Heavy

Perhaps there's never been a more appropriate title of a book. Heavy. In about a million different ways.

I hadn't heard of this book until my brilliant, well-read co-worker Camie walked in my office and told me I had to read it. When we talked about it later, she had tears in her eyes. A few pages in, I knew why. The weight of this book is nearly oppressive at times - even for a middle-class white lady living in the opposite corner of America.

This book is not for everyone. It's easy to look away. You don't want to watch as Kiese Laymon describes his childhood in detail - of the things he saw and the way he felt. You don't want to believe that his well-educated mother could beat him as much as she loved him. You want to crack wide open each time you remember he's writing this book to his mother - as if we're reading a secret never meant to be shared.

Laymon is a creative writing professor now. But, this book is far from a redemption story or a "rags to riches" tale of success, against all odds. It's messy and it's hard and it's dark and you find yourself weeping for Laymon and trying to will him to make different decisions. You just wait for it all to get better - and you're reminded at every turn that life is not a linear process. You watch him succeed and fail and slide all over again, all the while clinging to the woman who has done so much to ensure his success and also stand in its way.

Laymon's is a story of weight and skin color and addiction. Of the messes we make within our own lives and our own families. Of the systematic oppression of entire classes of people - and about the lie we tell ourselves that people can escape their past simply by working hard and getting an education.

It's raw and it's real - and, it's heavy. 

And you absolutely should not look away.