Friday, April 8, 2011

Townie

This is Andre Dubus III's new memoir, and I have to admit that I bought it primarily so that I could get the dirt on his father.  I love his dad's writing so much, and since he's now deceased, I figured that this would be as close as I could get to his inside story.  What I discovered is that his son is outrageously talented in his own right.  Andre Sr. quickly became beside the point.

As many children of divorce know, there's a good deal of baggage that comes along with the split.  Different kids handle the hurt in different ways.  Andre Jr.'s hurt surfaced as rage.  Instead of bottling it, he seized on every opportunity he could to vent it.

Dubus grew up in a small, blue collar town in Massachusetts.  He lived on the wrong side of the tracks and he and his siblings were raised in a particularly rough part of town.  They were always vigilant, but became victims of countless acts of violence over the years.  Andre's response was to protect himself by building his muscles and learning how to fight.  Once he felt confident enough in his strength and skill, he sought out any opportunity he could to lash out.  His motto was to hit first and hit hard.  He inflicted countless wounds over the years, but the thrill of the fight always seemed to transform into shame.

As a young adult, he learned to redirect his rage by channeling it into his writing.  While his father was largely absent during his formative years, he resurfaced as a kind and supportive mentor once his son chose to follow in his footsteps.

Again, as a child of divorce, I was fascinated by the firsthand account of the suffering incurred by Dubus and his siblings. I felt like I was getting a rare glimpse of what it's like to be a boy who is encouraged to vent his anger in such a violent way.  He's applauded by his friends and family because he can hold his own in any battle.  He's often thanked for unleashing his fury, as long as he's taking it out on the "bad" guys.  It seems like girls often turn their rage inward and become depressed.  I got caught up in the whole notion of being able to diffuse the rage by acting it out.  It seems like that would be a much simpler way to get rid of the hurt.  But in the end, it seems that violence only begets violence.  How inspiring it is that the author was able to take his pain and turn it into a thing of beauty.

Townie: A Memoir

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Girl Who Fell from the Sky

This one's a goody.  It's about a biracial girl who's lost her white, Danish mother in an accident and is raised by her African American grandmother in the early 80's in Portland, Oregon.  She has a hard time finding a group to identify with and never feels quite at home with anyone.  She doesn't want to deny her European heritage, but she's shunned by her African American friends when she acts "too white".  She's got light brown skin and striking blue eyes.  She's stunning, but no one really knows what to do with her.  Least of all herself.

Why did I love this book so much?  Maybe because it's written so poetically.  Maybe it's because I grew up in Portland, Oregon in the same neighborhood and at the same time as the main character.  I could identify with the social injustices that were going on in that place and time because I was there, too.  I was part of the same public school system that churned out this type of youth.  I was and am proud of the diverse group of friends I came up with, yet I lived kitty corner to one of the skinheads who killed the Ethiopian man mentioned in this book.  Diversity is great, but it isn't always harmonious.

The whole time I was reading this book, I had the song 'Ebony and Ivory' on a permanent loop in my head.  Now it's in yours.  Ha!  When I was in the fourth grade, my best friend was Nicole Glaster.  She happened to be African American.  'Ebony and Ivory' was a huge hit at the time and we used to sing it to each other at recess.  When auditions for the annual talent show opened up, we thought our act would be an obvious winner.  We tried out and felt pretty confident about our odds.  The talent judge was our African American music teacher who also happened to be a brilliant pianist, for God's sake.  When the list of performers who'd made the cut was posted, guess who wasn't on it?  Really, Ms. Washington?  I'm still pissed.  To this day, whenever I hear that song, I can feel my gorge rising.

Anyway, the issues raised in The Girl Who Fell from the Sky are still very relevant today.  The 80's weren't so long ago.  My daughter's in the public school system now and her friends come in all shapes and sizes and I'm grateful for that.  I want her to grow up knowing that we're all on equal footing, whatever we look like.  Get this book.  I think you'll like it.

The Girl Who Fell from the Sky

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Fifth Child

Dang.  This one makes you want to check and double-check your birth control methods.  Sometimes I feel guilty about having only one child, but this book reminds me that it's ok sometimes not to tempt fate. Holy merde.  Imagine you have a happy family with hordes of relatives clamoring to visit you and your lovely children at your lovely home.  Your life is so full and pleasant that it almost strikes you as being unfair.  Until you have your fifth child, someone so cold and alien that your whole life is torn asunder.  No one comes to visit you anymore.  Your older children are terrified of the baby, as well they should be. He doesn't know his own strength and doesn't understand why he isn't to wield it against other people, or animals.

What would you do if you had a child that you secretly hated?  What if you believed you had given birth to a monster, but could never admit it?  I imagine it must be akin to the feelings of the parents of sociopaths.  How can a seemingly normal couple produce a bad seed?  I'm so glad I don't have to find out.  This book is a gripper.  It raises a lot of moral questions that I'm thrilled to be able to sidestep.  If you're pregnant, please don't read this book.  Otherwise, proceed with caution.  It's evil, but gooooood.

The Fifth Child

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Thich Nhat Hahn

Have I already written about Thich Nhat Hahn?  He's worth revisiting.  I just finished The Art of Power, and the message in this book is pretty much the same as in all of Hahn's books, but it bears repeating.  He basically wants us to know that we're all linked and interconnected, that we're essentially all parts of the same whole.  Living with this belief in non-duality helps us to realize that if we hurt one another, we're hurting ourselves in the bargain.  He believes that if we continue to recognize this, we'll become more compassionate with one another and achieve true happiness.

I'm not a religious person, but I do crave spirituality, and this is as close as I have come to subscribing to any type of higher power.  Hahn's teachings are simple and make sense.   Essentially, he believes that if you want the world to be a better place, you should embody the changes that you'd like to see in the rest of the world.  Kindness and compassion are keys to happiness, as is the ability to stay present in every moment.  We waste our lives by worrying about the past and the future when what really matters is what is happening here and now.  There is no greater gift to give to your loved ones than your true presence and attention.  Try it and see what happens.  It's so easy to become distracted by all of the external stimuli in this increasingly chaotic world, but learning to focus on what's truly important, which is this very moment, helps us to keep centered and grounded.

I think it was John Lennon who said that life is what happens while you're busy making plans.  I'm trying to change my plan to make every moment count and live for this day only.  I can't stop thinking about all of the people in Japan and the tragedies they're experiencing.  It gives me such a heavy heart, but it also helps me put things into perspective.  My gripes are miniscule.  I have a lot to be grateful for, an obscene amount to be grateful for, really.  I need to continue to remember that.

The Art of Power