What do you think?
Rate this book


First love, you may say, heart sinking in chest: what more can possibly be said about such a subject? Actually, a great deal. To read Cherry is to realize how rare it is to find a teenage girl portrayed on her own terms. As a chronicle of female adolescence with all its longings, fantasies, cruelties, and fears, Karr's memoir goes darker and deeper than any book in which the protagonist doesn't end up dead. She turns a savage eye on her own hypocrisies and failings, and we like her all the more for them. We even end up fond of Leechfield, easily the toughest, smelliest, nastiest little burg ever to appear between the covers of a book--"a town too ugly not to love," her father called it in The Liar's Club. Growing up in such a place is necessarily about getting the hell out, but it's also about inventing a new identity with which to make your escape. That's the blessing Karr's wise friend Meredith bestows after a particularly harrowing (and harrowingly funny) acid trip: "I see big adventures for Mary. Big adventures, long roads, great oceans: same self." Cherry is the story of how Karr begins to acquire that self, however fumblingly--a big adventure for Mary, as it is for all of us, and one we never finish as long as we live. Perhaps that's the book's greatest pleasure of all: it hints there's more to come. --Mary Park
276 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2000

"That my being smarter than everybody would have fallen in dispute is a shock that shuts off my tears. I feel deep conviction that I am, in fact, smarter than everybody--an opinion both my parents have hammered into me my whole life."
"And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody--anybody--who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That's how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don't earn it. It's given."
"You have been dismissed again.And also with her mother:
In truth, you dismissed him long before, but you won't be able to face that for years. You shrugged off his hand when he tried to hug you. When he nagged you about breakfast, you waved him away. You can't admit to yourself that you first turned your back to him. So you invert the rejection - this distance, your scorn. They're now his attitudes aimed at you. In reality, he's an old man in his sixties whose raggedy-looking daughter refuses his every word and whose flight from him seems - no, is - unimaginable."
"Your mother still somehow cannot fathom your leaving her in this madhouse, though she groomed you for it and urged you to it."The strength of Mary Karr is the writing but in Cherry I found some devices overused, to the extent where they felt like devices and not natural shifts, particularly the switches to second person and the phrase "like so many X." I will always have a kneejerk reaction to an unnecessary or forced metaphor, and the "like so many X" tactic was always followed by one of them.
“He runs his tongue along your lower lip like a question, and you return the inquiry.” (167)
“You’re drunk on being both source and recipient of [his] desire. After the vast years of solitude, his aqua eyes somehow carve you into the air. Incarnate you. Your fleshly image of yourself is deriving from what he sees.” (168)
“The lustrous warmth of him along your body is like taking a long drink of something you’ve wanted all your life.” (182)
