Asro
In the quiet hours of a Sunday morning, there is perhaps no greater literary refuge than the generational saga. For S. Zainab Williams, Director of Content at Book Riot, these sprawling narratives—rich with family secrets, decades of turmoil, and the weight of ancestry—are more than just immersive entertainment. They are, she suggests, a mirror reflecting a universal human hunger: the quest to understand how our personal history unspools from the tapestry of global events.
In a recent exploration of the genre, Williams recounts how the act of reading—specifically, consuming works like Nikesha Elise Williams’ The Seven Daughters of Dupree—served as a catalyst for a deeply personal, life-altering pursuit: the reclamation of her own fractured genealogy.
The Literary Conduit: Why We Seek Our Roots in Fiction
Generational sagas act as a bridge between the clinical dryness of historical record and the visceral, emotional reality of human experience. They provide a space where readers can explore the "vestiges of their roots." For many, particularly those from marginalized or diasporic communities, the absence of tangible heirlooms—a Bible with a family tree, a locket, or a cache of letters—creates a profound sense of loss.
Williams notes a recurring motif in contemporary literature that underscores this collective yearning. In Charmaine Wilkerson’s Good Dirt, it is an antique clay vessel; in Essie Chambers’ Swift River, it is a collection of correspondence; and in The Seven Daughters of Dupree, it is a passed-down Bible. These objects are not merely props; they are "relics of remembrance" that tether characters to their ancestors.
For the African American experience, in particular, these relics are often absent. Slavery stripped families of the right to own their history, let alone physical heirlooms. When oral histories become frayed and lost to time, literature often fills the void, acting as a surrogate for the missing connective tissue of one’s lineage.
A Chronology of Discovery: From Skeptic to Researcher
Williams’ journey toward her own history was not a linear path but a series of fits and starts, shaped by her evolving relationship with her multiracial identity.
- September 2015: Williams begins celebrating the #OwnVoices movement, a pivotal moment in publishing that encouraged stories written by marginalized authors about their own communities.
- October 2015: Recognizing a void in her own life, Williams subscribes to Ancestry.com. She describes this as a shift from feeling like an "outsider" to embracing a "unique perspective" in storytelling.
- The "Teenage Detective" Years: Long before the DNA test, Williams and her sister attempted to capture their family history by interviewing elders in a Malaysian kampung with a tape recorder. The attempt was fraught with linguistic barriers and conflicting narratives, leaving them with more questions than answers.
- The 2026 Awakening: After reading The Seven Daughters of Dupree, Williams committed to a more rigorous, paid subscription to genealogical databases. This was the moment she stopped waiting for information to be gifted to her and began "plumbing the depths" of official records.
Supporting Data: Weaving Memory with Public Record
The power of Williams’ investigation lies in her synthesis of disparate sources. She did not rely solely on DNA percentages—which she acknowledges are an "inexact science" prone to updates—but rather on the hard, often painful, reality of primary source documentation.
Through the digitized records of Edgefield, South Carolina, Williams traced her paternal lineage to her 3rd great-grandparents, Richard Middleton and Elvina Crafton. She uncovered a "Slave Record" from 1860, documenting the sale of her ancestor for $1,300. This stark data point transformed her understanding of her family’s resilience.
She connects this to the broader historical context of the Great Migration, noting her great-grandmother Julia’s journey from South Carolina to Brooklyn, then to San Francisco, and eventually to Guadalajara, Mexico. The discovery of Julia’s brief stint as an extra in Sidney Poitier’s Buck and the Preacher provides a vivid, cinematic layer to a history that might have otherwise remained anonymous.
Simultaneously, Williams has turned her attention to her maternal side. By tasking her mother with interviewing her 90-year-old grandmother in Singapore, she has begun to document the migration of her great-grandfather from Yemen to Kerala, India, for the textile trade—a detail that explains the Malayalam roots of her family.
Implications: The Legacy of the "Deepest Soil"
The implications of Williams’ project extend far beyond the construction of a family tree. It represents a shift in the philosophy of identity. For years, she searched for relatability in pop culture—feeling a sense of pride in Kevin Kwan’s Crazy Rich Asians despite the chasm between that wealthy, Chinese-Singaporean experience and her own Muslim, indigenous heritage.
Ultimately, she realized that "relatability" was not the goal; ownership was. By piecing together her history, Williams is no longer an "imposter" in her own heritage, nor is she a passive consumer of fiction. She has become an active participant in the preservation of her family’s narrative.
The Shift from Public to Private Narrative
Williams’ story highlights several critical trends in modern discourse regarding genealogy and literature:
- The Failure of "Percentages": DNA results offer a scientific snapshot, but they cannot replace the narrative richness of oral histories and archival research. As Williams notes, she found more satisfaction in the themes of Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing than in the shifting percentages of her Ancestry report.
- The Necessity of Language: The barrier of language—particularly her inability to speak Malay—has been a recurring source of frustration. The act of translating her grandmother’s stories is, in itself, an act of cultural reclamation.
- Fiction as a Catalyst: The most significant implication is the role of the novel as a "catalyst." By reading about the struggles of fictional characters, readers are prompted to seek out the truth of their own ancestors.
Conclusion: Rooted for the Storms Ahead
For S. Zainab Williams, the journey of genealogical research has become more vital than the original ambition of writing her own novel. While she possesses the imagination to bring her family’s stories to life, the primary goal is now internal: to build a legacy that can be passed down to the next generation.
In a world that is increasingly transient and often fragmented, the pursuit of one’s lineage is a grounding force. By digging into the "deepest soil" of history—both the documented, traumatic realities of enslavement and the vibrant, migratory tales of Southeast Asia—Williams has ensured that her family tree is no longer a collection of fragments, but a coherent, living entity.
"I want to be able to tell the story of my family to myself and my children," she reflects, "so that we may feel ourselves rooted no matter the storms ahead." In the end, the most important story any of us will ever read is the one we take the time to write for ourselves.
Lina Hope
Jia Lissa
