A brief, elegant memoir of the author’s work as a Red Cross volunteer delivering emergency water to residents of Flint, Michigan. “A heartfelt portrait of a city, and a man, grieving.”― Kirkus Reviews A collection of short essays and “exquisitely chiseled vignettes,” Delivering Water in Flint sets the struggles of a midwestern city in crisis against David Hardin’s narrative of his personal journey as his mother succumbs to dementia and death. Written with a poet’s eye for detail and quiet metaphor, Standpipe offers an intimate look at one man’s engagement with both civic and familial trauma. It’s also a vivid investigation into how we all heal as a community. This gentle, observant book is for readers looking to understand the human experience of the Flint Water Crisis, and as well as “the deplorable conditions in Flint and the injustices that have plagued it for generations.”
Banner-size photographic images, beautiful black-and-white portraits of two formidable looking women, are displayed in the front windows of an abandoned house. I muscle four cases of Ice Mountain to a woman living in the place next door. There are only a few houses left standing on this street. Few of these are inhabited. Lush undergrowth and saplings reclaim old foundation and sidewalk. I ask the woman about the striking images. Who are they - where? Who took the pictures? Who displayed them in the windows? Why? She says the house is scheduled to be torn down by the city. “But, who are the women - do you know who they are?” She retreats into the dim interior of her home, reply muffled as the door swings shut. I stand transfixed for a minute or two, then return to the ERV under their withering gaze. They follow me as I pull away, proud and unflinching, awaiting their fate with far more grace and defiance than I could ever muster.
if you're looking for a comprehensive retelling of what it's like to deliver water in Flint, or any kind of political detailing of Flint's history as it relates to the poverty, government neglect, systemic racism, etc., this is probably not the book for you; i say this because that's why i initially picked it up.
i will say, although my overall reaction to the narrative was lukewarm, the style definitely grew on me as i read, and hardin really started leaning into more prose towards the end of the book, which i appreciated. some of it felt self aware, in a vaguely self pitying white-liberal-guilt-apologetic-yet-humbly-self-congratulatory kind of way. while i understand what hardin was attempting with the counternarrative of his mother's illness/death and his resulting reflection/grief, i'm not sure it's a comparable or even appropriate narrative to pair with his work in Flint. definitely some cringeworthy statements - i'm thinking especially of the early moment where the narrator asserts that Flint "saved him".