The Glass Castle

Given how much everyone seems to love this one, I wasn't expecting it to be a rosy portrait of horrific child neglect. I felt like I was being gaslit for HOURS that her parents actually cared about their children when they refused to make even one selfless decision to provide the basics for their kids.

The Stockholm Syndrome was strong in this one. That plus the simple language gave the impression I was listening to a child describing neglect, but since it's all they know, they couldn't call it what it was. Consider me a mandated reporter, then: this was a disgusting situation for these children and no one in the book seems comfortable calling that out.

Click here to hear more of my thoughts over on my Booktube channel, abookolive.

5/5 ⭐️ This was such a great memoir! I loved it so much. It was very well written and heartbreaking. I don’t think a child should ever grow up the way her and her siblings did. Kids need structure and care. I feel like that was not properly given to the Walls’ kids

DNF

This is my second attempt to read this book and I still can't get past the first chapter. I realise, when these memoirs are written, a little creativity is to be expected. After all, memories cloud and blur over time. But I think it's important that the telling of events that happened in early life be realistic.

When the author was three years old she was very badly burnt when her dress caught on fire while she was cooking hot dogs. A neighbour drove mother and daughter to the hospital.

From page 16 on my e-book reader:

"When we got to the hospital, nurses put me on a stretcher. They talked in loud, worried whispers while they cut off what was left of my fancy pink dress with a pair of shiny scissors. Then they picked me up, laid me flat on a big metal bed piled with ice cubes, and spread some of the ice over my body. A doctor with silver hair and black-rimmed glasses led my mother out of the room. As they left, I heard him telling her that it was very serious.

The nurses remained behind, hovering over me. I could tell I was causing a big fuss, and I stayed quiet. One of them squeezed my hand and told me I was going to be okay.

"I know," I said, "but if I'm not, that's okay, too."

The nurse squeezed my hand again and bit her lower lip.


Really? A three year old with serious burns?!

She stayed quiet because she could tell she was making a big fuss?

She tells the nurses it's okay if she's not going to be alright?

I don't think so!

And I thought I had a crazy, slightly unstable childhood... but mine was a fairy tale compared to this memoir. Gotta give Ms. Walls a lot of credit for making it out sane... and successful too. This book was an easy read and yet it made for some really soulful thinking about parents and children and the ties that bind.

(Reviewed 2/1/08)

Întotdeauna îmi face o deosebită plăcere să citesc autobiografii, biografii și memorii, pentru că sunt scrise la persoana I în general și transmit altfel de sentimente, de exemplu de bucurie, nostalgie, melancolie, actualitate sau de satisfacție și reușită. Sunt mai sensibile decât cele de ficțiune, cu un alt subiect și pun mai mult accentul pe personajul principal, adică cel care dorește să-și scrie autobiografia sau memoriile. Simt că sunt mai prezent în acțiunea cărții și că lucrurile chiar s-au întâmplat la un moment dat. Cărțile de genul acesta se scriu greu, necesită multe revizuiri, dar sunt extrem de plăcute și amuzante, unele. Din respectiva categorie am citit "Autobiografia" de Agatha Christie și am savurat-o cu fiecare clipă care trecea, deoarece, așa cum bine am mai spus, Agatha Christie este autoarea mea preferată și "Cenușa Angelei. O copilărie irlandeză" de Frank McCourt. Și aceasta mi-a plăcut mult! Ador atât de mult cărțile scrise de Agatha încât vreau să i le citesc pe toate cât mai curând!
"Castelul de sticlă" de Jeannette Walls cuprinde memoriile acesteia încă de la vârsta de trei ani și până la vizita dintr-un an de Ziua Recunoștinței când s-au întâlnit cu toții, în afară de tatăl scriitoarei, Rex, care era mort de cinci ani. Este incredibil cum de autoarea încă își mai aduce aminte de ceea ce a făcut când era mică. Cred că are o memorie de elefant! Eu nu îmi amintesc mai deloc de ceea ce am făcut în copilărie, dar mai ales la trei ani. Cea mai tare fază din carte a fost cea în care Jeannette l-a întrebat pe tatăl său, Rex Walls, unde vor merge într-o noapte când și-au părăsit locuința. Răspunsul nu a întârziat să apară: oriunde. Se observă clar că habar n-avea unde să se îndrepte, darămite dacă vor rămâne într-un loc. Parcă mi-o imaginez pe micuța Jeannette în vârstă de numai trei anișori făcând ochii mari la auzul răspunsului nesigur și ambiguu al lui Rex. Un lucru neobișnuit care mi-a atras atenția foarte mult a fost acela când scriitoarea s-a ars pe corp și a fost internată timp de mai multe zile, iar tatăl ei a luat-o de acolo spunând că se va vindeca și acasă. Neobișnuitul vine chiar din partea mamei care zice că nu o ține un foc departe de casă. Cu toții știm că mamele sunt sperioase și își fac multe griji în ceea ce-i privește pe comorile lor, dar iată că mama autoarei este o excepție.
Memoriile Jeannettei Walls sunt vii, amuzante și povestite natural așa cum ea și le amintea, fără adăugiri sau înfloriri. Am savurat fiecare nouă fază tare a familiei Walls în căutarea unei case în care să locuiască. Mi-e greu să fac o adunare a tuturor întâmplărilor comice prin care Rose Mary, mama autoarei, Rex, tatăl ei, ea și frații săi, Brian, Lori și Maureen au trecut de fiecare dată cu zâmbetul pe buze. În timp ce citeam mi-aduceam aminte de frumoasa "Cenușa Angelei. O copilărie irlandeză" scrisă de Frank McCourt pe care am lecturat-o la fel de frumos și plăcut ca și prezenta carte. Trecând peste toate aspectele negative ale acesteia surprindem o copilărie fericită, fără griji, dar și plină de aventură, de adrenalină. Nu am reținut chiar fiecare loc în care familia Walls s-a mutat, dar am observat bucuria copiilor de a face ceea ce vor. Sigur că lucrurile au o limită, însă când vine vorba despre aceste frumoase minunății, care sunt copiii, putem să fim mai înțelegători cu acțiunile și deciziile părinților lor. Ne dăm seama bine că în acest moment am evoluat, ceea ce a fost acum peste cincizeci de ani era diferit, iar fiecare perioadă, atât din trecut, cât și din prezent, are farmecul ei aparte.
Familia se plimbă dintr-un loc în altul, ba pe la casa bunicii Smith din partea mamei, ba la părinții lui Rex, Erma și Ted care locuiau în Welch și terminând cu New York, orașul tuturor posibilităților. Dacă bunica Smith era bogată, Erma și Ted erau săraci lipiți pământului. Vă vine să credeți sau nu, dar familia autoarei a dormit, pe când aceasta avea zece ani, în pivniță unde erau un pat, o canapea și un radio. Trăiau într-o sărăcie de nedescris; abia aveau ce să mănânce. De obicei copiii sunt cei care suferă în momentul în care întreaga familie se mută. Aceștia abia se acomodează cu noua lor casă, luându-le astfel mai mult timp. Contrar acestora, Lori, Jeannette, Brian și Maureen se obișnuiesc cu fiecare nouă locuință, dar și mai bine, se desprind de respectiva când află că o părăsesc iar pentru a se îndrepta spre un alt adăpost. Pelegrinările acestea sunt presărate cu întâmplări nostime, dar și apăsătoare. Spre exemplu, odată Jeannette nu a fost atentă la curba pe care a luat-o tatăl său cu mașina și s-a rostogolit afară din ea. Mașina și-a continuat liniștită drumul, dar fără să bage de seamă că un membru lipsește. Într-un târziu, Jeannette a fost recuperată de Rex, fiind nevoită să aștepte ceva vreme în stradă.
Stilul autoarei este unul frumos, viu și nostim. Eu așa am văzut faptele minunat descrise în această carte, chiar dacă demonstrează o mare libertate dată de părinții copiilor și, de asemenea, o preocupare mică în ceea ce-i privește pe ei. Cu toate acestea, cartea este frumoasă, tristă și poate pentru unele persoane îngrozitoare. După o mare perioadă de timp Jeannette realizează că în Welch nu avea cum să iasă la liman. Colaborează cu ziarul liceului, ba chiar ajunge redactor-șef, iar mai apoi pleacă la New York pentru a lucra la ziarele prestigioase din acea zonă. Acolo o aștepta Lori, sora sa cea mare, care avea un apartament și urma cursuri de artă și scrimă. M-am bucurat extrem de mult când autoarea a părăsit Welchul pentru a-și urma visul: să devină jurnalistă. Strădania, voința și statornicia ei sunt calitățile pe care le-am admirat la ea. În aceeași măsură au existat dăți în care scriitoarea a fost certată degeaba, deoarece nu făcea decât să-și scoată familia din sărăcie. Sunt multe de povestit, iar Jeannette a făcut foarte bine că și-a așternut superbele amintiri; în acest fel le aflăm și noi.
"Castelul de sticlă" reprezintă memoriile unei copilării atât fericite, cât și dureroase.

"-Niciun copil nu se naște delincvent, a spus mama. Ajung să devină infractori, a continuat ea, doar dacă nu i-a iubit nimeni pe când erau copii. Copiii lipsiți de dragoste se transformă în criminali în serie sau în alcoolici la maturitate."
"-Viața e prea scurtă să ne facem griji despre ce cred alți oameni, a spus mama. Oricum, ar trebui să ne accepte pentru ceea ce suntem."

Wow, what a life story. I wanted to like Rex and his wife but I just couldn't get past the fact that they didn't provide basic necessities like food, clothing and decent living quarters for their children.

Some of us have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that's their story. Good times, noodle salad. What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you're that pissed that so many others had it good.

Coming into this review, I understand that I will likely come across as especially heartless and insensitive. There are probably good reasons for that, but not worth getting into here.

I know this book has touched a lot of readers. I know a few people outside of GR who would relate to this book on levels I cannot, but I have no interest in recommending this book to any of them because, well, they've already lived it. They already know the story, just as told by a different narrator (themselves, in their own head, day after day).

I don't hate this book. I found it engrossing, certainly. It was hard to turn away, but in the same way that it's hard to turn away after witnessing a bad car accident. We look not because we're nosy but because we have so many questions: How did this happen? Who's at fault? How do I prevent this from happening to myself or the people I love? Could it have been prevented? How can anyone survive something like this?

Jeannette Walls answers these questions, more or less, but in a surprisingly disconnected way. I'm not sure any of the outside folks I know who have led particularly nasty childhoods are this disconnected from those past lives - at least not after they've been to therapy and have acknowledged that they had a really shit time of growing up. They understand it, and yes, enough time has passed and they know they're safe. But the scars are usually always there, right? Walls doesn't seem to have any emotional scars, or if she does, she's not showing them to the reader. This was hard for me, as a reader. I felt she wasn't being completely open and honest with me. I didn't want her to be one of those annoying hysterical authors that seem to be all the rage in memoir writing these days; but her voice was so removed from the stories she was telling that it made it hard for me to become as involved in her life as I probably should have.

Annnnnd this is where the particularly heartless-seeming part begins. Feel free to walk away now.

The quote at the beginning of this review is from the 1997 movie, As Good as It Gets. It was on my mind through the entire reading of this book, even though I respect what Walls wrote and the fact that she wasn't over-the-top about telling her story. I often have difficulty reading memoirs like this because everyone has a story to tell. Most of the people I know have had really shitty childhoods or really shitty adulthoods or really shitty middle school experiences. I have a story or two to tell. I'm sure you do as well. What makes this story different? Who is Jeannette Walls, and why is her story so important to tell? And why do we feel so drawn to reading it?

Maybe I'm not qualified to answer those questions. I'm certainly not in the right frame of mind to answer those questions.

The parents in this memoir are downright deplorable. They considered themselves bohemian and wanted to raise their children to have the same set of values that they had. Except here's the thing a lot of people don't get: There's a difference between being bohemian and being flat-out abusive. Jeannette's parents were abusive. There's so much emotional and physical abuse (yes, kids, that's right - starving your children is considered physical abuse) that my stomach turned on more than one occasion. Sure, yes, having "adventures" as children is fun and exciting but OH MY GOD those children still have to eat. Starving is no longer an adventure, not even for an adult. One can still be "bohemian" and make sure they are still meeting the physical and emotional needs of their children. I don't understand how the Walls children did not have scurvy.

Okay, so all of that aside... I get that the book is supposed to be more about how all of these really incredibly horrible things happened, and how they could still forgive their parents (uh, not me, thanks), and how they grew up to be mature, stable, talented, intelligent adults. I get that. But the same things could be said of most of my friends who have gotten out of their shitty lives and moved on to something bigger and better. They're all success stories, and reading this book at any point in their lives wouldn't likely have helped them believe they would ultimately be okay. These are things that are generally in each of us, this whole pulling-up-by-the-bootstraps thing. Or it's either there or it isn't, and maybe there's someone in the world who was saved because they read this memoir - that's great. But again. We all have stories, and some are good (noodle salad!) and some are not.

As far as I'm concerned it's what you do with it, either way. I'm not saying you grow up and "get over it". No one gets over it. I haven't gotten over a lot of my own shit, and my childhood wasn't nearly as bad as this. But you wake up, you move on, you grow. I understand this was Jeannette's way of growing, it's a part of her process. But then so can journalling.

This is going nowhere.

Bottom line: It's a fine read, it's powerful, but I didn't feel like I was connecting with the author because a) the style was terribly disconnected and b) she wanted me to be okay with her adoration of her incredibly abusive parents and c) it gives bohemianism a bad name. No bueno.


On a lighter note, someone in the past who read this copy was so offended by the vulgarity of the language that s/he crossed out every curse word, like "'Those braces are a goddamn feat of engineering genius'" and "'You goddamned flint-faced hag!'" But then the words "bastard" and "bitch" were apparently okay. Don't even get me started on my thoughts on that.

This book was a thankful reminder to read more memoirs. Kids prove the belief in resilience; that two families are never the same, nor can they be despite the mistakes each may make; that even the flawed can encourage their kids to dream. Typically, it is the parents who must set their children free. Free to live their own lives. Sometimes it is reversed. Child must let the parent go, and in turn themselves.

n  

Dad came home in the middle of the night a few months later and roused all of us from bed.
“Time to pull up stakes and leave this shit-hole behind,” he hollered. We had fifteen minutes to gather whatever we needed and pile into the car.
“Is everything okay, Dad?” I asked. “Is someone after us?”
“Don't you worry,” Dad said. “You leave that to me. Don't I always take care of you?”
“'Course you do,” I said.

n