Keema Waterfield's INSIDE PASSAGE, about Alaska's underbelly and hardscrabble life; the author grew up chasing music with her 20-year-old mother on the Alaskan folk festival circuit, two small siblings in tow; adrift with a revolving cast of musicians, drunks, stepdads, and one man with a gun, she yearned for a place to call home, to Rose Alexandre-Leach at Green Writers Press, with Ferne Johansson editing, in an exclusive submission, for publication in spring 2020.
Keema Waterfield was born in a trailer in Anchorage, Alaska the year John Lennon was shot, smallpox was officially eradicated, and the first Iran-Iraq War began. Her award-winning essays have appeared in Brevity, Pithead Chapel, and Redivider, among others. She received her MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of Montana. She now resides in Missoula, Montana, where she plays music for kicks and occasionally moonlights as a standup comic. She lives with her husband, two children, a bunch of extra instruments she doesn’t know how to play, and a revolving cast of quirky animals. She lives and writes on Séliš and Qlispé land. Follow her on Twitter @keemasaurusrex.
This memoir had my emotions on a ride. This memoir touched me on a whole other level for the simple fact I am a mother. The bond me and my mother have is unbreakable. As you get older, you understand more than you know as a child, like how hard your parents worked to provide, seeing their strengths and courage. The author had a deep understanding of her mother's struggle to stay alive is astounding. Throughout this retelling, Keema's mother faces down the vast wilderness of healing her childhood trauma and survives single motherhood. The author's love for her mother saturates the book, which compassionately and realistically illustrates the impacts of generational trauma on our most vulnerable family members. Inside Passage is an honest, raw memoir of being raised by a hippie mom, enjoying festivals, growing up in Alaska, seeing what Kema had to endure as a child. You can't do anything but feel for her. I know it had to be hard for Keema and her siblings to go through what they had to go through. Inside Passage was one of the most powerful memoirs I have read. This memoir shows you never know what one is going through in their life behind closed doors. Trauma can not be forgotten. It's something that forever lives with you. Reading this memoir, I felt like this was her way of healing. I know it's hard to talk about certain things. I highly recommend this memoir.
A beautifully-written memoir about growing up in Alaska in the 80s and 90s—that includes a free-wheeling mom, a rotating cast of step-dads, and a family's passion for folk music.
I absolutely loved this book—and read it at a fevered pitch until it was done, in the best way. The writing is simple but lovely, and the story is told in a matter-of-fact way that balances the—for lack of a better word—wacky life that Waterfield has lived.
The book opens with the author's birth, which is notable because it takes place during a huge, hippie-filled party, on a date that no one can quite remember even though its literally the author's birthday. The strangeness of this event—filled with wild people, music, and all things Alaska—carries us through the rest of the book, in which Waterfield and her family criss-cross the state working at music festivals, living in all sorts of places, and ultimately trying to find a good, meaningful life in a world that isn't meant for the sensitive. The book also has some meaningful self-reflection and analysis that makes it go above and beyond memoirs that just relay a string of events.
This book goes on a shelf next to The Glass Castle, Educated, and Wild—and proves that an indie release can come with a huge bang. Don't miss it. I wish I could read it again for the first time.
If you appreciate gorgeous description and a story about coming-of-age and finding one’s way in the face of hardship you will love Inside Passage. This beautiful memoir is about growing up in Alaska, making music, the artist’s life, and overcoming abuse; a memoir about parents swept up in their own lives to the detriment of their kids and the pursuit of the self instead of parenting. Waterfield explores the complications of poverty and missing parents, physical and emotional pain, and finding oneself after surviving both emotional and physical abandonment. I rooted for this memoirist and was amazed by her bravery and passion; her belief in something more than what she could see, and the beauty alive in the world and among family in spite of its myriad complications.
What a beautiful, often painful, often funny, and always poetic insight into Waterfield's unique childhood, following her as she was raised by a driven, wistful artist mother and different stepdads (some amazing, some not-so-much) in the wild beauty of Alaska. Inside Passage has shades of Educated and The Glass Castle in the stubborn independence of Waterfield's upbringing (i.e., the way she had to work to collect her official documents, like her birth certificate, because her parents were so off the grid, or her responsibility toward younger siblings from a very young age). But Waterfield is incredibly compassionate and circumspect toward both herself and her loved ones. Without resorting to extremes of "good family" or "bad family," Waterfield, without sugarcoating or criticizing, embraces both the good and the bad, accepting a rich, complicated whole. This is a book is a lovely testament to Waterfield's resilience and deep creativity.
For fans of The Glass Castle, North of Normal, and Educated, Keema Waterfield’s debut offers equal parts wanderlust and heartbreak. With writing that feels like a soft breeze, through the ups and downs of Keema’s unpredictable childhood in the Alaskan folk music scene, love warms every page.
Keema Waterfield tells the story of her "unconventional" childhood. It's not what you're expecting, I promise. Keema has a way of retelling her wild Alaskan adventure with a sense of resilient candor as a survivalist of the most relatable kind.
The author's deep understanding of her mother's struggle to stay alive is astounding. Throughout ths retelling, Keema's mother faces down the vast wilderness of healing her own childhood trauma and survives single motherhood with the help of her small daughter, Keema.
The author's love for her mother saturates the book, which compassionately and realistically illustrates the impacts that generational trauma have on our most vulnerable family members.
This book reminded me that someday my children can grow up and see me in my wholeness as a person. Not just as the person who gave them life, but as a person with a whole life of my own. Multitudes.
I reccomend this book to anyone who likes Alaska survival stories, stories about mothers and daughters, or anyone who has felt abandoned by a parent. Keema has a way of telling it like it is without creating a tragic trauma narrative or attempting to solicit the reader's sympathy.
Rather, Waterfield encourages the reader to understand why Fawn made the choices she did; giving us all the space to forgive ourselves for the times we were doing our best but were left with bad options.
This book also reminded me of Robert Frost's poem "The Oven Bird"
I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to read this book. Keema Waterfield takes the reader on an ultimate adventure through the Alaskan wilderness, detailing her unconventional childhood filled with movement and motion, largely revolving around music festivals and following her beloved mother from location to location as she changed jobs and artistic endeavors and relationships. While this story is unique in every sense of the word, it strikes the familiar, universal chords of love and longing, and tells a beautiful, heart wrenching tale of the bond between a daughter and her mother.
Waterfield is a survivor in the truest sense of the word. She details her childhood loneliness in a way that so many of us can relate to—her search and desire to fit in, to have enough, to understand the absence and presence of the different fathers in her life, and finally, to create a family of her own. In clear, poetic prose, and in an empathetic, authentic narrative voice, Waterfield illustrates the strength and resilience of familial bonds, the unconditional love and affection between siblings, and the careful examination of her own place in the world.
When a book begins with a story of the author's birth on a date no one can precisely pin down in a trailer during a raucous party thrown by her parents, it's time to find a comfortable reading spot and settle in, because you know it's a story you won't be putting down.
There is heartache infused in this book, but also music and art and the comfort of books and undeniable love in unexpected places. I got to see Alaska for the first time through Waterfield's eyes, fascinating towns and landscapes I never knew about, and I'm the richer for it.
Inside Passage has the feel of The Glass Castle and Educated, but its stunning writing lifts the book to a different level. Waterfield's skill with language and spot-on description, her ability to paint a landscape and deliver her characters with a few precisely chosen details had me pausing to re-read passages for the sheer pleasure of it.
I admired Inside Passage, but I also really loved it. I didn't want it to end.
When I first signed up to read this book I had no idea what to expect. Memoirs aren’t usually something I gravitate toward unless it’s someone who inspires me. I can tell you that after reading “Inside Passage” I have nothing but the utmost respect for Keema & I could only hope that everyone has someone with her strength & dedication in their lives.
“You’re pretty hard to forget.” ( I loved this part!)
Keema’s story is ultimately one of making the best of situations that she had no choice but to be in. This is her narrative about being constantly on the go with no place to ever truly call “home”, her bond with her sister Tekla that could never be broken; a mother who was selfish and often chose her own wants & needs over her children’s including education & men. Some of her husbands /boyfriends were not only disrespectful but sexually assaulted her & her sister when her mother wasn’t around. Her family lived in tents, a shack, a bus, with friends & family members, all piled up into one bedroom. The children often went hungry or had to fend for themselves. Keema had nervous tics & debilitating anxiety but was never taken to a doctor.
“I’ve spent several thousand hours, maybe more, looking for a place to call my own. In all of my dreams, I never once landed one.”
But despite all of these misfortunes there were occasional lights at the end of the tunnel. She made strong friendships & gained second families, learned to be fiercely independent & even realized that instead of longing for what you don’t have, you should instead pay attention to what’s right in front of you.
I loved hearing about the life of being a “Festival Boothie” and it resonated with my own childhood because my mom is a crafter too. She sold wreaths, floral arrangements; signs, & we sat under our tent watching the festivities. Although my experience was much different since I had a warm house to go home to.
I also enjoyed the memories of the ferry rides & the family singing & playing instruments together & whale watching.
“ I watched those black-and-white finned backs roll out of the deep blue without a ripple, spout dreamily and dip below the surface. I wanted to press my body alongside the nearest whale, wrap my arm around that fin, and go places. Anywhere. Whenever.”
If her story doesn’t prove that anyone can hold onto hope despite one adversity after another, I’m not sure what will.
“Home remained a place we could only sing our way into.”
4 ⭐️
The reason that this book didn’t receive 5 stars:
1. The pacing was a bit too slow.
2. The memories often jumped around from year to year, I wish that the chapters had dates ( or estimates).
This book will keep you company in all the best ways--and take you on a journey from childhood to adulthood in a world that is rich with magic, beauty, and heartbreak. Keema Waterfield captures each member of her family with precision and tenderness. These characters came alive for me. I enjoyed losing myself in the Alaska landscape and in the motion of a childhood spent following a creative and independent mother. Waterfield does such a wonderful job of bringing us into difficult moments (some of them wrenching), without ever losing sight of the love that centers this narrative. It's a gorgeous book.
This gem of a memoir, which includes plenty of childhood trauma and drama, could have been written very differently. That it wasn't is central to what made it shine for me. The narrator grew up with scarring memories, poverty, a nomadic lifestyle, and missing and damaged parents. She was perpetually the new kid in school wearing secondhand clothes and embarrassed to tell her classmates where she lived. As she grew older, she was haunted by dreams of homelessness. That she could also come to see her life as an episodic adventure is part of the wonder of this story. Rather than anger or self-pity, the narrative voice in Inside Passage is infused with resilience and compassion. This book is a chronicle of an era and place as much as a personal tale. The cities and towns of Alaska's inside passage are drawn in stunning and lyrical detail. The potheads, drunks, musicians, and craftspeople of the folk festival circuit, who could easily have become caricatures, are richly humanized. Ultimately, this book is a beautifully rendered testimony to family bonds against all odds.
Keema Waterfield has led a rich life so far— albeit a life carved out of poverty and parental neglect which might lead a less generous soul to despair. Instead this narrator finds beauty and song and hope on the ferry through the inside passage, through abuse and bitterly cold Alaskan winters and vicious mosquitoes and adults who never master the art of adulting. The love of family and of made families shines through. Heartbreaking and life affirming.
I loved this memoir and I now want to recommend it to everyone I meet. I was pulled into this unconventional family and drawn to their passion for music and the bravery in pursing it. I learned so much about Alaska. The writing throughout is stunning and honest and smart. I know I'll be returning to this book again and again.
Waterfield delivers a fantastic debut memoir that feels like a soft pattering rain after a heat-wave. As a writer, she approaches metaphor like a technician and fine-tunes every simile. Her prose is lyrical, sensorial, and sometimes indulges in a rhythm one could assume mimics the music Waterfield once played in her band with her mother and sister.
What I love most is the way in which Waterfield shows the dimensionality of her relationships - with her sister, brother, her camp of step-fathers, mother and father. These relationships are revealed as if seen through a prism - viewing the good and the bad and the in-between - from all angles.
The courage to unabashedly show these emotions on the page astounds me. Waterfield showers her characters with a generous love even when they may not deserve it. This is a real life told with a gracious dignity that inspires the reader to do more good in the world. Be kind. It matters.
And from one hippie-child to another, I felt a personal invitation to reconcile the past with forgiveness. Perhaps we grew up too fast and took care of our parents and siblings too often, but prior hardship doesn’t mean we must harbor the bitterness. Choose love. Waterfield shows us the way.
I've been savoring this gorgeous memoir by Keema Waterfield for several days now, soaking up her brave, awe-inspiring story of love, wanderlust, survival & her deep yearning to belong. Keema writes so beautifully that I frequently reread passages, sometimes aloud, just to hear the sounds her carefully crafted sentences made. She's also hilarious & her humor is utterly refreshing. Keema's story is one of resilience & bravery, & her honest rendering drew me in immediately. Set in Alaska this memoir, although similar to The Glass Castle, is unique in many ways. Tales from the folk music festivals she attended with family, their precious musical bond & Keema's fierce longing for a father's love make this book different from any I've read. Fiercely loyal in her love for her mother, Keema writes tenderly of a musical, artistic, young hippy woman with her own troubling history. I was riveted throughout, able to relate to young Keema even as our life stories are so completely different. This memoir has been shelved in my row of favorite memoirs, close at hand for a time when I wish to revisit Keema as she courageously faces life head on, with grace, determination, song & sensitivity. Memoirs like this one are a true gift.
I don’t know much about Alaska, it turns out. Embarrassingly enough, I thought Alaska was only the far north pokey-uppy bit, so it was fascinating to learn about coastal Southeast Alaska and the channels and passages Keema Waterfield grew up traversing. The story itself is fascinating – Keema and her sister, Tekla, born into this hippy, arts and music family, with a rotating cast of stepfathers and never one place to call home. Except that their home is with one another, and the thing that struck me the most in this memoir was the utter love and forgiveness with which it was written. These girls didn’t live an easy life, but neither did their mother, and that recognition shines through. The author’s affection for her family infuses the story like an aura, a protective glow surrounding the uprootedness and anxiety and heart wrenching moments. Waterfield does all this with humor, too, often making me giggle out loud. It’s a gorgeous book. Get it, and learn about Alaska, and a whole lot more.
Inside Passage is set in Alaska in the ’80s. it is a well-written memoir of growing up in Alaska and raised by a motivated, artist mother mom, and different stepdads. A family of musicians who had no place to call home, festivals, and parties. The story was beautiful yet painful especially when she had to find out about her birthdate by collecting official documents because her parents could not remember her date of birth and how she had to be responsible for her sibling. I really enjoyed the author's story, the bond she had with her mother, and how she came to find her way through hardship. I think Keema Waterfield had a unique childhood, and she perfectly penned the details and descriptions of coastal Southeast Alaska.
Loved this gorgeous debut memoir. It grabbed me from the start with its honesty and deep sense of place and character. I’ve always been fascinated with Alaska, though I’ve never visited, and I felt transported by Waterfield’s prose. I was rooting for little Keema from the start and though she walks a challenging road she finds a way to not only survive but grow and thrive. This book has a lot to say about family. Who are our family? And what do they mean to us? The complex mother-daughter relationship was rendered with such care, I felt for both of them. The author navigates emotional minefields with what looks like ease.
Luminous. That’s the word that came to mind when I first started reading this gorgeous book. Every page was a delight. Waterfield uses language in a lyrical, entrancing way, much like the music permeating her young life.
There are moments of trauma, but Waterfield treats them with such tenderness that they become threads in the tapestry she weaves. I especially loved how the nomadic life, though rootless and poverty-stricken at points, still held some romance for her. This book is a love letter to her mom, Tekla, her dads, and the arts that informed so much of her growing years. It is a beautiful window into the wilderness of Alaska and the wilderness that can live in the hearts of those who grew up there.
A well written memoir of a childhood I could not imagine. Raised mostly by her hippie mom, moving around a lot, living in remote areas of Alaska, and not even recognizing her own father when she saw him. It’s honest, sometimes sad, but the author put it all out there.
An affecting memoir about Waterfield's peripatetic childhood, spent mostly in Alaska, and her relationship with her mother, who was fleeing her own childhood demons. Evocative and moving
It was and interesting experience to read about this unconventional growing up. Moving around the country with such a free spirited mother, having to except so many different men in her mother’s life without having any connection to her father, going to music festivals, definitely doe sound like most children’s childhood. While some of the described events must have had a special meaning to the author, I must admit that I didn’t find all of them equally interesting. The writing style is light and humorous, sometimes even too much when describing some hard moments in life. This tells me that the author is a positive person who’s in peace with herself and her past.
I wish there were more descriptions of Alaska, but the emphasis in this memoir is on a mother and daughter relationship, so the story fulfilled its purpose.
I saw some people wrote that this is a perfect book for fans of Educated by Tara Westover, but honestly, except for both books talking about the unconventional growing up, I didn’t see any connection between them.
Waterfield is a marvelous story teller! I felt like we were sitting in the same room, with her sharing adventures and heartache. The timeline got a little confusing for me, but I think that likely gave me a better understanding of how confusing things were for her. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and admire her vulnerability in sharing more than just the adventures, which were exciting to read too.
I really appreciated the premise and concept of this book. And the writing was beautiful. At times it was difficult to get through and I ultimately did not finish this book. But I do aspire to pick it up again at another time and try again given the beauty of the writing and poignancy of the story.
Keema Waterfield has written a beautiful, beautiful book.
With clear, concise language devoid of chatter or ornament, Keema Waterfield pulls you gently into her difficult past - a past that is unfamiliar to many, yet as you walk beside her, you see through her eyes, hear through her ears, and feel as deeply as she does about the events that unfold. Inside Passage may be a difficult journey through a strange land, but it resonates with authenticity as firmly as Tara Westover's Educated, never losing sight of hope. Even through the frank descriptions of the troubling things she experienced, as her young mother, a bright, creative soul was only partly equipped with the wherewithal to raise a family, the love never wavers. You feel you know these people, strangers in a land I'll probably never see, but having traveled through time alongside them and heard their laughter and felt their doubt and pain, you celebrate the triumph of having come through it all with memory, life, and love intact. Brava!
Go. Do yourself a favor and buy this wonderful book. It truly is the story of a lifetime.
Inside Passage tells the story of the author, her younger siblings, and her mother during what the book describes as “their growing-up-together years” in Alaska in the 1980s and ‘90s. The early chapters reflect some of the devastation of America’s war on drugs that—combined with intergenerational trauma—divided the author’s family and sent her mother on a decades-long search for a home for herself and her children. After the prose (graceful and well-crafted), what I love most about this book is the way it immerses us in the complicated reality of longing. As a child, the author longed for a more settled life—an easier life—while loving the summer music festivals and freedoms of her unconventional childhood. She longed, too, for an intact family, even as she admits to not really knowing her father at all, and to mistrusting many of the other men who crossed in and out of their lives. More than anything, the author longs for her mother—young, talented, and wounded—whose love and attention feel as vital to her as air. There’s an understated emotional resonance to Inside Passage that’s hard to shake, even days after finishing. Waterfield’s words, and the haunted longings of her growing-up years, will be with me for a while.
Keema Waterfield grew up chasing music with her twenty-year-old mother on the Alaskan folk festival circuit, two small siblings in tow. Summers they traveled by ferry and car, sharing the family tent with a guitar, cello, and fiddle. Adrift with a revolving cast of musicians, drunks, stepdads, and one man with a gun, Keema yearned for a place to call home. Preferably with heat and flushing toilets. Trying to understand the absence of her pot-dealing father, she is drawn deeper into her mother's past instead. Inside Passage is an unflinching mother-daughter love story that leaves you laughing, weeping, and wanting more.
From the very beginning, I was sucked into the writing style. It was witty and interesting. Keema & her mother's journey was full of music & adventures.
Keema’s story of growing up in Alaska raised by a nomadic peace-n-love music mama is told with gentleness and grace. She does an amazing job of conveying the magic and chaos of a childhood spent ferrying to festivals, living in tents, and performing with her sister Tekla and mother Fawn. It seems the one thing her mom is as intent on as her music, is finding the right guy to complete their little peapod family. One of her choices ends up being devastating for her daughters.
The girls’ dad aptly named “Dude” is MIA for most of the book. This gives Keema’s wild imagination free reign to imagine what her life might have been like had he stayed. She consults ravens like a fortune telling eight ball. The shoulda coulda woulda’s are from a child’s perspective and hold no anger or animosity, just the longing for something, some thing, just out of reach. It would have been easy to write this as a revenge book but that is not the case at all.
Keema is masterful in owning the unreliable narration of childhood memories and she is a beautiful writer:
“It’s a cowboy-colored day. Too-bright sunlight washes the dry grasses lining the gravel drive from orange to white, dulling the gray pebbles way down below to flat brown. I am little enough to barely notice the scratch of the wood slats on my cheek as I press my face through the rails of the second-story balcony. It is summer in Oregon, and birds are chirping somewhere nearby. It’s possible I think I can fly when I let loose the rails, but instead, I drop, boneless as a rag doll, to the rocks below.
My sister say’s I’m crazy, and she’s the one who fell.”
In the end it doesn’t matter who fell as much as rooting for them to get back up together.