Late in Evanthia Bromiley's debut novel, Crown, a woman looks out the window as the early morning train she is on hurtles past two half-dressed, unattended children dangerously close to the tracks. They are nine-year-old twins Evan and Virginia, born when Jude--now pregnant again--was 16. Jude, a waitress until the Covid-19 pandemic slowed and then stopped her income altogether, has stayed on the move, trying to shelter her family however she can, but now she must face two undeniable truths: they are being evicted from their small trailer, and the baby is coming.
Bromiley's novel shimmers as it moves between the three voices: first Virginia, all hard edges and light like a diamond, then Jude, and then "architect of daydreams" Evan, addressing his unborn sibling directly: "You are tucked tight inside Mama, like a seed." Though each voice is singular, all three are full of artistry, a poet's rendering of an ordinary desperation. In labor and with nowhere for them to go, Jude leaves Evan and Virginia in the car near the hospital, assuring them: "You wait for morning time. In the morning, I will come for you. Wait for me." At the end of the long, unraveled night, Jude learns that strangers can unexpectedly show up for each other in times of trouble. Like the woman on the train, some might sit in their comfort and pronounce Jude and her family "trash," but she is a loving mother, and her deep and abiding care shines in every word: "You are my most perfect, truth-telling twins. You are everything precious, everything perfect to me." --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian