FINDING HOLLIS, a novel set in 1944 in North Minneapolis, is a journey in search of more than just a name. Within it the threads of three separate worlds become interwoven–first by circumstance, then by understanding.
fromFinding Hollis ...Frances could not recall a colored woman ever riding this line. Most of the black people, and there were not many, lived in small pockets in other parts of the city. She took note of the woman’s perfectly ironed dress and, it being a Friday evening, was tempted to assume the woman was off to some place intriguing. Yet Frances was unable to imagine just where that might be.
Then the trolley jerked into motion.
The man next to her shifted in his seat, lifting his hat as he ran his fingers through his hair, the scent of pomade growing stronger. She had noticed the mild fragrance when she first boarded the streetcar, how it mixed with the evening air that drifted in through the one open window. Advertisements for shoe polish and chewing gum gleamed above the heads of the many passengers, familiar people she almost knew. On her left, a lady holding a sack of beets hummed quietly and across the way a boy squirmed in his mother’s lap, a tuft of blonde hair falling across his forehead. A shaft of sunlight skirted and then held in an unsteady line across the floor, making everything in its slim path shimmer and dance...
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you. Walt Whitman