The Coldest Winter Ever: a Novel by Sister Souljah (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah Synopsis coming soon....... FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description In a stunning first novel, renowned hip-hop artist, writer and activist Sister Souljah brings the streets of New York to life with a powerful and utterly unforgettable tale. Ghetto-born, Winter is the young, wealthy daughter of a prominent Brooklyn drug-dealing family. Quick-witted, sexy, business minded and fashionable, Winter knows no restrictions. No one can control her. Shes nobodys victim. Winter knows the Brooklyn streets like she knows the curves of her own body. She manoeuvres skilfully, applying all she has learned to come out on top, no matter how dramatically the scenes change. But a cold winter wind is about to blow her life in a direction she could never have expected. Unwilling to give up her ghetto celebrity status, her friends and her lovers, Winter sets off on a series of wild adventures to reclaim her role as princess of the alleyways. But when her schemes begin to unravel, Winter is on her own, figuring out a whole new way to survive. "The Coldest Winter Ever"marks the debut of a gifted storyteller. Sister Souljah explores a young urban womans innermost state of mind in a voice as bold as it is bracingly honest.Provocative and thoroughly entertaining, this is a daring novel of passion, loss, courage - and of the sometimes terrible tolls exacted from us just to stay alive. You will never forget this Winters tale. Author Biography Sister Souljah is best known for her work as a political activist and educator of underclass urban youth. A graduate of Rutgers University, she is a beloved personality in her own community. She lives in New Jersey City with her husband and son. Review "[Souljah] spread[s] messages that are clear, concise, and true to the game." -- The Source"Intriguing....Souljah exhibits a raw and true voice." -- Publishers Weekly"Sister Souljah has taken her talents from the stage to the page." -- Essence"Winter is nasty, spoiled, and almost unbelievably libidinous, and its ample evidence of the authors talent that she is also deeply sympathetic." -- The New Yorker"Winter is precious, babacious, and as tough as a hollow-point bullet." -- Salon.com Long Description Renowned hip-hop artist, political activist, and bestselling author Sister Souljah brings the streets of New York to life in a powerful and utterly unforgettable first novel."I came busting into the world during one of New Yorks worst snowstorms, so my mother named me Winter." Ghetto-born, Winter is the young, wealthy daughter of a prominent Brooklyn drug-dealing family. Quick-witted, sexy, and business-minded, she knows and loves the streets like the curves of her own body. But when a cold Winter wind blows her life in a direction she doesnt want to go, her street smarts and seductive skills are put to the test of a lifetime. Unwilling to lose, this ghetto girl will do "anything" to stay on top.Featuring a Special Collectors Edition Readers Guide -- including an author Q&A, detailed character analyses, and the authors own remarks about the meaning of her story. Review Quote "YSouljah? spreadYs? messages that are clear, concise, and true to the game." -- "The Source" Excerpt from Book Chapter One I never liked Sister Souljah, straight up. She the type of female Id like to cut in the face with my razor. Before I get heated just talking about her, let me make it clear who I am and where I stand. Dont go jumping to any conclusions either. All of yall are too quick to jump to her defense without knowing what somebody up close and personal thinks. When it comes right down to it, those are the ones who really count, the people who was there, who seen it all. Hell, you cant smell nobodys breath through a camera. You almost cant even see their pimples. So you know that TV shit aint real. Dont run ahead of me. Let me take my time and tell my story. Brooklyn-born I dont have no sob stories for you about rats and roaches and pissy-pew hallways. I came busting out of my mommas big coochie on January 28, 1977 during one of New Yorks worst snowstorms. So my mother named me Winter. My father, Ricky Santiaga, was so proud of his new baby girl that he had a limo waiting to pick my moms up from the hospital. The same night I got home my pops gave me a diamond ring set in 24-karat gold. My moms said that my fingers were too small and soft to even hold a ring in place, but he insisted that he had a guy who would have it adjusted just right. It was important for me to know I deserved the best, no slum jewelry, cheap shoes, or knock-off designer stuff, only the real thing. We lived in the projects but we were cool with that. We werent wanting for a damn thing. I had three aunts, four uncles, and a whole slew of cousins. As far as we were concerned it was live for all of us to be chilling in the same building, or at least the next building over. We never had to worry about getting into fights because around our way we had reputation. Plus it was plain and simple common sense. If you put your hands on anybody in the family you would get jumped by the next oldest person in our family, and so on and so on. Sooner than later we didnt even have to say a word. Everybody understood that our family had the neighborhood locked down, it wasnt worth the trouble. Our apartment in the projects was dipped. We had royal red carpets on the floors, top-of-the-line furniture, a fully loaded entertainment center, equipment, and all that good stuff. I loved my pops with a passion. He was the smoothest nigga in the world. When he came into a room he made a difference. His cologne came around the corner introducing him before you could even see him. He spoke softly, with deep seriousness. He was light-skinned, tall, with curly black hair and a fine thin mustache to match. He was medium build, definitely in shape. The thing that stood out about him was his style. His clothes were crisp-expensive. He never wore the same shirt twice. He could do it like that cause he was smart. He never used the drugs he sold. He collected his money on time and made examples of any fool who tried to cheat him. He had a saying: One copper penny, one finger. All the ladies loved him but he wasnt what I would call a ladies man. He never had no girlfriend, at least no female ever called the house trying to front on my moms. I cant recall any incidents involving other women, accusations or any uncomfortableness. He was a family man. Everybody in the whole world knew my moms was his wife, his one and only, his soft spot even. Moms and Pops had been young lovers and, unlike a whole lot of niggas, they stayed together. She was fourteen when she had me. Folks said she looked great during pregnancy and would switch her ass around the neighborhood flowing easy, like water. She would wear her fine Italian leather stiletto heels even in her seventh month. Moms had everything by the way of clothes and anything else you could think of. Her mahogany skin was smooth as a Hersheys chocolate bar. When she went anywhere she was well coordinated. If she had on a zebra skin hat, shed sport the zebra skin pants and would have a zebra skin pattern on all ten nails. Shed even have the Victorias Secret zebra pattern panties and camisole. What separated her from every other woman any of us knew was she just had so much class. While the others were putting their imitation leather and zebra skins on layaway, piece by piece, Momma wouldnt be caught dead without her shit perfectly arranged. By the time hoes sported their outfits all their shit was played out, straight out of style. When it came to shopping Momma had no mercy and thats the way Santiaga liked it. His woman was supposed to be the showstopper. Momma didnt work cause beauty, she said, was a full-time occupation that left no room for anything else. Shed sit at her vanity table for three hours making sure she positioned each extra long lash on just right. Shed argue with anyone who said she wasnt born with those lashes that framed her big, wide brown eyes that were gorgeous with or without falsies. She made it clear to me that beautiful women are supposed to be taken care of. She would whisper in my ear, "Im just a bad bitch!" Now a bad bitch is a woman who handles her business without making it seem like business. Only dumb girls let love get them delirious to the point where they let things that really count go undone. For example, you see a good-looking nigga walking down the avenue, you get excited. You get wet just thinking about him. You step to him, size him up, and you think, Looks good. You slide you eyes down to his zipper, check for the print. Inside you scream, Yes, its all there! But then you realize hes not wearing a watch, aint carrying no car keys, no jewels, and hes sporting last months sneakers. Hes broke as hell. A bad bitch realizes that she has two options: (1) She can take him home and get her groove on just to enjoy the sex and dont get emotionally involved because he cant afford her; or (2) She can walk away and leave his broke ass standing right there. Having a relationship is out. Getting emotionally involved is out. Taking him seriously is out. If a bad bitch is extra slick she can keep this guy on the side for the good sex. He thenbecomes a commercial to the money man who is the main program. The money man is the guy who knows how to provide, knows how to bring home the goodness and bless his woman with everything she wants. Now the money man might not be ringing any bells sexually, but if he has ends -- if his pockets are heavy -- a bad bitch will moan like this nigga is the original Casanova. When hes sexing her, shell shake, pant, and cry out like hes creating orgasms as strong as ocean waves. Now Moms must have been a bad bitch because she had it both ways. She had the money man with the good looks, loyalty, and I know Pops was laying it down in the bedroom. Moms got her hair done once every three days. The shop we went to, cause she always took me, was for the high rollers girls. These were the few women in the neighborhood who are able to hook the big money fish. They all went to this shop to get their hair done, nails did, and, more importantly, to show off and update on shit going on. Earlines was where we could get our hair done while we collected information on the side. By the time I was seven I understood the rules perfectly. Keep the familys business quiet. Most things were better left unsaid. Even though this was the high rollers hair shop, we were clear that motherfuckers were jealous of us. My Popss operation was steadily building. As a young guy he started off as a lookout but was so sharp that now he has organized his own thing. He has his own workers and whatnot. People knew he was headed to being the next Big Willie by his style. He was respected for his product, which was never watered down, always a fair cut for your money. So me and my moms would catch those jealous glances, but we threw those shits right back. Our attitude toward other females was: "Hey, your man works for my Pops, now bow down to the family who puts food on the table for you and yours." Santiaga was the number one businessman in our area by the time I was thirteen, running thangs. Although he taught me never to sweat the small stuff, it seemed like every move he made he thought about carefully. I would hear his key unlocking the first door into our apartment. Then the men he was with, his workers, they would stand in the limited space between the first door and the heavy metal second door that actually led into our place, and talk. After they handled their matters you would hear the first door open, then slam again. Pops would lock it and then unlock the second door to come inside. Whatever pressure he felt, whatever weight or business he had was left in between those two doors because when he came inside he brought his sexy smile, excited eyes, and power along with him. He would show us all love. He would have whatever any of us had asked him for in his pocket no matter how small the request, down to a Snickers bar. If any of us had a problem of any kind, we could ask him and hed make the answer so simple that Id wonder how I couldnt of figured it out myself. If something was on his mind, hed go in the back to a private room he had Woody the carpenter build and pull out his chess board. Funny thing was, he wouldnt play with anybody, just against himself. When Id ask him why, hed say, "Thats how I stay on top baby. I look at life from every position. I play from every side. You gotta know what each man on the board is thinking down to the littlest motherfucker like the pawn." Now Daddy would explain that other players are quick to sacrifice or ignore the pawn, but he was too smart for that. "The pawns are my soldiers," he would say. "If I surround myself with strong soldiers, give them all a stake in the game, then they keep the hood strong and tight." He would look into my eyes as if to ask do I u Details ISBN074327010X Author Sister Souljah Short Title COLDEST WINTER EVER Language English ISBN-10 074327010X ISBN-13 9780743270106 Media Book Format Paperback Year 2005 Residence New York, NY, US Edition New edition Subtitle a Novel Imprint Simon & Schuster Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States DOI 10.1604/9780743270106 NZ Release Date 2005-09-20 US Release Date 2005-09-20 UK Release Date 2005-09-20 Pages 368 Publisher Simon & Schuster Publication Date 2005-09-20 DEWEY 813.54 Audience General AU Release Date 2005-10-31 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:160751073;

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