‘So deliciously South London’ YOMI ADEGOKE, author of Slay in Your Lane
‘Jendella Benson has drawn such a compelling world that Hope and Glory, the book and the characters themselves, stayed with me long after I’d turned the final pages’
CANDICE CARTY-WILLIAMS
‘Once I started reading, I couldn’t stop! Jendella’s writing is spellbinding, so beautiful’ LIZZIE DAMILOLA BLACKBURN, author of Yinka Where iz Your Huzband
‘I held my breath, gasped out loud and devoured every gorgeous page’
DOROTHY KOOMSON
‘A compelling and compassionate book that’s at once heartbreaking and hopeful’
CHLOE ASHBY, author of Wet Paint
‘Engrossing, emotional and super relatable’ SAREETA DOMINGO
‘Stirring, startling, life-affirming’ MUSA OKWONGA
‘A dazzling debut. Jendella Benson is one to watch’ MELISSA CUMMINS-QUARRY, co-founder of Black Girls Book Club
Watch a video from Jendella to all you lovely booksellers here
AVAILABLE POS
Bespoke South London window clings and standees featuring South London’s new best friend Glory
We’d love to send booksellers POS, to request please contact
yadira.datrindade@orionbooks.co.uk
READ AN EXCLUSIVE LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Booksellers,
The starting point for Hope and Glory was my quarter-life crisis. To those more seasoned and experienced amongst us, the idea of having a crisis before your life has even really started sounds ridiculous, but that post-uni slump is real, and for me, it lasted a few years.
I wanted to write about that feeling of disillusionment and mild desperation that sets in when you get everything you thought you wanted (freedom from education, “real” adulthood and independence) but now don’t know what to do with it. But being a first/second generation British Nigerian brought a different dimension to that – deep-seated guilt. My parents had taken the leap of faith, migrating to another country to give their children a better shot at life, and here I was floundering in the promised land with so much opportunity in front of me than I otherwise would have had.
So that was the starting point: some would say ‘typically millennial’ in its navel-gazing, but as I began to write Glory’s story, the rest of her family came into focus. A few drafts in, I realised this was as much about a family finding its way and coming to terms with its history, as it was about Glory and her personal preoccupations. When I started writing, I was Glory, trapped in my own frustrations and wedded to my own perspective, but by the time I finished, I was more like Faith, more mature and more aware of my flaws and limitations. But, as you will find out, neither sister is perfect, and I enjoyed writing the complicated dynamics between the siblings with all their conflicts and colour.
I would like to think that I’m quite empathic, but in some ways, writing the Akíndélé family tested that. It’s easy to pass judgements on the decisions that older generations made, but having to inhabit those hypothetical decisions in a way that would allow the characters of Celeste and Kúnlé to breathe as fully three dimensional humans – and not just the black and white, hero/villain caricatures parents can often become in their children’s minds – was not easy. But I hope I achieved it, in order to respect and honour what our parents’ generation endured and achieved in pursuing their dreams for their families.
Amongst these decisions and consequences comes the concept of private fostering – a little-spoken about practice that was at it’s height from the 1960s through to the early 1990s. It is only in recent years, as generations of these fostered children have matured and dug into their own personal histories, that stories and experiences are starting to be shared more and more. This is an important part of British history that speaks to the strain and stresses that newly-migrated families were under, and the difficult decisions parents had to make for themselves and their children. And I stress, this is British history; as British as strawberries and cream at Wimbledon and afternoon tea; as British as ‘The Blitz Spirit’ and The Troubles in Northern Ireland; as British as the last night of the BBC Proms, and a crowd of people waving Union Jacks and singing ‘Land of hope and glory, mother of the free, how shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?’
Hope and Glory is a thoroughly British story – particular to the West African British community, yes, but what would Britain be without its former colonies, immigration and the stories that come with each family trying to make their way on this small island? That’s a rhetorical question, of course! 🙂
Thank you for reading this letter, and I hope you enjoy Hope and Glory.
