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.

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

When you find an author you like, read everything they've ever written ever.

That's where I am with Rachel Joyce.

First, it was The Music Shop, which had me in tears. I liked her novel Perfect, but not quite as much. Then along comes Harold Fry. A story that, for me, was a giant metaphor for the journey we call life (is that a Prince quote?) And, like life, it meandered at times into places I wasn't sure I wanted to follow.

Harold Fry is an ordinary man living an ordinary life. He lives with his wife, though they don't exactly live together. Like so many, they end up more like ships passing in the night, saying what they shouldn't and not always saying what they should. Then, one day, Harold gets a letter from an old friend named Queenie Hennessey. She's dying. She's writing to say goodbye. Harold is immediately floored by this information, but the reader doesn't yet know why. He immediately writes a reply and walks outside to mail it. But, he doesn't mail it. Instead, he decides to walk to deliver it to Queenie himself. He believes that as long as he's walking, she'll stay alive. It's hundreds of miles away and he doesn't have proper shoes, his phone, etc. Still, he walks. And discovers himself along the way.

The entire book is Harold's journey. We walk with him through the English countryside as he encounters challenges and odd characters. He finds people that bring him hope and finds people who make him remember things about his past. He experiences unexpected fame. He finds pleasure in the simple things and finds that clearing his head is also allowing his heart to crack wide open, exposing memories he's buried for years.

The book, at the start, held infinite promise. At times, it meandered for me and I was losing interest. It was exciting sometimes, boring at others and the emotion waxed and waned throughout. Then,when Harold's pilgrimage reached its destination at my knees nearly buckled. The narrator's voice in my head hushed almost to a whisper at the delicate scene that lay before him. I was back in - all in - and, the book felt almost precious until the end.

Once again, Rachel Joyce did not disappoint. Harold was one of those characters that will settle inside my heart for a long time. His journey was like all of our journeys - and the weight he carried was lifted just in time.

Pitino: My Story

Rick Pitino's teams are known for their defense. The basketball coach himself prides himself on teaching his teams discipline and hard work. So I guess it's no surprise that in his self-titled book, the ousted Louisville coach puts in a lot of hard work defending himself. Whether or not you like the book probably depends on whether or not you believe him.

I borrowed this book from a co-worker who warned me about what to expect. He also told me it was interesting to read about Pitino's career and how he ended up as one of the best-known (and most hated?) coaches in college basketball. But, my very smart co-worker Aaron also said the book was somewhat comical in Pitino's assertions that he knew nothing about the scandal in his program that was unfolding all around him.

If you're not a college basketball fan, there's really no reason for you to read this book. If you are a college basketball fan, you know plenty about the various controversies and scandals that brought Pitino down (strippers, adultery, shoe deals and recruiting violations.) It's somewhat fascinating to hear about how it all came crashing down from the man who was at the top of the pile when it did. But, there's very little satisfaction in it, too. It's not that I expected Pitino to use the book to unload his darkest secrets and transgressions. Still, it's really hard to believe he had no idea about all that was happening within his program. He was the king - and either he knew, or he was really bad at leading a program.

It bugged me that Pitino deflected so much. Even more, it bugged me how much he contradicted himself throughout. And, he completely glossed over details, too. Then, he ends with his advice for how to live a better, happier life. It all just felt... hollow.

I found parts of this book interesting, much of it confounding, some of it even confusing. I still like Pitino at the end of the day, but it's because I like the way he coaches, but not because of the man he portrays himself to be.