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  • Title: Sing, Unburied, Sing: A Novel
  • Author: Jesmyn Ward
  • Narrator: Chris Chalk, Kelvin Harrison, Jr., Rutina Wesley
  • Length: 08:22:00
  • Version: Abridged
  • Release Date: 05/09/2017
  • Publisher: Simon & Schuster Audio
  • Genre: Fiction & Literature, Literary Fiction, Fairy Tales & Folklore, Coming of Age, Fiction & Literature, Literary Fiction, Fairy Tales & Folklore, Coming of Age, Fiction & Literature, Literary Fiction, Fairy Tales & Folklore, Coming of Age
  • ISBN13: 9.78E+12
Dear fellow travelers through literature’s landscapes,

There are books that settle into your bones, and then there are audiobooks that breathe life into those bones until they sing. Jesmyn Ward’s “Sing, Unburied, Sing” – performed by the extraordinary trio of Chris Chalk, Kelvin Harrison Jr., and Rutina Wesley – is the rare kind of listening experience that does both simultaneously. As someone who’s spent years chasing stories across continents, I can tell you this: Ward’s National Book Award-winning novel, in this audio incarnation, becomes something even more potent – a living, breathing entity that walks beside you long after the final chapter.

I first encountered this audiobook while driving through the sunbaked backroads of New Mexico, the desert’s emptiness creating an eerie resonance with Ward’s depiction of rural Mississippi. Much like those evenings in Oaxaca listening to the grandmother’s stories, this narration demanded my full attention – not just with its words, but with the spaces between them. The three narrators create a tapestry of voices so rich you can almost smell the pine resin and feel the oppressive humidity of Bois Sauvage.

Kelvin Harrison Jr.’s performance as Jojo is nothing short of revelatory. There’s a rawness to his delivery that captures the thirteen-year-old’s precarious balance between childhood and forced maturity – the way his voice cracks slightly when describing Pop’s lessons about gutting deer mirrors Jojo’s own visceral coming-of-age. When he recounts the ghost stories Pop tells about Parchman Farm, Harrison’s cadence slows to a molasses drip, making the horror seep into your skin. It reminded me of sitting around campfires in Chile, where the simplest storytelling could conjure whole worlds.

Rutina Wesley’s Leonie is a masterclass in complexity. She makes you feel every jagged edge of this struggling mother – the way her voice turns syrupy when high, the metallic sharpness when frustrated with her children. There’s a particular scene where Leonie argues with her mother that made me pull over my car; Wesley delivers it with such palpable tension that the air in my vehicle seemed to thicken. Her performance embodies what I’ve learned from years documenting family dynamics across cultures: love and neglect often wear the same face.

Chris Chalk’s Richie might be the most haunting element. His voice has the quality of wind through bare branches – at once young and ancient. The chapters where he describes Parchman’s atrocities are delivered with a chilling matter-of-factness that underscores the institutional horror. It brought to mind the elderly survivors I’ve interviewed in Rwanda and Bosnia; there’s a similar weight to how Chalk lets silence do as much work as words.

The production quality enhances Ward’s lyrical prose beautifully. Simon & Schuster Audio made smart choices – like having the ghostly voices subtly echo, or letting the Mississippi landscape’s sounds (cicadas, swaying trees) linger at scene transitions. These touches create an immersive experience that honors Ward’s magical realism without overpowering her words.

What makes this audiobook exceptional is how it handles Ward’s central themes. The exploration of inheritance – of trauma, of love, of history – gains new dimensions when heard. There’s a scene where Pop describes teaching Jojo to swim that wrecked me; Harrison’s voice breaking on ‘I wanted him to know how to save himself’ crystallizes the novel’s heart. The racial tensions, the opioid crisis, the specter of incarceration – all resonate differently when voices embody them.

If I have one critique, it’s that the shifts between narrators – while generally seamless – can occasionally jar during Leonie’s drug-hazed moments. Wesley’s performance is so visceral that these sections sometimes overwhelm the delicate balance Ward maintains on the page. But this is minor compared to the overall achievement.

For listeners who appreciated the oral storytelling quality of “The Water Dancer” or the familial haunting of “Beloved”, this audiobook offers a similarly transcendent experience. It’s particularly impactful for those interested in Southern Gothic traditions or contemporary reckonings with America’s racial legacy.

As a travel writer, I’m always seeking stories that transport you completely. This audiobook doesn’t just take you to Mississippi – it makes you “of” Mississippi, in all its painful beauty. The kind of journey that changes you.

With stories yet to be heard,
Marcus Rivera