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Woodson's memoir is written in verse. With vivid details and emotion, she discusses her life between the ages of 3 and ten. Much of her life at this time took place during the Civil Rights Movement.
She was the youngest of three to her father, Jack and "mama", Mary Ann. Mama eventually leaves Jack for good and takes the children to her parent's in South Carolina. Here, Jacqueline witnesses and is the subject of discrimination. Some examples of this are when she witnesses a sit in, segregated busses, and the discrimination her grandfather, Gunnar, faces at work.
Mama eventually goes to New York to create a new life for the children but leaves them in the care of her parents, Georgiana and Gunnar. Georgiana then encourages the children to be more active Jehovah's Witnesses.
Eventually, the children go to New York where Jacqueline discovers her difficulties with reading, but also her love of stories. The next few years see her have a new sibling, go back to Greenville, and develop her love of writing while still seeing segregation occur.Jacqueline's uncle is then imprisoned and her grandfather dies. Jacqueline begins to take part in activist movements and is validated by her teacher for her writing, leading her to where she is today.
* “The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.” — Publishers Weekly
* “Mesmerizing journey through [Woodson’s] early years. . . . Her perspective on the volatile era in which she grew up is thoughtfully expressed in powerfully effective verse. . . . With exquisite metaphorical verse Woodson weaves a patchwork of her life experience . . . that covers readers with a warmth and sensitivity no child should miss. This should be on every library shelf.” — School Library Journal
* “Woodson cherishes her memories and shares them with a graceful lyricism; her lovingly wrought vignettes of country and city streets will linger long after the page is turned. For every dreaming girl (and boy) with a pencil in hand (or keyboard) and a story to share.” — Kirkus Reviews
* “[Woodson’s] memoir in verse is a marvel, as it turns deeply felt remembrances of Woodson’s preadolescent life into art. . . . Her mother cautions her not to write about her family but, happily, many years later, she has and the result is both elegant and eloquent, a haunting book about memory that is itself altogether memorable. — Booklist
* “A memoir-in-verse so immediate that readers will feel they are experiencing the author’s childhood right along with her. . . . Most notably of all, perhaps, we trace her development as a nascent writer, from her early, overarching love of stories through her struggles to learn to read through the thrill of her first blank composition book to her realization that ‘words are [her] brilliance.’ The poetry here sings: specific, lyrical, and full of imagery. An extraordinary—indeed brilliant—portrait of a writer as a young girl.” — The Horn Book
Overall, I really enjoyed Woodson's memoir. The text itself was simple to read due to it being free verse poetry. With that said, the poetry was effective for portraying the emotions of a child trying to find their way in the world while facing many obstacles. Free verse poetry is my favorite form of poetry as it is free from the rules that some poems adhere to. This allows Woodson to express a wide range of emotions on some very heavy topics and themes like the Civil Rights Movement and her faith.
The rain here is different than the way
it rains in Greenville. No sweet smell of honeysuckle.
No soft squish of pine. No slip and slide through grass.
Just Mama saying, "Stay inside today. It's raining,"
and me at the window. Nothing to do but
watch
the gray sidewalk grow darker,
watch
the drops slide down the glass pane,
watch
people below me move fast, heads bent.
Already there are stories
in my head. Already color and sound an dwords.
Already I'm
drawing circles on the glass, humming
myself someplace far away from here.
Down south, there was always someplace else to go
you could step out into the rain and
Grandma would let you
lift your head and stick out your tongue
be happy.