There's a stunning level of overkill in this sweeping narrative of the Custis children, a constant, nagging, often annoying reminder to readers that this or that thing happened on the backs of enslaved people. And I certainly don't offer that literary criticism as a denial of history or a point of selective ignorance. On the contrary, our nation owes a debt of unresolved gratitude to the countless men and women who gave their unnamed lives to our continued existence. It just comes across poorly in the text, an ongoing presumption that we, the readers, haven't caught onto the truth of slavery just yet. So we're told, informed, and nudged by the author's personal angst on the matter, over and over and over, page after page, chapter after chapter.
Nevertheless, Cassandra Good has still penned a timely and necessary biography of four people whose lives might otherwise be forgotten, left to the annals of American irrelevance. In so many ways, my heart goes out to an early version of Wash Custis, the baby of the family who outlived them all. As a boy, Wash had never known his real father (he died of a fever when he was barely six months old), so he spent his entire childhood and adolescent years with his grandparents, George and Martha, often disappointing his grandfather immensely because he didn't have an aptitude or an interest in learning, or politics, or anything that would have, in the first president's mind, made Wash a good citizen of this new nation. And yet, when the great patriarch died in 1799, I imagine this eighteen year old stepson (or grandson), with no guarantee of anything, no blood connection to the family, no promise of fame or fortune, pausing to consider the moment, what his life had been up to that point, and what it might be in the years ahead. The author definitely sheds light on this image of mine, showing Wash and his elder sisters with stories of before and after their departure from Mount Vernon. And I do, still, feel empathy for the adolescent Wash. But his controversial relationship with multiple women he had enslaved, for decades and decades after Washington's death, for decades and decades before the Civil War, make me conscious of the limits to empathy.
And to that end, I can forgive Cassandra Good of the overkill. Because some things need to be said, over and over and over, until they resonate. This, I read and concluded, on Presidents Day 2025.