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272 pages, Hardcover
Published June 9, 2020
I was so mad I couldn't even cry, so I escaped from the house by a side door and went for a high-tide swim. Water always collected the pieces of me and put them back together.Written with a very deceptive simplicity in the voice of her childhood self, Hayden Herrera (who's about 80 at the time of this writing) looks back at her jealous, narcissistic, manipulative mother and easily-distracted doofus of a father who let their daughters down at every opportunity but still provided them with an amazingly varied childhood. I enjoyed that the author gave us the "facts" from her very clear memory without, for the most part, putting an adult's critical spin on them. Her childhood was simply just what it was. This reminded me of why memoir is my favourite literary form. Herrera is, after all, a professional writer who knows exactly what she's doing here.
The next morning seagulls woke me early. They find clams on the sand flats, fly high up, and drop them on the rocks to break open their shells. Then they squabble about which gull gets to eat the clam. There is something melancholy about seagulls' cries. They go on and on regardless of whether I hear them, and they will keep crying that same cry even after I am dead.