I couldn’t put this book down. That is the first thing to say about Adrienne Brodeur’s memoir. I was stunned by the way she wove themes of loss, isolation, and guilt throughout the story of the life here, and how at each turn in the narrative the appearance, function, and operation of those feelings made absolute sense. Mother-daughter tales are always a draw, but the events of this memoir absorb one in a unique way. You learn about the narrator and you cluck-cluck at her adolescent mistakes of judgment (if that’s what they are, as in they were generated by her fervent love for her complicated and beautiful mother); you grow up with her and her inner anguish; you break away with relief and happiness for her. You wish you had her necklace, which is a character in the book, I think. I loved the iteration of the importance of having one’s own desire here. The writing is beautifully lucid and inviting. I recommend this book HIGHLY to anyone interested in the memoir genre.
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