“We have made sacrifices for these new North Carolina and its rights,” Jamison said. “For this separate nation we have forged, free from northern interference and the contamination of a lesser race. The black horde has been beaten back, correcting the mistake made years ago at this nation’s nativity.”

He bent down to rub Louisa’s head. “When we find the odd rascal, our duty is clear.”

The crowd separated, tutored by routine. With Jamison leading the procession, the night riders dragged the girl to the great oak in the middle of the park. Cora had seen the wheeled platform in the corner of the park that day; children climbed and jumped on it all afternoon.  At some point in the evening it had been pushed beneath the oak tree.  Jamison called for volunteers, and people of all ages rushed to their place on either side of the platform. The noose lowered around Louisa’s neck and she was led up the stairs.

One of those who had gathered to push the ramp away was ejected—he had already taken his turn at a previous festival. A young brunette in a pink polka-dot dress rushed to take his place. Cora turned away from the window in her hideout before the girl swung.

From The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead.

For a long time, I asked myself who would be the new Hemingway of contemporary American literature. I have found him: Colson Whitehead.  His precise and elegant writing indulges us with a smooth construction of sentences. Powerful verbs flash images and scenes into the readers’ minds like a projector onto a movie screen.  Set in segregated North Carolina before the Civil War, this account is only one of many great snippets in this novel.

Happy Memorial Day!