There is no shortage of glowing reviews for this book, a beautifully written piece brimming with loss, but eventually love. If you’re looking for a piece that will heal, that will resonate with the loss of a loved one or a close family member, I’m fully confident that you will adore this book by Elizabeth Alexander, a poet and professor of African-American studies at Yale.
However, this piece, or rather this collection of essays, doesn’t really work as a memoir for me. The label of a memoir sets up a box and a set of expectations that The Light of the World does not meet, or rather it never intended to be a memoir. Written as a series of short vignettes, interspersed with a handful of longer chapters, this book is more “memories” than “memoir” – it is an intensely personal narrative, private and self-centered (not necessarily in a bad way, it just is). We encounter Ficre Ghebreyesus, Alexander’s husband of 16 years and a painter-activist-chef, almost exclusively through Alexander’s own voice, in her experiences in real-life and in dreams -- many many dreams.
Alexander is first and foremost a poet, and she writes with the awe and beauty that a poet possesses. The shortest chapters often deliver the most oomph, a sketch of a scene in a few sentences leaving the most emotional impact. For example, this passage, which could well fit in a spoken word or a poem, convey an urgency and directness that is so blazing and moving:
The winter garden is razed now, cleared, and you are no longer there, not there this spring.
April 1, April 2, April 3, April 4.
No, start counting at your birthday party, March 30, March 31 –
No, start counting on your birthday, when we brought you coffee and etan (sic) in bed.
Mach 21, your fiftieth birthday.
Beloved.
However, for the majority of the book, I found Alexander’s voice too laid-down, too tired and quotidian. It is like listening to your best friend for life talking about her loss, a best friend that you will hold her hand for hours and listen to her words, beautiful in the most painful moments, or just hold her close. It is a beautiful experience, and I think she has shared with us a successful attempt to record, the perhaps finite number of memories, or stories; and because of these writings, she can revisit these moments and re-encounter Ficre again and again.
The Light of The World, in my opinion, is a catharsis for the author, it is a journey of healing, an invitation for us readers to witness the power of love. It is a reminder that Alexander is a wonderful poet with a great sense of beauty. It is not, however, memorable as a memoir or a non-fiction collection. Alexander is 53 years old, and as she puts it, an American girl: tall, sturdy, sunny, good teeth, optimistic, full of songs from the Nego canon and the great American songbooks; we see a talented writer who have experienced great loss, and we hope to see her write again, with beauty and hope.
PS. This book is quite a steal for $3.99 on Kindle if you are willing to pass on the beautiful painting by Ghebreyesus on the hardcover dust jacket.