*Below, a short story I may or may not add to. Read on. Comments and suggestions encouraged. Thank you kindly for reading in advance!*
The last time I had a piece of chocolate, I was in college. It’s strange how you’re brought back to those memories of yesteryear. Continue reading
When I look at my wristwatch, I noticed that time had flown. I was going to be late. I hopped on the closest subway to go to Williamsburg. Oh, Williamsburg, Brooklyn – how I miss you but am glad that I live away from you. As the saying goes, distance really does make the heart grow fonder.
I stepped off the Lorimer stop on the L train and walked on Union Avenue to the other side of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway (we just call it the BQE). In the Southside, there are two sides because the BQE divides them. For a long time I lived on the Northside of the BQE but then moved to the less gentrified version (at the time, in the nineties) of the Southside. Continue reading
Posted in Novels
Tagged brooklyn, childhood, crush, death, grief, mother, mothers, relationship, spanish, the southside stories, williamsburg
Author: Rebecca Walker
Published by: Riverhead Books (2001)
Rebecca is the product of a biracial and bicoastal home. In her memoir, she recounts her sexual experiences, her identity crisis (is she white, Jewish, or black?), and everything in between.
What is missing in her memoir are the spaces in between – there weren’t enough instances where the reader (well, this reader anyway) was too involved in her story. There was an emotional distance prevalent in the tale. The writing wasn’t particularly salient, novel, or fresh. There were run on sentences that drove me crazy or places that were incomplete.
As a person of color myself, I was able to relate to her identity crisis (am I American or Dominican, or both?) but I wanted more. She was the daughter of a famous and well-renowned African-American author; why didn’t we hear more about that? I comprehended this book was about her and not her mother but Alice Walker was her mother, after all. She also recounted many friends from the different coasts she lived from year to year – which I could not keep track of for the life of me.
This book was lacking insight; I kept thinking, “Okay, so what?” Almost like an essay with a good thesis statement and not enough examples to prove her point. A decent portrait of her childhood but not enough to keep this reader vastly interested in her story.
Posted in Book Reviews
Tagged african american, alice walker, american, and jewish, biracial, black, book, childhood, dominican, memoir, memoirs, person of color, rebecca walker, white, Writing