Let Me Hear a Rhyme. Tiffany D. Jackson. 2019. Katherine Tegan Books. 384 pages. [Source: Public Library.]
If there was ever a book written that speaks directly to the soul of 14-year-old me, it is Let Me Hear a Rhyme. On its surface, it’s a touching story of a group of friends refusing to let their friend become another anonymous victim of street violence. But it really feels like a long-overdue homage to the New York hip-hop scene at one of its most pivotal periods.
The story takes place on the heels of the Notorious BIG’s murder, and opens with the funeral of Steph, a 16-year-old aspiring rapper. With that major spoiler out of the way, the book turns to his sister Jasmine and his two best friends, Jarrell and Quadir, as they reckon with his loss and attempt to secure his legacy as one of the best to put on for Brooklyn. During their quest, they discover that each of them knew less about Steph’s life than they could have imagined.
Let Me Hear a Rhyme doesn’t leave out any of the memorable people, places, and sounds of the New York hip-hop scene in the late ‘90s. Anyone who was a hip-hop head at that time will appreciate how Jackson weaves her story through the streets of Brooklyn. What’s most impressive is how seamlessly Jackson name-drops the biggest stars, club-commanding hits, biggest venues, and seminal events of the time. I can’t recall a time when I’ve read about The Tunnel — outside of maybe The Source or XXL — that appropriately revered the legendary club for how critical it was in the careers of so many artists, producers, and DJs and what an integral part of the hip-hop scene it was for everyone else. Overall, Let Me Hear a Rhyme is written with a level of care and authenticity that’s not always found. It doesn’t sugar coat the reality of Steph’s environment, but it also gives an inside glimpse that humanizes a community that’s often given short shrift in mass media.
Reading Let Me Hear a Rhyme was certainly a nostalgic experience for me. Although I wasn’t in New York, it was definitely in my heart. Jasmine was a particularly relatable protagonist; I’ve never known another girl to get as excited as me to rush home to listen to Brand Nubian’s Foundation album. She could be me. Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to empathize with what are otherwise risky and rash decisions of all three lead characters. For all their seemingly foolish bravado, it’s also simple to empathize with how and why they’re willing to take on what seem like impossible endeavors to not only break Steph into the music industry but to also find his killer.
One of Jackson’s signatures is her approach to storytelling that blends present and past with multiple character perspectives. This style is particularly apt for Let Me Hear a Rhyme, because it highlights the nuanced relationships Steph had with his friends and family and the secrets each held with him. While this works well to get inside the heads of each character, it can be confusing at times trying to figure out the overall timeline. For me, it meant a lot of jumping back to previous chapters. If you’ve read Jackson before, this will feel familiar yet not quite as complicated as in Monday’s Not Coming.
Once again, Tiffany D. Jackson has presented a book that tells a layered story in a captivating way. It’s clearly meant for a young adult audience, but I can’t help but recommend this to anyone who’s on the cusp of being a Gen Xer & millennial. It is technically historical fiction, and it brilliantly captures what hip-hop felt like back then, for better or worse.
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