O: Do you hope to adapt The Kid for the big screen, and whom would you cast as Abdul? So in that way he's very close to my heart-I love this boy. He's one black man who doesn't wind up behind bars, unemployed, or with a needle in his arm. But Abdul, like a lot of foster kids, or children who have been on the streets, never totally succumbs to the evil around him. It's almost like a scene from Dickensian London.

Sapphire: His mother's death begins Abdul's downward spiral, but Precious gave him nine good years, and he never forgets that somebody, somewhere told him, 'You're gonna be something.' Right now there is a disproportionate number of African-American children in foster care. His story is not beautiful, and that was my intent-to take this novel further than I'd gone in Push. Unlike Precious, Abdul is not a completely sympathetic character.

Sapphire: Through Abdul's experience, we have an entrée into what social workers and child psychiatrists see every day: repetition of the abuse cycle. O: Early on in the novel, Catholic priests at an orphanage abuse Abdul, and he in turn sexually assaults other children. And that loneliness gives him the time and energy to become a great artist. He progresses in isolation-he doesn't have real friends or community, like Precious did. We're in Abdul's head, which allows us to see him evolve and build self-awareness.

Sapphire: The writing style of this novel is stream of consciousness. O: Your method of storytelling in Push-the cacophony of voices-was unusual for 1996, and it received a lot of attention. Martin talked to Sapphire about her hopes for the new novel. Shuffled off to one negligent or abusive foster home after another, Abdul eventually finds and nurtures the gift that will save him: He becomes a dancer. In The Kid (Penguin), Sapphire tells the story of Abdul Jones, who is 9 when we meet him, on the day of his mother's-Precious's-funeral.

Precious book sequel