I’ve been here before. I always feel that — maybe because we are all connected. I feel connected to Beryl Markham’s spirit. That resistance to the system and that refusal to dance a dance that didn't resonate with her.

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She broke the boundaries they set for women. I think she was always like that, even as a child. She just didn’t fuck with the system. She didn’t follow the traditional schooling path we're taught to value. Horses, hunting, and farm life — that’s what spoke to her. That’s what she felt drawn to.

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In Circling The Sun, Paula McLain takes the real life of English-born Kenyan aviator and rebel racehorse trainer Beryl Markham and fictionalizes some of it. It’s an inspired story, true to the spirit of the characters and their time.

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Still, I’m uncomfortable. I feel pulled in two directions — especially because she was a white woman in Africa in the early 1900s. As a Black woman, my spirit, the ancestors I walk with, and the reality of history feel betrayed by my admiration of her. Why did I feel like I liked her more as a fictional character? I didn’t want to like her — not if she existed inside that oppressive system as a real person. The idea of her benefitting from colonial privilege threatens my love for her wildness.

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So, I’ll stick to this: she was a woman in her time who refused to curtsy for the men and their systems.

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The story follows her life — a white woman born in England who moved to Kenya at age four with her parents. I ended up psychoanalyzing her, which I was trying not to do. But I think she might’ve had a mother wound. Don’t take my word for it — I’m not a psychologist — but her mother leaving her and going back to England because “Kenya was too much” must’ve done something deep. Maybe that’s where her rule-breaking came from. Maybe that made her feel she couldn’t rely on anyone else, so she became hyper-independent.

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Sometimes I feel like I’m that girl. Except I have a mother. I’ve always had strong women around me. My thing was how they moved — I mirrored that. That boss bitch energy. Hyper-independent. Which isn’t necessarily bad. But I never really learned softness. I don’t know if I’ve seen it. And I want that. I want to practice not always having my guard up, you know?

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When the horses trotted, neighed, and flicked their manes, she understood them. She saw herself in them — saw their power, and therefore hers. But also, she found a safe haven. A place where she could be fully herself. That’s beautiful. As a child, that must’ve been intoxicating. Especially considering — they’re animals. That’s something special. When I finally connected with an animal, it was with my little Hortie — after years of being afraid of dogs. Thank God I got to feel that connection. It’s like meeting another version of God herself.

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Marriage at 16 is wild! But her circumstances led her there — her father was selling everything and planning to start over, and that marriage seemed like her only option. I hated that. It reminded me of The Suit, when I asked myself why Matilda didn’t just leave.

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Still, Beryl moved through men with such fire. First there was Jock, then the rest of them. And I loved that too! That freedom. She belonged to herself. And her horses.

Her success was a beautiful return. Her skill with horses and her persistence in the sky had me ugly crying and cheering for her.

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She thrived despite her mother. That’s what I’ll say. The author, Paula McLain, shares a similar experience — being left motherless. Maybe that’s what drew her to Beryl. Or maybe she only realized it later.

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Beryl’s feminine and masculine were beautifully balanced, I think. There was a softness she reserved for one man — Denys. I think she fell harder for him than she should have. But I get it. She saw his untameable spirit and surrendered to it. I’ve had that. It’s paralyzing. But it also propels you. You check yourself.

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The setting is Kenya — a country on my continent. My people were probably somewhere near. I don’t know. I still wonder about the stories of the people who worked for them and with them. The Black men and women who helped raise Beryl into the “tough cookie” she became. And maybe I’m still waiting to find those stories.

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Nevertheless, 8/10. I resonate with Beryl’s resistance. As women, especially, we’re taught to curtsy and twirl in the name of grace and respect. I’m tired of being that person. Why did I do that? There is freedom in being loudly and confidently yourself — wildly me.

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So yeah. A lovely read. I’m not super clued up on history, so the timelines — the wars, the political backdrop — confused me a bit. But it made me curious. It made me want to find out where exactly colonialism sat in all of it.

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When she was made to do the dance everyone else was doing — and felt uncomfortable — that sounds a lot like me.