This is an autobiographical piece written like poetry, which Vuong frames as a letter to his illiterate mother. The writing is gorgeous and heartbreaking; Vuong’s mother is shown lashing out at her young son in one moment, and then her own generational trauma as a war refugee is explored in the next. It’s not an excuse, but an exploration of root causes. Nothing needs to be explained if it’s all out there for you to see. Vuong peppers his experiences with those of his mother’s and grandmother’s, letting us see the impact of racism, class tension, and trauma across generations. He approaches his own experience with love similarly, letting us see his boyfriend in moments of both sweetness and toxic masculinity, showing us just enough of his background to help us recognize him as a product of his surroundings. Vuong has a beautiful deftness with words, and uses them to show how the people in his story manage to communicate love without using words at all.
Tag: genre-autobiography
You’re That Bitch, by Bretman Rock
I’ll be honest, my decision process for picking up this book was “hey! That gorgeous genderfluid model on the cover of Vogue Philippines also wrote a book?” I expected to put this down after no more than thirty seconds, but instead I got sucked into a fascinating story of a life spent first in the Philippines, then in Hawaii, in the care of a large, rambunctious family, sometimes problematic but always fully supportive. I loved the depictions of his family, particularly his grandmother, mother, and sister, and their Filipino customs; it was also really interesting to read about his journey from baby influencer to self-made star. The tone of the book is light, jammed with interjections like “girl” and “yenno,” feels like he narrated it voice-to-text, and generally made me feel very old; it’s easy to skim (and I did in fact skim past most of the encouraging self-help bits at the end of each chapter) and quick to read.
A Girl and Five Brave Horses, by Sonora Carver
In 1923, then-teenage Sonora answered an ad by William Carver looking for a “diving girl” to ride a horse as it plunged 11 feet from a tall platform into a pool of water below. She ended up joining Carver’s traveling entertainment act, performing around the country, and eventually marrying Carver’s son. In 1931, she hit the water wrong during a dive and suffered retinal detachment, eventually going blind; despite that, she continued to dive horses until their show ended when war broke out in 1942. The writing style of the book is straightforward and simplistic, with Carver demonstrating classic 1920s “spunky girl” attitude – unafraid to speak her mind, but always acknowledging that the men around her had the power and she had to persuade them before she could have her way. I was particularly interested by her detailed description of how both girls and horses were trained to dive (only a few actually took to the training; she makes it clear that in her time with the show, no girl or horse was ever pushed beyond their comfort zone), and the construction of the diving platform and pool. Her account of her blindness and how she dealt with it (and how she preferred others to treat her) is actually a great section on dealing with disability from someone who never had to consider the issue before.: A Girl and Five Brave Horses, by Sonora Carver
The Storyteller, by Dave Grohl
Came for the rock’n’roll stories from an artist whose music I enjoy; stayed for the self-deprecating humor, unashamed fanboying, and poignant, heartfelt stories from a man who never stopped being grateful for the improbable delights in his life. Grohl grew up in northern Virginia, so I was able to identify both with his childhood memories of the DC area as well as his feelings of recognition and homecoming every time he returned. I particularly liked listening to him narrate the audiobook; his enjoyment of storytelling was palpable and a delight to the listener.
Wintering: the Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, by Katherine May
As the author struggles with an emotional “winter” in her life, she finds ways to recover her equilibrium by observing how cold-weather cultures deal with the gray chill of wintertime. I found this book a little hard to get into; as a lifelong fan of wintertime and winter activities, I struggled with equating the season to a down emotional time. However, I can see the benefit of this book for people who a) find it hard to take time for themselves, and b) people who don’t know how to handle winter chill.
Beautiful Country, by Qian Julie Wang
“Beautiful Country” is the literal translation of the Chinese characters for “America.” When Wang was a little girl, her parents flew to the US to escape persecution in China (they were college professors who criticized the government). The family became undocumented immigrants in Brooklyn after their temporary visas expired, working in sweatshops and sifting through garbage for food and supplies. Her father enrolled her in a public school but her teachers and peers spoke English and Cantonese, not Mandarin, and she ended up in a special-needs classroom where she taught herself to read through picture books. Eventually she managed to get back into a normal classroom, but had to purposefully dumb down her writing when teachers accused her of plagiarism; she also had to hide their illegal status and learned to swallow insults as she tried to fit in with her American classmates. Her family was eventually able to emigrate to Canada and then legally return to the US, where she graduated from Swarthmore and Yale; it’s easy to point to hers as a success story, but her account highlights all the gaps through which children can fall, and all the ways in which talented professionals are wasted (between sweatshop jobs, her mother taught herself English and got a degree in computer science, yet was frustratingly unable to use it due to her illegal status). Wang does not provide answers, only wishing to shine a light on her traumatic upbringing.
In Order to Live, by Yeomi Park (with Maryanne Vollers)
Subtitled “A North Korean Girl’s Journey to Freedom,” which about covers it. I have so many thoughts but quick summary: Park’s family had a pretty middle-class existence, thanks to her father smuggling items from China, until he was caught and sent to be reeducated, throwing her, her mother, and her older sister into poverty. Faced with malnutrition and starvation and ignorant of the world, first the sister, and then the narrator and her mother, worked with people who smuggled them into China, only to fall prey to human traffickers who “married” them to Chinese men. They eventually get the help of a religious mission and made it over the Mongolian border, and were eventually shipped to South Korea and freedom. I liked her description of the indoctrination that she got from childhood, and was particularly fascinated by how it stunted her vocabulary and emotions to the point that she didn’t know the word “love” could be applied to anyone besides the Dear Leader.
The author’s told her story several times in different ways and has been criticized for changing the details of her tale, so I’m dubious of some of the specifics. However, I don’t doubt her trauma or that she suffered; I understand why she might not want to get into some of the more painful parts, or why she might have edited her memories to cast herself in a more positive light. I’ve looked her up and she’s said some things I disagree with, but I’m glad she’s finally free to speak her mind, and has the vocabulary and education to be able to advocate for what she believes to be right.
You Can’t Be Serious, by Kal Penn
Kal Penn traces his journey from theater kid in New Jersey, to film/sociology major at UCLA (to his parents’ mild dismay), to Hollywood actor, and finally to Obama’s administration in DC. Lots of discussion of racism encountered in both childhood and adulthood; nothing that would be surprising to anyone who was paying attention, but still worth acknowledging. I liked how he shone a light on how his race disqualified him from most roles, except the ones where his race was specifically called for; and even after he landed a role, the racism would continue (“ok, but can you do that with a bit more of an Indian accent? I don’t care if you don’t think it adds anything to the character, we want the stereotypical accent” type of stuff). The political part of his career was less interesting reading than the acting part, but government work in general tends to be less exciting, so no surprise there.
My Family and Other Animals, by Gerald Durrell
I picked this book up because of a stray passage from The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, which quoted its description of snails mating “like two curious sailing ships roped together.” Upon learning that snails were hermaphroditic, the narrator’s brother said, “I think it’s unfair. All those damned slimy things wandering about seducing each other like mad all over the bushes, and having the pleasures of both sensations. Why couldn’t such a gift be given to the human race? That’s what I want to know.” When their teacher pointed out that in that case, humans would have to lay eggs, their mother chimed in with “The ideal way of bringing up a family. I wish I’d been able to bury you all in some damp earth and leave you.”
So obviously, I promptly put the book on hold,* and I am happy to say that the rest of it was equally delightful. When Gerald Durrell was a child, his eccentric family decided to escape the gloomy English weather and moved wholesale to the Greek island of Corfu, and this is his recollection of the years that his family (hilariously and charmingly sketched) spent in that Mediterranean paradise. Gerald, an enthusiastic young naturalist, was mostly allowed to run wild over the island and study nature to his heart’s content; he brought back to his house a collection of birds, insects, and other creatures. Durrell’s loving portraits of animals and nature are adorable but a bit long-winded; it’s when he works in stories of his family and their ridiculous antics that the book really shines. Apparently his books were made into a BBC series called The Durrells in Corfu; I would love to look that up sometime.
*It turned out that the snail bit was not actually from this book, but from the sequel, Birds, Beasts, and Relatives, which was not available from my library. Fortunately, a preview was included at the end, so I was able to find this section after all.
Freshwater, by Akwaeke Emezi
This book sits in an interesting spot, culturally. Basically when the main character Ada (or “the Ada” as the spirits inside call her) was born, the gate to the spirit world malfunctioned and the spirits inside her were never truly joined to her in a healthy way. As she experienced moments of trauma and isolation (sketched with beautiful language by Emezi), the spirits inside her took turns piloting her physical body; they took on aspects of strength and caring that helped her get through hard times, but also acted out in unhealthy ways. Because she moved from Nigeria to Virginia, from a world where she would have been considered god-touched to one where she was considered mentally ill, she sank further into dysfunction; after suicide attempts and panic attacks, she was only able to turn towards recovery by embracing her native culture. I found out later that this was autobiographical, which is… even more disturbing considering some of the stuff that went on in the book. If that’s true though, I’m glad Emezi has found a balance with their inner selves.