daycare, where I picked up a shift or two over the summer, I watched as his cheerfulness and playfulness spread amongst the teachers and infants. It will be hard for me to return to work and place my one-year-old in daycare in a week when summer comes close. Halaya, Malakai, and I have had two months of intensive bonding.
Even though we are no longer breastfeeding, Malakai still cosleeps with us. My husband and I want him to sleep in the cradle, but it is hard for me mostly to separate from him. He no longer sleeps next to us but more like against us, on top of us; sometimes, we find him at our feet. He will whimper or cry in the night, and one of us will get him a bottle. I love to soothe his cries. I expect that the cosleeping will be coming to an end shortly.
Now that Malakai is one, and I look back, I had thought the first year would be more challenging. I was surprised to have gained somewhat of life back, to continue to have a healthy relationship with my husband, and still have time to spend quality time with my daughter. Even though I have to commit more time to raising my child, I have learned to cut out certain times of the day to get things done, like writing my blog. Things that are harder than I assumed would be going out in public or leaving my children with someone else to watch. If I were to do it again, I would have breastfed longer, introduced solids sooner, stuck to using cloth diapers more often, and maybe would have been less eager to go out in the town. But in all, it’s just been great, and I couldn’t be happier with the little family we have created.
Little Lost Forest 