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A review by trin
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
3.0
Another book that flies off the shelves at my store; I was therefore suspicious of it. Especially suspicious as it’s a book primarily about black maids in 1960s Mississippi, being eagerly bought by rich white ladies in 2009 Los Angeles...often with their Latina maids in tow (or elsewhere in the store, looking after the kids). I was really afraid the book would soft-pedal the numerous, numerous issues.
For the most part, it doesn’t. All of Stockett’s characters, black and white, are individual and complex, and her descriptions of place and period seem authentic. They should: the segregated south is where Stockett grew up, raised in part by a black maid, and the afterword, in which she describes her own childhood and her relationship with the woman who raised her, who was part of the family except not, is refreshingly honest and very moving. This is a book about people finally getting to tell their stories, and it’s very clear who Stockett is honoring in writing it. It’s also clear that she’s really thought about the myriad issues involved.
She’s also just a really good storyteller: in this book she juggles three different POV characters, all of different ages and backgrounds, and each voice was distinct. Moreover, I simply did not want to put the book down—for what is in many ways a domestic drama, this book was intense. A few threads were dropped or abandoned too quickly at the end, but in general The Help was an immensely satisfying read. And there is an element of fantasy in that: even for all its realism, this book presents a small pocket of time and space in which there’s a somewhat idealized group of relationships. You know nothing like this ever happened. But it should have.
This is a book about people getting to have their stories told. I’m not sure what the women who shop at my store are taking away from it, but personally, this book makes me glad that such stories are reaching them (and me)—even in this fictitious form. Stories have power.
For the most part, it doesn’t. All of Stockett’s characters, black and white, are individual and complex, and her descriptions of place and period seem authentic. They should: the segregated south is where Stockett grew up, raised in part by a black maid, and the afterword, in which she describes her own childhood and her relationship with the woman who raised her, who was part of the family except not, is refreshingly honest and very moving. This is a book about people finally getting to tell their stories, and it’s very clear who Stockett is honoring in writing it. It’s also clear that she’s really thought about the myriad issues involved.
She’s also just a really good storyteller: in this book she juggles three different POV characters, all of different ages and backgrounds, and each voice was distinct. Moreover, I simply did not want to put the book down—for what is in many ways a domestic drama, this book was intense. A few threads were dropped or abandoned too quickly at the end, but in general The Help was an immensely satisfying read. And there is an element of fantasy in that: even for all its realism, this book presents a small pocket of time and space in which there’s a somewhat idealized group of relationships. You know nothing like this ever happened. But it should have.
This is a book about people getting to have their stories told. I’m not sure what the women who shop at my store are taking away from it, but personally, this book makes me glad that such stories are reaching them (and me)—even in this fictitious form. Stories have power.