She is fifteen and black, fearful/hopeful of being a black witch, apparently part poltergeist -- but although the air clears eventually during her school year with the white suburban Randalls, no one ever speaks her name and we never know it; in its own way, this is as damning as the manifest supernaturalism and the theatrical resolution. The Randalls invited her to help out baby nurse Aunt Cyd (and bring blacks and whites together). She is resentful and suspicious, paranoidly so, and with her comes the disruptively inexplicable: stones rain down, the doorbell rings and rings, a Thanksgiving turkey disappears, someone? something? clamors in the attic to be let out. Surly fourteen-year-old Holly, who has her own problems, accuses her; younger Gary, who has his too, says any teenager bottled up can do it; and it is left that the poltergeist partakes of the pain of all three. How banish pain? Confront the poltergeist in the attic, see instead yourself in a mirror, realize that ""I had frightened myself because I had been afraid of myself, I had frightened them because I had been afraid of them."" As a way of dealing with the realities of such a situation, this is mere sleight of hand. Moreover, its way -- her way -- of conveying the realities is to release a prepared statement, e.g. ""There was no way to forget the exhausted, work-weary black women of that generation, fighting to keep their families together, fighting to hold onto their frustrated, angry men, fighting to raise their children into a different world."" Sleight of heavy hand, and inherently insensitive.