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orionmerlin 's review for:
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
by Betty Smith
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Characters – 10/10
Francie Nolan is one of those rare literary creatures who strolls off the page and sets up permanent residency in my frontal lobe. She’s sharp, dreamy, stubborn, and constantly torn between survival and aspiration—basically the emotional equivalent of trying to read a book in a hurricane. Her father Johnny? Equal parts heartbreaking and charismatic disaster. Katie is the real steel backbone, love her or not. And the secondary cast? Aunt Sissy with her baby obsession and chaotic love life, the standoffish librarian, the boozy neighborhood—every one of them has a pulse. I could write their horoscopes without breaking a sweat. This isn’t a character ensemble, it’s a damn emotional relay race.
Francie Nolan is one of those rare literary creatures who strolls off the page and sets up permanent residency in my frontal lobe. She’s sharp, dreamy, stubborn, and constantly torn between survival and aspiration—basically the emotional equivalent of trying to read a book in a hurricane. Her father Johnny? Equal parts heartbreaking and charismatic disaster. Katie is the real steel backbone, love her or not. And the secondary cast? Aunt Sissy with her baby obsession and chaotic love life, the standoffish librarian, the boozy neighborhood—every one of them has a pulse. I could write their horoscopes without breaking a sweat. This isn’t a character ensemble, it’s a damn emotional relay race.
Atmosphere / Setting – 9/10
Let me tell you, I smelled the stale bread and factory grease on every page. Smith conjures 1910s Brooklyn with such granular magic, I half expected to get a tetanus shot after reading. The fire escapes are fairy tale trees, the library smells better than church incense, and Saturdays are practically holy. The setting isn’t background—it’s mood, texture, and occasionally, co-conspirator. I only docked a point because the bleakness can be a smidge relentless—but then again, it’s a tenement, not Disneyland.
Let me tell you, I smelled the stale bread and factory grease on every page. Smith conjures 1910s Brooklyn with such granular magic, I half expected to get a tetanus shot after reading. The fire escapes are fairy tale trees, the library smells better than church incense, and Saturdays are practically holy. The setting isn’t background—it’s mood, texture, and occasionally, co-conspirator. I only docked a point because the bleakness can be a smidge relentless—but then again, it’s a tenement, not Disneyland.
Writing Style – 8/10
Betty Smith doesn’t deal in flashy metaphors or purple prose. Her writing is clean, piercing, and deeply observant—like a kid watching the world through a crack in the wall. There’s a brutal honesty that punches through even the prettiest lines. It’s not poetic in the traditional sense, but it smolders with quiet beauty. Still, every now and then, I found myself wanting a little more flair or rhythm to carry me through the more meandering moments.
Betty Smith doesn’t deal in flashy metaphors or purple prose. Her writing is clean, piercing, and deeply observant—like a kid watching the world through a crack in the wall. There’s a brutal honesty that punches through even the prettiest lines. It’s not poetic in the traditional sense, but it smolders with quiet beauty. Still, every now and then, I found myself wanting a little more flair or rhythm to carry me through the more meandering moments.
Plot – 7/10
Plot? What plot? This book is allergic to plot. It’s more like a slow, relentless sedimentation of life events. Things happen, but not in a three-act, grab-your-popcorn way. And yet, that’s the point. This is life, not a telenovela. Still, I can’t pretend I didn’t hit a few spots where I yelled at the page, “Okay, but where are we going with this?”.
Plot? What plot? This book is allergic to plot. It’s more like a slow, relentless sedimentation of life events. Things happen, but not in a three-act, grab-your-popcorn way. And yet, that’s the point. This is life, not a telenovela. Still, I can’t pretend I didn’t hit a few spots where I yelled at the page, “Okay, but where are we going with this?”.
Intrigue – 9/10
I couldn’t look away. Even when the action was just Francie burning her old essays or debating how to eat stale bread in coffee, I was hooked. Smith masterfully laces even the mundane with a kind of emotional tension that made me feel like missing a chapter would be a felony. Francie’s inner world is a page-turner in itself.
I couldn’t look away. Even when the action was just Francie burning her old essays or debating how to eat stale bread in coffee, I was hooked. Smith masterfully laces even the mundane with a kind of emotional tension that made me feel like missing a chapter would be a felony. Francie’s inner world is a page-turner in itself.
Logic / Relationships – 9/10
Francie and Katie’s relationship is a therapy session waiting to happen, and I adored every fraught second of it. Johnny’s spiral made brutal, gut-wrenching sense. Nothing felt convenient or too-tidy. Even the magical "Tree of Heaven" obeyed its own cracked logic. The way poverty warps affection, ambition, and identity was brilliantly and consistently rendered. These weren’t just characters—they were case studies in resilience and dysfunction.
Francie and Katie’s relationship is a therapy session waiting to happen, and I adored every fraught second of it. Johnny’s spiral made brutal, gut-wrenching sense. Nothing felt convenient or too-tidy. Even the magical "Tree of Heaven" obeyed its own cracked logic. The way poverty warps affection, ambition, and identity was brilliantly and consistently rendered. These weren’t just characters—they were case studies in resilience and dysfunction.
Enjoyment – 10/10
This book wrecked me and rebuilt me. I laughed, I cried, I Googled what the hell a charlotte russe dessert was. It’s raw, funny, tragic, and brimming with hard-earned joy. It exceeded my expectations in the most sneaky, underhanded way. I’d recommend it to anyone who doesn’t mind their heart getting stomped on with love.
This book wrecked me and rebuilt me. I laughed, I cried, I Googled what the hell a charlotte russe dessert was. It’s raw, funny, tragic, and brimming with hard-earned joy. It exceeded my expectations in the most sneaky, underhanded way. I’d recommend it to anyone who doesn’t mind their heart getting stomped on with love.
Final verdict: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn didn’t just grow—it thrived in my soul, complete with cracked sidewalks and a stubborn little seed of hope.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Alcoholism, Child death, Grief, Death of parent
Moderate: Addiction, Domestic abuse, Emotional abuse, Misogyny, Physical abuse, Suicide, Classism
Minor: Bullying, Cursing, Racism, Sexism, Alcohol, Injury/Injury detail
While A Tree Grows in Brooklyn handles heavy subjects, it does so with restraint and emotional nuance rather than graphic detail. Much of the trauma is filtered through the observant, often idealistic lens of a child growing up in harsh conditions. The focus is on survival, resilience, and dignity, even in the face of systemic poverty, loss, and neglect. It's not a safe, easy read—but it's profoundly human.