Winner of the 2018 Louisiana Literary Award given by the Louisiana Library Association For centuries, outlanders have openly denigrated Louisiana's coastal wetlands residents and their stubborn refusal to abandon the region's fragile prairies tremblants despite repeated natural and, more recently, man-made disasters. Yet, the cumulative environmental knowledge these wetlands survivors have gained through painful experiences over the course of two centuries holds invaluable keys to the successful adaptation of modern coastal communities throughout the globe. As Hurricane Sandy recently demonstrated, coastal peoples everywhere face rising sea levels, disastrous coastal erosion, and, inevitably, difficult lifestyle choices. Along the Bayou State's coast the most insidious challenges are man-made. Since channelization of the Mississippi River in the wake of the 1927 flood, which diverted sediments and nutrients from the wetlands, coastal Louisiana has lost to erosion, subsidence, and rising sea levels a land mass roughly twice the size of Connecticut. State and national policymakers were unable to reverse this environmental catastrophe until Hurricane Katrina focused a harsh spotlight on the human consequences of eight decades of neglect. Yet, even today, the welfare of Louisiana's coastal plain residents remains, at best, an afterthought in state and national policy discussions. For coastal families, the Gulf water lapping at the doorstep makes this morass by no means a scholarly debate over abstract problems. Ain't There No More renders an easily read history filled with new insights and possibilities. Rare, previously unpublished images documenting a disappearing way of life accompany the narrative. The authors bring nearly a century of combined experience to distilling research and telling this story in a way invaluable to Louisianans, to policymakers, and to all those concerned with rising sea levels and seeking a long-term solution.

In the rhythm of a familiar folk song, a child cannot resist adding one more dab of paint in surprising places.

This classic text addresses one of the most important issues in modern social theory and policy: how social inequality is reproduced from one generation to the next. With the original 1987 publication of Ain't No Makin' It, Jay MacLeod brought us to the Clarendon Heights housing project where we met the 'Brothers' and the 'Hallway Hangers'. Their story of poverty, race, and defeatism moved readers and challenged ethnic stereotypes. MacLeod's return eight years later, and the resulting 1995 revision, revealed little improvement in the lives of these men as they struggled in the labor market and crime-ridden underground economy. The third edition of this classic ethnography of social reproduction brings the story of inequality and social mobility into today's dialogue. Now fully updated with thirteen new interviews from the original Hallway Hangers and Brothers, as well as new theoretical analysis and comparison to the original conclusions, Ain't No Makin' It remains an admired and invaluable text.

This classic book is a powerful indictment of contemporary attitudes to race. By accusing British intellectuals and politicians on both sides of the political divide of refusing to take race seriously, Paul Gilroy caused immediate uproar when this book was first published in 1987. A brilliant and explosive exploration of racial discourses, There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack provided a powerful new direction for race relations in Britain. Still dynamite today and as relevant as ever, this Routledge Classics edition includes a new introduction by the author.

Helen wasn't just born the devious vixen of New Day Temple of Faith. There has to be something rooted deep within her to make her feed off of the pain she inflicts on other people. Perhaps it is her own pain that she has suppressed for so many years. It's an unimaginable pain that creates an internal prison in which her mind is the only captive. Whatever the cause, once the demons within her break free, those around her better beware. Helen feels no shame about the fact that she hasn't been saved. Will the divas of New Day Temple of Faith think Helen is worth saving? More importantly, can God save Helen from not only her evil past, but from herself?

Sarah recounts the story of how her little brother Sam was kidnapped by the town monster that nobody openly believed in, nobody except for Sarah, Sam, Austin, Molly, Abigail, and Jamarion. It all started when Sarah's family lost their fortune and had to move to a rundown house in rural Fort Payne, Alabama. Austin, Molly, Abigail, and Jamarion informed Sarah and Sam of the mysterious monster, Bill, when they met at an abandoned mine shaft near the old house. Bill was a witch, who's evil plan backfired on him one day, now every one hundred years he takes a new little boy from the old house, returns the other one and disappears for another hundred years. Sarah's family just so happened to move in on that fateful one hundred year mark, and had a son. So Sarah had to find Sam, did she save him?

Advance Praise from Carol Shields, author of Unless and The Stone Diaries "I read The Moor Is Dark Beneath the Moon with great pleasure and with a particular appreciation for its narrative energy; one wants to go on turning over those pages. I loved the Cornish stuff and felt affection for the kids, the teenagers--well, more than affection, more like an instant recognition." -- Carol Shields After decades in Canada, Davey Bryant returns to Cornwall, England, for the funeral of a mysterious relative and lands in the middle of a property-inheritance squabble that threatens to escalate into something far worse. Distraught by the changed landscape of his beloved homeland, Davey wanders the lonely moors and is soon sleuthing his way through a farce of megalithic proportions in which a midget couple driving a Morris Mini van might or might not be reincarnations of an evil Camelot dwarf and his consort. In the course of his investigations, Davey becomes ever more dislocated in time as he tries to fathom the nature of a gay family tree that besides himself may include a spinster aunt and a good-looking teenage cousin named Quentin. Magic's in the air, and it's not just the glint of the BBC cameras shooting a mini-series about Merlin and King Arthur in Tintagel. As Davey says about the moors, "Lots of things have died out here. And not just bodies, but hopes and strange loves. Nothing is really quite as it seems."