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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.
pattydsf's review
3.0
“Wasn’t it strange that a poem, written in my vocabulary and as a result of my own thoughts or observations, could, when it was finished, manage to show me something I hadn’t already known? Sometimes, when I tried very hard to listen to what the poem I was writing was trying to tell me, I felt the way I imagined godly people felt when they were trying to discern God’s will. “Write this,” the poem would sometimes consent to say, and I’d revel in a joy to rival the saints’ that Poetry—this mysterious presence I talked about and professed belief in—might truly be real.”
Apparently, I have high expectations about how writers, or maybe just poets, live. Even though Smith uses the word ordinary in her title, I was expecting something different than this memoir. Fortunately, Smith had what might be referred to as a common life. She grew up the last child in a loving family. Her mother was able to devote time to her and her siblings and her father did the same. The Smith family believed in books and education; they were supportive and a positive influence in each other’s’ lives.
I think I expected that Smith’s story would be more about her writing – how she became a poet. Smith however, had a different idea. She told her story by beginning with her mother’s death. Then she went back to show what her family was like and especially what her mother was like. Once I changed my expectation, the story fell together. I was better able to understand what Smith was sharing with her readers.
Apparently, I have high expectations about how writers, or maybe just poets, live. Even though Smith uses the word ordinary in her title, I was expecting something different than this memoir. Fortunately, Smith had what might be referred to as a common life. She grew up the last child in a loving family. Her mother was able to devote time to her and her siblings and her father did the same. The Smith family believed in books and education; they were supportive and a positive influence in each other’s’ lives.
I think I expected that Smith’s story would be more about her writing – how she became a poet. Smith however, had a different idea. She told her story by beginning with her mother’s death. Then she went back to show what her family was like and especially what her mother was like. Once I changed my expectation, the story fell together. I was better able to understand what Smith was sharing with her readers.
erikahope's review
5.0
I think this book was justifiably well received and to those few who disparage it...I guess they need something more urgent and fraught with the drama of physical suffering, brutality, trauma or disaster for their interest to be grabbed. Some complain about her discussion of Christianity. That was a huge part of her upbringing so naturally she examines it. Everyone is different but complaining about this book as dull (nothing happens!) reminds me of a great quote I saw from Nick Pettigrew
"Bemoaning Taylor Swift's intersectional feminism is like criticising Reni Eddo-Lodge for not writing enough catchy pop hooks."
Smith's writing is nuanced and sensitive but also very grounded in the mundane aspects of life-not off in some other ethereal world. People who complain about lack of action or struggles lead me to wonder why they picked up a memoir written by a poet. Smith makes no claims to a harrowing tale...aside from the tragic loss of her mother and the struggle of growing up black in a very white suburb and later attending a New England Ivy League school-as a minority. She had a charmed life by some standards but she writes about it with such delicate and perceptive detail and imagery that I found it almost memorizing-and at the very least utterly engaging. How does she recall all these details? She is unflinchingly honest throughout and touches with candor on aspects that are very personal. Her first encounter with a NY cousin (Nina) for example (who shook up Smith's more prim Christian outlook when she wrote "motherfucker" on her mom's car window). She touches on many interesting experiences as an African American growing up in Northern California and how that felt. She is a poet writing her memoir. I am guessing these detractors don't read much poetry. Actually I don't read much poetry either- but maybe I'll check out her work.
"Bemoaning Taylor Swift's intersectional feminism is like criticising Reni Eddo-Lodge for not writing enough catchy pop hooks."
Smith's writing is nuanced and sensitive but also very grounded in the mundane aspects of life-not off in some other ethereal world. People who complain about lack of action or struggles lead me to wonder why they picked up a memoir written by a poet. Smith makes no claims to a harrowing tale...aside from the tragic loss of her mother and the struggle of growing up black in a very white suburb and later attending a New England Ivy League school-as a minority. She had a charmed life by some standards but she writes about it with such delicate and perceptive detail and imagery that I found it almost memorizing-and at the very least utterly engaging. How does she recall all these details? She is unflinchingly honest throughout and touches with candor on aspects that are very personal. Her first encounter with a NY cousin (Nina) for example (who shook up Smith's more prim Christian outlook when she wrote "motherfucker" on her mom's car window). She touches on many interesting experiences as an African American growing up in Northern California and how that felt. She is a poet writing her memoir. I am guessing these detractors don't read much poetry. Actually I don't read much poetry either- but maybe I'll check out her work.
tarae's review
4.0
Tracy K Smith's memoir is gorgeously written, an assessment that should surprise absolutely no one. It was a joy to read for the language, slow-moving, slow-building as it was. The slowness of it at times turned into boredom, or at its worst, for me, into a deep sense of alienation. Alienation in treading with Smith the waters of a comfortably upper middle-class, happy childhood while the memories of my own violent, turbulent childhood lurked in the back of my mind. Smith still gives a beautiful, complex portrait of the too-short relationship she had with her mother, and a beautiful, often painful exploration of how it felt to grow up Black in suburban 70s/80s Californian, and for that I'm glad to have read it.
purlewe's review
5.0
There is a lot to love about this book. The prose is so beautiful. I started recommending it to friends before I finished it.
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