Katie Hafner could have whined her way through this book. In her new memoir, “Mother Daughter Me,” she meets past parental estrangement head on when her aging mother moves in with her and her teenage daughter Zoe. That’s in addition to the anguish already suffered eight years earlier when her husband Matt dropped dead of a heart attack, leaving her a sudden single mother. Yet Hafner’s tone is never pitying or sappy. Nor does it stray into clinical. A better word for it would be “journalistic,” but the warm journalism of a profile, rather than a detached third-person account. It’s worth noting that the book slides seamlessly between present and past tense, a tool not just for clarity, but almost as a grammatical way of coping.
Hafner writes like she must elucidate the audience to a singular life, one filled with her mother’s loving German sometimes-boyfriend and father’s austere British wife, a sister who becomes a mother to Katie and then a pariah to the whole family. She does it with detail and even-handedness, writing of her mother’s alcoholism, “I believed then, as I do now, that my mother had no intention of being the agent of sorrow and hurt, that she was doing the best that she could, that she wanted to take care of her girls but got tripped up.” Another place this equanimity serves her well is when she discusses Zoe, who one moment is buying flowers for grandma and the next locking her in a bathroom during an underage drinking party. The only pitting of characters against each other is done by the characters themselves, not Hafner. Read the rest of this entry »
Photo: Marion S. Trikosko, 1964
By Jeff Gilliland
On April 15, 1964, a passenger jet touched down in Cairo and a tall, lean black man stepped out into the glaring sun. His travel documents read “Malik El-Shabazz,” but to many of those who glimpsed their reflection in his horn-rimmed glasses that day, he was known by another name: Malcolm X. The famed black nationalist and civil rights leader was fresh off his contentious split with the Nation of Islam, which he had helped grow from a small religious sect headquartered in Chicago to a nationwide movement for economic and social empowerment. Now he was on his way to make the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca that marks one of the five pillars of Islam. Though he may not have known it at the time, the voyage Malcolm began that day would profoundly alter his religious beliefs and racial philosophy—bringing him out of the shadow of Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad, and establishing a legacy that continues to this day. Read the rest of this entry »
He can fashion you a walnut cigar box with dovetail joints and white oak inlays but you can’t (figuratively) put into it what Nick Offerman is. The life story behind his success as the modern he-man personality, self-made woodworker, Chicago-hewn thespian and, of course, Ron Swanson on NBC’s “Parks and Recreation,” has been neatly packed into his new memoir-cum-MANifesto titled “Paddle Your Own Canoe: One Man’s Fundamentals for Delicious Living.” A hilarious walkabout full of the deadpan jackassery that we’ve come to expect from his famously mustached baconhole, this book reveals how one man’s journey led a corn-fed boy from Minooka, Illinois to become, among other heroic titles, the entertainer that People magazine named the Sexiest Man Alive 2012: Mustache Edition.
We know Offerman too easily as “Parks and Recreation”‘s leathery department director Ron Swanson, whose puffy-eyed, coal-miner stare and distaste for anything weaker than a rotary saw delightfully complements the character of comedic queen Amy Poehler. “Paddle Your Own Canoe” is here to convince us that there is more to the man than Swanson, that “despite some loose popular misconceptions, [he] did NOT in fact drop from [his] mother’s womb wielding a full moustache and a two-headed battle-axe.” Convinced we are. What follows are pages of tales, anecdotes, sketches, love poems, opinionated monologues and “well, I’ll be damned if that’s not spot on,” brilliant life advice that walk, or paddle, you through a biographical narrative teeming with tasteful vulgarity, self-deprecating hilarity and a most humble wisdom bordering on sage-like. Read the rest of this entry »
You may have never been accused of giving the evil eye to a baby in Mexico or learned the importance of packing toilet paper and Tupperware in a suitcase for your trip to Cuba, but Ruth Behar has. An award-winning cultural anthropologist, Ruth has traveled the world to study other people and in this memoir, takes the time to study herself. “Traveling Heavy” is a memoir that unfolds like a trip to another country, where we are dropped in the unique world of Ruth Behar, a Yiddish-Sephardic-Cuban immigrant who has spent her life traveling in order to find her own sense of home and belonging.
Behar’s life is marked by her travels, so it’s appropriate that she starts her memoir the way all journeys begin: by packing. The beginning essay is of Behar taking stock of her life as she prepares to fly out on her next trip. She makes sure she has two pieces of jewelry with her: a Turkish evil-eye bracelet to celebrate her Jewish roots, and a necklace from a Santeria ceremony in Cuba, which represents her homeland. When Behar prepares to make her way to the airport, she double-checks she has her house keys, a reminder of a Sephardic-Jewish legend of when the Jews were driven out of Spain and they kept the keys to their home in hopes of returning someday. Read the rest of this entry »
By Micah McCrary
His author’s bio reads: “Dan Beachy-Quick is the author of five books of poems, most recently ‘Circle’s Apprentice.’ ‘A Whaler’s Dictionary,’ his celebrated collection of meditations on Melville’s ‘Moby-Dick,’ appeared from Milkweed Editions in 2008. Beachy-Quick teaches at Colorado State University, and lives in Fort Collins.” The Chicago-born Beachy-Quick, most recently the author of “Wonderful Investigations,” is an author willing to scrutinize his interests—both academic and aesthetic—in a way that many writers of nonfiction seem afraid to try.
Beachy-Quick spoke about his “Wonderful Investigations”—about his willingness to look deeper and closer and further into the things that make him want to read and write. Read the rest of this entry »
GQ deputy editor Michael Hainey, Chicago-raised and educated, is known to friends and professionals as a very good guy in a glamorous, sometimes cutthroat field. For years Hainey has helped run the show at one of the hottest men’s magazines in America, all the while keeping a dark family secret dating to his childhood and the heights of Chicago journalism. In “After Visiting Friends” Hainey finally turns his reporting skills to the riveting mystery of his news-editor father’s untimely death. Chicago Sun Times newsman Bob Hainey was found inexplicably DOA in the middle of the night on a North Side Chicago street in April 1970, when his youngest son was only six years old. But the details did not add up.
The younger Hainey pressed his mother for more about the tragedy that left a haunted, silent family. None came, either from her or Uncle Dick, the feared Chicago Today executive editor, who first telephoned his mother of the death. As the son rose in his own career, he strove to match the absent father’s reputation, dreaming of him, pondering the conflicting obituaries and seeking answers. In a magnetic style reminiscent of Capote and Elmore Leonard, Hainey details what he found next. Read the rest of this entry »
The word to describe “Heroines” is “chameleonic.” You know there’s a book in your field of vision, you hold its spine in your hands and caress the pages. But just as the eponymous lizard disguises itself to blend into the patterns of tree bark and rock face, so too does Kate Zambreno’s first volume of nonfiction masquerade in a number of patterns and motifs. The author of the novels “Green Girl” and “O Fallen Angel” began the work that became “Heroines” in 2009 as the blog “Frances Farmer is My Sister,” drawing together parallels between her own lives as a writer, a woman, and a woman writer. “Heroines” then falls into the newly burgeoning tradition of literary-history-as-memoir, joining such recent texts as Alison Bechdel’s “Are You My Mother?” and Grant Morrison’s “Supergods.” (The chameleon shifts, climbs down from the exposed tree root and sets foot on a slab of cracked dirty granite.)
Or it didn’t. Now it’s a work of literary analysis and historiography tracking down the shadow lives of Jean Rhys and Zelda Fitzgerald in the pages of Stop Smiling magazine and the Rain Taxi Review. (The movement of the tail gives it away as it slides into the apple-green grass.) Read the rest of this entry »
By Greg Baldino
In the never-ending battle for identity between what is thought of as “mainstream” and what we consider “alternative” or “outsider,” it’s easy to forget that the margins of society have margins within them as well. For sometime now the dirty laundry in the LGBT culture has been the hesitance among some gay and lesbian institutions and communities to accept bisexual and transgender individuals—let alone those who identify as genderqueer, or asexual, or gender-neutral. (The Michigan Womyn’s Festival’s policy against transwomen is perhaps the most public and prominent of these biases within the queer community, but far from the only one.) In a time then when more and more people find themselves on the outside of the outside, it is increasingly important that voices be raised against the Will-and-Grace-ification of nonheteronormative identity. The internet has certainly opened the gates for such a discussion, but this year also saw three books published that challenged ideas about sexual and gender identity with style, heart, and energy.
A Queer and Pleasant Danger, by Kate Bornstein (Beacon, $24.95)
One of the most pre-eminent trans-activists, Kate Bornstein has written and edited numerous books on gender identity and being an outsider. Remarkably, this memoir is her first book that’s just about herself, and the twisty windy path she took in life. Read the rest of this entry »
Set in Missouri, Jeremy Jackson’s dreamy, imagery-driven memoir opens with a lengthy description of his family’s reaction to a near-tornado. Methodical and foreboding, the opening casts the author as a naive ten-year-old, his older sister Elizabeth as a brazen adventurer, and his grandmother as a woman on the brink of change.
Reading, one responds instinctively to Jackson’s subtle tension-building. In his hands, wind and rain become a perfect storm of free-floating unease. Yet as Jackson delves into lengthy descriptions of visits to his grandparents, Elizabeth’s power struggles with her parents, berry-picking and school-boy crushes, he allows tension’s rope to grow slack. Perhaps intentional, this shift causes the reader’s interest to wane. It’s a pattern he returns to, writing in tense prose about grandmother’s inexplicable nightly pain, only to veer into an unrelated anecdote about mealtime or a fishing trip. Eventually, the early sense of foreboding crystalizes into grandmother’s drawn-out battle with cancer and its impact on the family as a whole. As Jackson delves into this painful period, he delivers both wrenching descriptions and distracting choices. Read the rest of this entry »
Fans of British writer Rachel Cusk’s seven novels or her lacerating memoir of new motherhood, “A Life’s Work,” will be saddened by the painful revelations about her divorce and its effects upon her young daughters, but they will hardly be surprised by the unflinching gaze on display in “Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation.” This spare, eloquent memoir draws on ancient Greek drama to compare what Cusk perceives in herself and her children, as if only the murderous strife of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra can adequately portray what it is like when a family fractures. Cusk’s restless, ranging intellect—“I don’t ever want you to tell me that I think too much,” she warns her psychoanalyst in their first meeting, “if you say that I’ll leave”—pulls in example after example from the literature of great human tragedy, interweaving the high canon with small, heartbreaking details about life after marriage. When her daughter is shunned by new friends, Cusk’s protective fury can’t fully comfort her betrayed daughter, who now sees the world in a radically altered way: “They probably didn’t even realize, she sighs, looking out of the window into darkness. They probably didn’t even think about it. That’s just what people are like.” Read the rest of this entry »