Tag Archive for: memoir

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

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As a reader I generally gravitate toward novels. From time to time, however, I enjoy reading memoirs. I’ve never written a memoir, but I can imagine it sometimes proves difficult to say what one wants to say while worrying about hurting feelings of family or other personal relationships. Or, deciding if the memoir should even be written in the first place. A solution of celebrity actress Jennette McCurdy: wait until that someone dies. McCurdy’s I’m Glad My Mom Died chronicles her career as a child actress rising to stardom and her heartbreaking relationship with her abusive mother. While this topic could easily become an angry tirade, McCurdy’s memoir is darkly humorous, earnest, and a quick read, albeit gut-wrenching. 

No doubt one of the most striking aspects of the book is its title and cover art. Don’t hate me here, but I’m going to use a familiar idiom: don’t judge a book by its cover. The bright, pastel colors of the cover art combined with McCurdy smiling as she holds a pink urn, along with the obvious title, does very much give the impression that McCurdy is happy her mom has died, and in some ways, she is. The cover serves as a shock to the system; I don’t know about you, but it’s not everyday that I see a book title announcing blatant cheer over the death of a parent. This is one of the aspects about McCurdy’s memoir that, for me, hits the nail on the head (surprise, another idiom!) as it immediately pulled me in and I wanted to know more. Within the memoir McCurdy details some of the physical, emotional, and mental abuse she received from her mother, and what I think pushes McCurdy’s memoir past the initial impression the title provides is that it examines how to process abuse from the hands of a loved one. I think McCurdy’s memoir may be judged too quickly or harshly because of the title, but what the memoir does is navigate the very complex relationship between abuse and love. 

McCurdy makes this possible with the way she sets up her memoir. The memoir’s opening chapter finds McCurdy and her two brothers at the side of their mother’s hospital bed, taking turns attempting to tell their unconscious mother something so shocking that it will rouse her from her coma. When McCurdy gets her turn she believes she has the perfect thing to wake her mother: she has reached a total weight of 89 pounds, her mother’s goal weight for her. McCurdy is in her early twenties at this point. 

From here McCurdy jumps back in time, starting when she is a child prior to her acting career, and proceeds through the rest of the memoir in timeline order. McCurdy relates entire happenings and conversations from her childhood and teenage years, often with her overbearing mother, as well as the thoughts and feelings her younger self had at the time. This provides insight into the evolution of McCurdy’s acting career, the abuse she suffers, and her love for and relationship with her mother during various points of her life. McCurdy describes what it was like growing up acting (which she did to please her mother), the ups and downs of being a Nickelodeon star, her relationships with fellow actors (this reaffirmed my belief that Miranda Cosgrove is a kind human), and how being a child actor has shaped her life today. McCurdy also describes her struggles with addiction and eating disorders, which her mother introduces her to as “calorie counting” during adolescence. 

I’m glad I read McCurdy’s memoir. It is well written and has a good deal of wit and sarcasm akin to what fans of McCurdy’s iCarly character Sam Puckett might expect. I listened to the audio version that is read by McCurdy herself, making the experience of the memoir even more personal. McCurdy candidly shares quite a lot of herself in this memoir, and while her story is raw and difficult at times, she demonstrates an openness that deserves to be recognized. 

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Review by Sarah Turner-Hill, Adult Programming Coordinator

Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle by Jody Rosen

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I consider myself fortunate to have grown up in one of the last generations of people whose childhood was spent off-screen and, for me, mostly outdoors and often riding a bicycle. I recall being quite young and riding all over whatever neighborhood or town we lived in at the time. From that young age through my mid-teen years, not only was riding a bicycle fun, but it was a means of transportation, and, though I didn’t realize it at the time, it symbolized independence. Specifically, freedom from my folks! I don’t mention this to harken back to the so-called good ol’ days, but to say that spending so much time on two wheels certainly was a good time. And one that I’d like to make more time for in adulthood. Which is exactly why I picked up Jody Rosen’s Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle. Somehow, making time to read about bicycles seems easier than making time to ride them (which, as Rosen points out, is a privilege in and of itself).

Rosen’s approach is nonlinear. In his prologue, he opens with the “eye-popping” art nouveau bicycle ads of the 1890s, which depict bicycles among the stars, and goes on to discuss the ideas of bicycles in popular culture, which, as it turns out, haven’t changed much. For generations, we’ve fantasized that bicycles are “otherworldly” and could take us to the moon, from the ads of the 1890s to popular mid-century stories, from that famous scene in E.T. to the heights of BMX biking, and beyond. Rosen writes that these fantasies “bespeak a primal desire to cast off the bonds of gravity, to speed away from Earth itself.” When riding, he says, “You’re in another world, an intermediary zone, gliding somewhere between terra firma and the huge horizonless sky.”

Although Rosen does, in fact, tell us of the history and development of the bicycle itself, it’s his cultural and political commentary, memoir, and travel writing that appeals to me most. He reminds us of the controversies surrounding early cycling, particularly for women, and of how bicycles were initially meant for the wealthy, but also details how they can become “equalizers” of opportunity. He discusses what goes into building a bicycle, including the laborers who mine for the raw materials (e.g. magnesium, zinc, titanium, etc.) and the workers who harvest rubber, as well as “the exploitation of child bike factory workers.” He links decades of activism, including the Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter movements, to bicycles and cycling. He tells us of how bikes were militarized, with the armed forces of every major European nation having bike battalions by the 1880s!

Two Wheels Good contains so much information I fear that my review is somewhat like the book itself; that is, nonlinear.

Rosen describes how, in the United States in the 1950s and 60s, bikes were likened to horses when marketed, such as with the Gene Autry Western Bike (which featured a rhinestone studded frame), Bronco, Hopalong Cassidy, and the Juvenile Ranger models. Perhaps thought to be a leftover from the horse-bike rivalry days (which was a hoot to read about). Rosen writes about the “bicycle window” at St. Giles’ Church in Buckinghamshire, England, and even includes a chapter on his personal history with bicycles. Worth mentioning, too, is the “Graveyards” chapter, as, in it, he tells of (unexpected) underwater bicycle graveyards. Readers also learn of stunt and trick riding, which is a whole world in and of itself.

As for the history of the development of the bicycle, I’ll leave you to it other than to share with you the many words used throughout hundreds of years to describe bicycles: the Devil’s Chariot, velocipede, hobby-horse, pedestrian curricle, swiftwalker, accelerator, perambulator, dandy hobby, dandy horse, dandy charger, walking accelerator, pedestrian carriage, and, one of my favorites, the Laufmaschine (which is German for running machine).

Although I’m not so delusional as to think of my younger years as the “good ol’ days” of free-range bike riding, I am so delusional as to think that I’ll get back to using my bike (rather than my vehicle) as a mode of local transportation. Inspired by Rosen’s artful descriptions of bikes (as machines, as artwork), mine now hangs by my front door. Sure, I may pass it up more often than I pick it up, but I aspire to change that and I’m doing my best. In the meantime, I’m thankful to be among those who have the privilege of making that decision.

Two Wheels Good is, indeed, good. I recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about the incredibly interesting and diverse history and mystery of the bicycle, as well as the world’s reactions to it.

As always, happy reading, or, in this case, happy riding.

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A Knock at Midnight by Brittany K Barnett

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I had the pleasure of getting to hear lawyer, criminal justice reform advocate, and author Brittany K. Barnett speak at the 2022 Public Library Association Conference in Portland, Oregon, in March.  She was one of the conference’s “Big Ideas” speakers.  Speakers that were invited to share information and ideas that would take the 4,000+ conference members outside of their comfort zones.  

I had not heard of Barnett before, but after her noteworthy, moving speech, I will not soon forget her.  I was so inspired by the content of her talk that I just finished reading her book, A KNOCK AT MIDNIGHT. 

A KNOCK AT MIDNIGHT is Barnett’s story, but also one of others who have greatly impacted her life. Barnett grew up in Texas, the daughter of a loving mother, but one that struggled with addiction. Struggled so much that she ended up going to prison because of it.  Barnett uses the first part of the book to share this deeply personal story and the lasting effect that it has had on her and her family.   

Despite her mother’s addiction, or maybe because of the trials associated with it, Barnett had big dreams. Since childhood she dreamed of being a lawyer, like Clair Huxtable, the only lawyer she “knew” who looked like her, but her path took her to the world of banking and finance first, but eventually, she attended law school.  

Her plan was to become a corporate lawyer; however, while in law school she took a class where she studied legal injustices, and became familiar with the Sharanda Jones case.

Sharanda Jones was a young entrepreneur, in her early twenties, when she became a casualty of America’s War on Drugs campaign and sentencing disparities. In what she and her attorney, thought was an easily won case, due to a lack of evidence, she was convicted to serve life in prison without parole. 

In researching Jones’ case, Barnett saw herself in the young woman. In fact, if circumstances were different, she thought she could have been Jones.  It soon became her mission to do everything she could to get Jones released from prison.  So in addition to working as a busy corporate lawyer during the day, she started working tirelessly on Jones’ case, pro bono, in her limited free time.

And soon, it was not only Jones that Barnett was trying to help; she had a group of people who had been harshly or wrongly convicted of drug-related offenses. All of which involved sentencing disparities. 

Barnett’s book is a powerful work. Devastating and difficult to read, because it is told in such a manner that readers get to intimately know Barnett and the individuals that she works with so closely. These individuals become just more than names on a page or numbers assigned to a prison system. They become someone’s parent, someone’s child, or someone’s friend.  And if like me,  readers will be shocked upon understanding the sentencing disparity between those individuals sentenced for crack cocaine and powder cocaine drug offenses. Barnett’s debut memoir is a must read.

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Almost American Girl, written and illustrated by Robin Ha

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Area schools have been in session for a week or so now, and the air around the Library’s Teen Department has been filled with equal parts excitement and trepidation all month.  There have been a lot of butterflies, whether it’s the start of band camp or sports practice or middle school or senior year.

Middle school is usually a fraught topic every August–people going there for the first time, people hoping to start over in a new grade, people leaving it to navigate the uncharted waters of high school.  There’s a lot at stake in middle school even in the best of circumstances.

Now imagine the shock of going back to middle school then heading out on a family vacation at semester break only to discover that the “vacation” means starting over at a new school in a new country where you don’t speak the language or understand the culture and the only people you know are the surprise step-relatives you’ve just been introduced to.  Plus, you weren’t able to say goodbye to your friends and they (along with all of your clothes and possessions) are half a world away.

That’s exactly what happened to Robin Ha, author and illustrator of Almost American Girl.

Ha is now a cartoonist based in Washington, D.C.  When she was in eighth grade, her mother took her on a short trip to Alabama which turned out to be a permanent move to a house full of strangers.  Ha’s mother married a divorced father of two saddled with a failing fish market, living with his brother’s family (including their traditional Korean mother).  It was a far cry from the life Robin and her mom had carved out for themselves in Seoul, South Korea–except for many of the conventions and attitudes embraced by their new family.

The book follows Robin’s experiences navigating the challenges of middle school, of learning a new language on the fly, and of unexpected, seemingly arbitrary relationships.  Robin’s eighth grade year unfolds chronologically with interspersed flashbacks to her life growing up in South Korea.  Narrative tension isn’t compromised because the memories are connected to experiences after the move.  Prompted by Robin’s meltdown after chafing under the in-laws’ treatment, the chapter “The Leap of Faith” unfolds the difficulties Robin and her single mother endured trying to thrive in a rigid society; the chapter ends with her mother convinced that “Whatever America is like, it will be better…” even if that translates to racism, poverty, and exclusion.

Almost American Girl follows its author’s inner and outer journeys.  It’s a beautifully drawn coming of age story that’s honest and real.  It embraces the pain and delight of adolescence, bringing readers along on the emotional roller coaster ride without being heavy-handed–a meaningful, immersive experience told in a muted palette of blues and tans and purples and reds that grows brighter and deeper as Robin’s wisdom and inner strength grow.

The book is also a love letter to comics fans, celebrating teens who draw and doodle and color and who recognize the transformative power of art.  It’s for everyone who survived adolescence (in whole or in part) thanks to comic books, manga, art supplies, and pads of paper.  Find your niche, and chances are good that you’ll find friends; with any luck, you’ll find some very good ones.

Read Almost American Girl even if you aren’t an adolescent.  (Especially if you aren’t!)  Give it to a teen who’s interested in contemporary, coming of age stories or manga and anime or Korean culture beyond K-pop or who could use a gentle affirmation.  Read it because it’s lovely and because (spoiler alert) stories can have happy endings.

You can find this title in the graphic novel section of the Teen Department or as an ebook through the Library’s OverDrive service.

Untamed by Glennon Doyle & Born a Crime by Trevor Noah

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I have been on a nonfiction reading kick of late, with autobiographies and memoirs filling much of the space on my nightstand. Two recent titles I made my way through include “UNTAMED” by GLENNON DOYLE and “BORN A CRIME” by TREVOR NOAH. While vastly different in their subject matter, they each contain a powerful narrative voice.

In Doyle’s “Untamed,” imagine going on your book tour to promote your newest work of inspirational Christian literature and telling your fans that you’ve met the true love of your life. Oh, and guess what? It’s a woman. But that is exactly what Doyle did while touring for her “Love Warrior” book. As she puts it, she shared “her truth,” and while it may have upset some people, what she learned through the process is she has to be honest with herself and not live in a “cage” of fear or denial.

The analogy of being put into a cage is used throughout the narrative. She details her memories of when she “lost her wild.” She was 10 years old when the realization of society’s expectations started to weigh on her. This is when she remembers losing her happiness and turning to unhealthy ways of dealing — first bulimia, then later, alcohol.

She not only shares her struggles with addiction and bulimia but discusses her husband’s infidelity and how she finally dealt with these issues by giving herself a pass to stop “being good” and “start being brave.” She often says, “The braver we are, the luckier we get.” And in Doyle’s case, this seems to be true. This memoir is more than her story, it’s a wake up call to women.

No topic is off limits for Doyle. She discusses family, racism, religion, parenting, anxiety and so much more. She is adamant that martyring oneself does not make one a good mother. She advocates that women set boundaries, stop trying to please society and start pleasing themselves. She admits to not having all the answers but writes that she has started to trust her “Knowing” and that her life has only gotten better.

While this title is not my typical fare — I picked it up because a friend recommended it — I enjoyed it tremendously. I found myself laughing and crying many times during the reading. While not all of what Doyle preaches aligns with my personal philosophy, I appreciate her feminist approach and her recognition that how she was living was not working for her. This is a powerful addition to today’s inspirational titles and stands out because of Doyle’s passionate voice and delivery.

In “Born a Crime,” comedian and “Daily Show” host Trevor Noah uses tales from his childhood in South Africa to create a moving autobiography. His stories tell of apartheid and how the institutionalized system of racial segregation and discrimination shaped his upbringing and affected his family, but he also tells of his powerful, no-nonsense mother. His mother’s uniqueness is the star of much of the book.

Each story is proceeded by a section that explains parts of apartheid or South African culture. This is a clever and helpful addition because without it readers may not grasp the importance of the story or the significance to his life. Noah is funny, accessible and honest.

I could not put this book down. I was fascinated by Noah’s writing style and his descriptions of events. He does an excellent job of foreshadowing to keep the reader interested.

Noah’s respect for his mother is obvious. This book was written as a tribute to her and to give her credit for surviving a not-so-idyllic life, as much as it was for Noah to have an outlet. He dedicated the book to his mother: “My first fan. Thank you for making me a man.”

Noah’s matter-of-fact and humorous way of telling stories keeps the narrative moving and will make readers laugh, cry and want more.

Jeana Gockley is the director for the Joplin Public Library.

Find in catalog – Untamed & Born a Crime.

Becoming by Michelle Obama

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Before reading “BECOMING,” I knew little about MICHELLE OBAMA.

I knew she was married to President Barack Obama, that she had two daughters and that she always presented a professional, polished image. Embarrassingly, that was the extent.

I did not realize her parents were happily married until her father died from multiple sclerosis at the age of 55, she holds an undergraduate degree from Princeton and a law degree from Harvard, and shockingly for me, her first introduction to her husband was as his mentor at the law firm in Chicago where she was first employed after law school.

Thank goodness I checked out this memoir. In reading it, I learned so much about Michelle Obama’s life and how she became who she is today.

Obama’s writing is clear, accessible and descriptive. She does an excellent job of developing a timeline and explaining details. It was a treat to get to read about the campaigns and elections from her viewpoint. Her love and support of her husband shines through in the book but not in the typical ways most wives support their politician husbands. Committing to being married to a politician was not an easy decision for her and one she struggled with many times during his career — and still struggles with today.

Her parents raised a strong, independent person, and her ability to have her own goals and passions were vital to her happiness. She found her own path, and while sometimes it was not easy, she persevered and not only had a fulfilling career but parented two beautiful, smart and passionate daughters and supported her husband.

Her love for children is often mentioned, and she was able to incorporate that into her platform as first lady, focusing on nutrition, physical activity and healthy eating. Building a garden on the White House lawn as a way to involve youth groups and show how to make healthy food choices was no easy feat, but it turned out as a beautiful addition and provided thousands of pounds of fresh produce for the White House. Her messages about hope and “you matter,” focused primarily toward young women, are powerful statements about her beliefs and dreams.

Hearing about the Secret Service was interesting and insightful. Obama has a deep respect for the men and women who protect her family, and she also talks about the other White House staff members and how they became more than staff to her family. Her description of how sad she felt leaving the White House on the final day of her husband’s presidency showcases the connections the Obama family made with their caretakers.

Her story comes together by letting the people be the focus. She is good at seeing people and reading them. She demonstrates grace throughout the narrative, and this combined with her inner beauty make it easy to see why so many people adore her.

Also, I loved the insight that I got about Barack from this memoir. It was a beautiful thing to see our 44th president through the eyes of his wife and partner. She shares special things that many people would not know about him — he used to smoke, he works best shut away in a messy “hole” of an office and he seems to grow calmer as the chaos rises. So many great stories are included in the narrative.

She also highlights key moments during the eight years they were in the White House — finding and killing Osama Bin Laden, the massacre in Newtown and the legalization of gay marriage — and uses these stories to showcase there was always a crisis to contend with, and while it was apparent things like this would continue, the response she and Barack gave were important. People were looking to them to lead, and they did their best to do a good job.

This well-crafted, powerful read should not be missed. The pacing is spot on, and the imagery the author is able to create with her words will make the reader feel part of the story. The warmth she feels for people radiates outward, and her use of story and the power that it yields is phenomenal. She uses her story to provide hope, inspiration and spotlight a message of love.

Jeana Gockley is the director of the Joplin Public Library.

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No Ivy League, written and illustrated by Hazel Newlevant

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There’s no denying that art has power. A work of art in any form can stop you dead in your tracks, take your breath away, send chills down your spine. It can elicit a bold, dramatic response–an experience so vivid that it’s as memorable as the work of art itself.

Sometimes, though, art exudes a quiet power–less shockwave and more a resonance that grows deeper and richer with time, drawing you in over and over, changing you in the process.

Hazel Newlevant’s graphic novel No Ivy League has that quiet power, wrapping it in an unassuming package. While the book appears to be a slow-moving memoir of a summer job washed in monochromatic watercolor (don’t let the full-color cover fool you), it is an exquisite glimpse at the lives of contemporary teens.

Author and illustrator Newlevant describes her first job, a summer stint with the local parks department during high school. Hazel is a seemingly average teen in Portland, Oregon, who happens to enjoy reading, video games, hanging out with her friends, and making art. She’s trying to save enough money to see her favorite band in concert in the fall, so at her parents’ suggestion she applies for a spot on one of the city’s youth conservation crews; she gets a job cleaning out invasive ivy at a park. She spends the summer learning about herself and the diverse group of people she works with, discovering that the world around her is a far bigger and more intricate place than she ever imagined.

There’s little plot description because there’s not much plot to describe. Hazel’s story is a meditative character study examining self-discovery, particularly that time when teens first realize that there is life outside their own bubble. Newlevant depicts adolescence in all its naive, cringeworthy, optimistic, angry, despairing gloriousness. In doing so, she opens Hazel’s eyes (and ours) to the shades of grey present in a previously black-and-white world. Words and actions that may seem like jokes to some may be far from it for others. Perspectives on justice and “doing the right thing” may vary widely depending on experience–experiences determined by skin color and economic opportunity. Hazel begins to see and acknowledge the differences between herself and other teens on her team, discovering that her secure, stable life isn’t universal.

Newlevant deftly weaves nuance throughout the book. The realistic dialogue (including Hazel’s interior dialogue) sounds immediate and lifelike without being over the top or trying too hard. Same goes for the art. As you read, the chapter title spreads progress from fully covered in ivy to a space almost cleared. When another teen taunts her, the laughter written on the page chases Hazel away. Invasive ivy creeps toward Hazel threatening to entangle her after being shaken to her core by a family secret. Newlevant’s work shows just enough detail to serve the story–these aren’t overly busy panels–and has a slightly misty quality (as memories do) thanks to a hazy watercolor wash.

Newlevant’s nuance is evident as she thoughtfully relates discovering the role privilege played in her upbringing, “This book is about a pivotal summer in my life. It poked a hole in my familiar bubbles and complicated my understanding of the world. It was a multi-car pileup of race, class, gender, and teen hormones…It’s incredible, believing over and over again that you’ve figured things out–only to stumble on new ways your place in society shields you from the truth. I really didn’t know anything. Maybe I still don’t.”

No Ivy League offers up its insights in quiet, thoughtful ways and leaves a quiet, thoughtful power in its wake. It’s a realistic slice of adolescent life in all of its raw, complicated messiness. This isn’t a book for readers wanting heavy, plot-driven action or a sanitized depiction of teenagers. It is a title for adults and mature teens who are patient readers interested in character development, realism, or examining society. A variety of teen lives are depicted; strong language and some sexual references are included.  No Ivy League and many other amazing memoirs in graphic novel format are available at the library. Stop by and see what we have to offer!