This was not as highly reviewed as I expected. While not every essay about a particular writer's parents was exceptional, the whole makes a wonderful kaleidoscope of the ways in which we choose to remember or honor or, in Kyoko Mori's case, "bury" our parents. The parent chosen, if only one parent is the focus of the essay, is also interesting. In Mat Johnson's case, his father left his mother when he was very young, and wasn't in his life, so his story focuses on his mother. His story was interesting to me for so many reasons. He was a student at a school where I taught for most of my life, although I didn't know him, my colleagues did. He came in high school, I taught younger children. One of my colleagues often talked about Mat. She was his English teacher, and Mat was a star in her class. He went on to be a writer, set in the area where he lived, Philadelphia. His memory is about Germantown, right next to Mt. Airy where I grew up. Other memories take place in neighborhoods, or even countries, I've never visited. I love the way the stars are triggered. One story is about the author's mother. She was fairly OCD. And she would say "Off. Off. Off. Off," as she "checks" (turns off) the burners and the oven. He and his siblings don't think of this refrain as a ritual; "it is the medium in which they live," and includes many other rituals and sayings that stave off the chaos, the dirt, the messiness...of living with small children and another adult.
I found new authors whose work I will look for: Donna Masini, Leland Cheuk, S. Bear Bergman, whose story, "The Nut Doesn't Fall Far From the Fucking Nut Tree is about picking ups his father's story telling gift: the gestures, the voice changes, the sense of pacing the action, and reading the room" simply by sitting as his father told stories at the bar when he was a little boy. Lizzie Skurnick's heartbreaking story is a collage about her mother, and her new son, Javi. Javi is awakening to the meaning of words, at the same time as her mother is losing what words mean. Oh, I think this is a treasure. Not just for the varieties of focus...some include whole lives; some, a special experience or ritual, some a family trip or journey. They each offer the reader a way to think about their own parents, and I guarantee will evoke painful or beautiful memories, both of your parents, and of your own parenting.
In Donna Masini's story, she talks about her mother saving everything, even tops of containers whose bottoms are missing. Every piece of her children's artwork, old Mass cards. The author saves too, but she most loves boxes, containers, the curating of her "treasures." I understand this so well. When she goes to organize her belongings, she realize that this calms her. "And all the saving, it's anxiety.Every reason I save things goes back to anxiety. This I share with my mother. And its source? We are going to die. We are going to forget. We are going to lose what we love most. And I understand why, as my mother's memory begins to fail, I get irrationally annoyed if she can't remember a high school friend whose mother stole a trench coat from Korvettes. She has been not only the container of my history, but was also, in fact, my original container. And I can't bear to let it go."
My own sense is that the readers who criticized the writing in this book didn't read the whole thing, or read the book too quickly. This book needs to be savored and the stories need to be surrounded with enough quiet that you can let your own stories reverberate. I am so glad for the book. I'll be rereading for certain.