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thndrkat's review against another edition
4.0
A gentle, contemplative memoir that meanders and shines like a poem.
kehei225's review against another edition
Slow moving and not cohesive for me. Perhaps if I read this at a different time, I will enjoy it because I love her poetry.
courtneyfalling's review against another edition
4.0
This book began slowly, and I actually almost chose to DNF it. I'm so glad I didn't. This is an incredible memoir about growing up, perhaps one of the best I've read in the genre. Smith fully opens her childhood thoughts, fears, and motivations to us while still reflecting on what she's learned since and what she might have done differently. Especially when discussing her love and grief for her mother, her complicated relationship with religion, and her awareness of racial identity, Smith's writing beautifully and powerfully resonates.
mskennedyreads's review against another edition
4.0
A little too preachy in the last third. Beautifully written.
skitch41's review against another edition
3.0
I recently read two of Tracy K. Smith’s collections of poetry and enjoyed them very much. So, when a local bio./memoir book club said they were going to read Ms. Smith’s memoir for this month, I jumped at the chance to read some of her work again. And while the language of this book is gorgeous, as one would expect from the Poet Laureate of the United States, it did take a little too long for this book to become interesting.
Starting with her early childhood and moving through college and a little beyond, this book is a tribute to Ms. Smith’s adolescence, coming-of-age, and, above all, her mother. Throughout, Ms. SMith recounts her struggles with her Christian faith, her identity as an African-American, and the impending death of her mother due to cancer. Through it all, Ms. Smith combines her emotional depths to her lyrical vocabulary.
I really would’ve liked to have given this a four-star rating, but the big problem with this book is that it takes way too long for the story to get interesting. This book is split up into five parts, but it is not until the end of the third part that the book becomes interesting, which is when Ms. Smith is recounting her high school and college days, which includes a rather unethical relationship that I will leave the reader to discover. I will say though that, once this book gets to this point, it becomes very interesting very quickly.
In short, this is a fine memoir of a young girl’s maturity from a young girl to a woman, but it does that a long time to truly liftoff.
Starting with her early childhood and moving through college and a little beyond, this book is a tribute to Ms. Smith’s adolescence, coming-of-age, and, above all, her mother. Throughout, Ms. SMith recounts her struggles with her Christian faith, her identity as an African-American, and the impending death of her mother due to cancer. Through it all, Ms. Smith combines her emotional depths to her lyrical vocabulary.
I really would’ve liked to have given this a four-star rating, but the big problem with this book is that it takes way too long for the story to get interesting. This book is split up into five parts, but it is not until the end of the third part that the book becomes interesting, which is when Ms. Smith is recounting her high school and college days, which includes a rather unethical relationship that I will leave the reader to discover. I will say though that, once this book gets to this point, it becomes very interesting very quickly.
In short, this is a fine memoir of a young girl’s maturity from a young girl to a woman, but it does that a long time to truly liftoff.
amandaquotidianbooks's review against another edition
2.0
DNF at page 192. I put this down months ago and have no desire to pick it back up. I had very high hopes for this memoir. I expected to find something quite different than what this is. The writing wasn't nearly as beautiful as Smith's poetry (which is why I picked this up in the first place). I also was hoping race to be a main point of discussion in the memoir, but religion was discussed far more often, which I'm not interested in. I'll probably read more of Smith's poetry in the future, but I won't be continuing on with this memoir.
arisbookcorner's review
3.0
IQ "I remember the sorrow in my mom's eyes when she told me Daddy Herbert had died. I was only four or five years old, but I recognized a heartbreak so undisguised it collapsed me in tears. [...] But really, what I was crying for was myself and the fact that my mother, having come from a man who was susceptible to death, might one day die herself. I wept and wept, my body buckling under a weight I was too small to have ever considered before, a weight that pushed in from all sides. My mother had been touched by death: it was no stranger to her. There was no way to undo that, no way to make death forget her name." (206)
This quote knocked the wind out of me, it's been awhile since a quote from a book has so deeply been able to describe and articulate a feeling I've had but been unable to describe. I don't remember the exact age I realized my parents were mortal, I don't think I was as young as Smith but I was definitely in elementary school. Quotes such as that one make the book a touching meditation on grief, Smith writes a quiet memoir with elegant prose about loss and mother-daughter relationships. Might be a good idea to pair this one with WHAT WE LOSE if you want to feel especially melancholic. "Sometimes after Mom had died, I'd be going along as if everything were fine, as if the day were any ordinary day. And then the fact of her death-no, not simply the fact of her death but rather the facts of her death and her life; her presence in this world and the presence her absence made; the whole of what I remembered or lacked; everything she gave and left and what, in leaving, she took-the fact of all that, like a column of threat and promise and light, would flare bright and hot in my mind" (329), with lines such as this I found myself (much to my chagrin) choking back sobs.
I decided to read this book because Tracy Smith is the current U.S. Poet Laureate although I have not yet read her poetry. After reading her memoir I am determined to get my hands on a copy of her poetry, likely LIFE ON MARS. I also liked that the description and reviews I read previously all mentioned that this memoir is about an everyday Black middle class family. I know several families like Smith's but they aren't often reflected in literature, fiction or non. We follow along as Smith works through her increasing racial consciousness and her parents' conflicting respectability views. Her father voted for Regan and shook his head at displays of Black Power but also taught Smith and her siblings to never back down from a fight, a characteristic he demonstrated for them from time to time in regards to white ignorance. I was also able to relate to her musings on faith, on wanting to question the faith you were raised in although my father is not nearly as overtly religious as Smith's mother. When Smith is particularly sanctimonious with one of her roommates who is extremely devout while Smith is struggling with her faith, I felt that deep in my gut and was ashamed. And while Smith describes her mother as a soft and religious woman, she shares stories that demonstrate a delightful sense of humor and sweet innocence. My favorite childhood story was definitely when her mother made her a KKK hood as part of her Halloween costume, a holiday her mother disapproved of but still let Tracy participate in. There is a quiet tension throughout many of Smith's stories as she begins to grow older, the memoir lacks huge family blow outs, it relies more on quiet rebellion. Much of the second half of the book when Tracy is a teenager and a young adult read as though Smith is finally comfortable letting her mother (and family) in on her secrets. As someone who is very private and keeps my relationship with my own mother fairly surface level (or only discussed certain topics with her), I found this aspect of Smith's relationship with her mother also very relatable.
There's a pining quality to the entire novel, it's immersed in deep sadness even at the happiest of memories (I am also extremely impressed by Smith's memory, she is able to recall so many incidents from her past and she's older than I am). This is an ambitious memoir primarily because it covers the most trivial aspects of family life but Smith pulls it off swimmingly with an amazing ability to self-scrutinize and provide key insights. The idyllic pace made it difficult for me to read this one straight through but I think it's better read at a slower pace any way, savor the prose and ponder the nuggets of wisdom Smith deposits. And use it as a reminder to treasure your own family and re-evaluate your relationship with your mother/motherlike figure in your own life.
Other favorite quote: "In the wake of the 1970s, that decade when a lot of black families had opted to give their children Swahili names, to live to the extent possible within a bubble of race pride and consciousness, we were different. We lived in suburban Northern California. My siblings and I were used to moving through a sea of white faces every day. We turned on the television and saw few examples of blacks and felt a certain relief when they were posited rather than clownish. We told ourselves that we didn't need foreign-sounding names or African garb to know that we were black: we needed only look in the mirror. And day after day, our mother and father were working to ensure that the person each of us saw there was prepared, kempt, and confident. Beyond this, we were encouraged simply to succeed: 'You have to be twice as good as they are at everything you do' where the they in question was whites. The less frequently heard corollary to this was: 'Sometimes we can be harder on one another than they are on us.'" (131-132)
This quote knocked the wind out of me, it's been awhile since a quote from a book has so deeply been able to describe and articulate a feeling I've had but been unable to describe. I don't remember the exact age I realized my parents were mortal, I don't think I was as young as Smith but I was definitely in elementary school. Quotes such as that one make the book a touching meditation on grief, Smith writes a quiet memoir with elegant prose about loss and mother-daughter relationships. Might be a good idea to pair this one with WHAT WE LOSE if you want to feel especially melancholic. "Sometimes after Mom had died, I'd be going along as if everything were fine, as if the day were any ordinary day. And then the fact of her death-no, not simply the fact of her death but rather the facts of her death and her life; her presence in this world and the presence her absence made; the whole of what I remembered or lacked; everything she gave and left and what, in leaving, she took-the fact of all that, like a column of threat and promise and light, would flare bright and hot in my mind" (329), with lines such as this I found myself (much to my chagrin) choking back sobs.
I decided to read this book because Tracy Smith is the current U.S. Poet Laureate although I have not yet read her poetry. After reading her memoir I am determined to get my hands on a copy of her poetry, likely LIFE ON MARS. I also liked that the description and reviews I read previously all mentioned that this memoir is about an everyday Black middle class family. I know several families like Smith's but they aren't often reflected in literature, fiction or non. We follow along as Smith works through her increasing racial consciousness and her parents' conflicting respectability views. Her father voted for Regan and shook his head at displays of Black Power but also taught Smith and her siblings to never back down from a fight, a characteristic he demonstrated for them from time to time in regards to white ignorance. I was also able to relate to her musings on faith, on wanting to question the faith you were raised in although my father is not nearly as overtly religious as Smith's mother. When Smith is particularly sanctimonious with one of her roommates who is extremely devout while Smith is struggling with her faith, I felt that deep in my gut and was ashamed. And while Smith describes her mother as a soft and religious woman, she shares stories that demonstrate a delightful sense of humor and sweet innocence. My favorite childhood story was definitely when her mother made her a KKK hood as part of her Halloween costume, a holiday her mother disapproved of but still let Tracy participate in. There is a quiet tension throughout many of Smith's stories as she begins to grow older, the memoir lacks huge family blow outs, it relies more on quiet rebellion. Much of the second half of the book when Tracy is a teenager and a young adult read as though Smith is finally comfortable letting her mother (and family) in on her secrets. As someone who is very private and keeps my relationship with my own mother fairly surface level (or only discussed certain topics with her), I found this aspect of Smith's relationship with her mother also very relatable.
There's a pining quality to the entire novel, it's immersed in deep sadness even at the happiest of memories (I am also extremely impressed by Smith's memory, she is able to recall so many incidents from her past and she's older than I am). This is an ambitious memoir primarily because it covers the most trivial aspects of family life but Smith pulls it off swimmingly with an amazing ability to self-scrutinize and provide key insights. The idyllic pace made it difficult for me to read this one straight through but I think it's better read at a slower pace any way, savor the prose and ponder the nuggets of wisdom Smith deposits. And use it as a reminder to treasure your own family and re-evaluate your relationship with your mother/motherlike figure in your own life.
Other favorite quote: "In the wake of the 1970s, that decade when a lot of black families had opted to give their children Swahili names, to live to the extent possible within a bubble of race pride and consciousness, we were different. We lived in suburban Northern California. My siblings and I were used to moving through a sea of white faces every day. We turned on the television and saw few examples of blacks and felt a certain relief when they were posited rather than clownish. We told ourselves that we didn't need foreign-sounding names or African garb to know that we were black: we needed only look in the mirror. And day after day, our mother and father were working to ensure that the person each of us saw there was prepared, kempt, and confident. Beyond this, we were encouraged simply to succeed: 'You have to be twice as good as they are at everything you do' where the they in question was whites. The less frequently heard corollary to this was: 'Sometimes we can be harder on one another than they are on us.'" (131-132)
bookwormmichelle's review
4.0
This was really lovely. I knew Smith knew her way around words, but this is an impressive effort. This delicate and sensitive memoir mostly circles around Smith's relationship with her mother, who died of cancer soon after Smith's graduation from Harvard. But it also touches on many other parts of her life--faith, being black, being the youngest child, being far removed from her parents' upbringing in the Jim Crow south. Beautiful, at times heartbreaking.