Guest Post by Andrea Roach

I am reading Sarah M. Broom’s The Yellow House, a memoir about generations of family and place (New Orleans, pre & post-Katrina, and their family homes). One of the things that I like about this book is the artful way the author brings the reader into what could be an extremely confusing story, with so many characters and the landscape of New Orleans, by initially laying it out like a map: this is where my neighborhood and my house fit into the history of NOLA, and here’s a blueprint of my relatives leading to me. She refers to Katrina as The Water and so, like the Yellow House, makes it its own complicated character. It’s a multilayered achievement that connects history, politics, race, culture, disaster, and identity, while also telling the ways in which we become our homes and our homes become us. I’d recommend!

The Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom. Grove Press, August 2019.

Reviewer bio: Andrea Roach is a writer of memoir, essays, and creative nonfiction. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University and was a finalist for The Writer’s Room of Boston Fellowship Award.

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Guest Post by Kelsey Owen

Lately, I’ve been finding solace in rereading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. Written to be read like a novel, Eggers’s genre-splicing memoir follows him through becoming a parent by proxy to his eight-year-old brother after the sudden losses of both parents.

What’s so enduring about this book is how, on the surface, Eggers embodies the pessimism and acid-reflux-irony of postmodernism, but he swiftly and frequently undercuts his own nihilism by exalting the constructive power of familial bonds and solidarity between characters—or, real people. Character-ish people. The narrative style itself draws on the ironic, self-aggrandizing voices of writers like David Foster Wallace, sharing the same undercurrent of desire to locate and create meaning in the seemingly vapid and obscene.

Eggers’s competing aspirations to distinguish himself from others and assimilate into something greater than himself makes his journey both intense and darkly humorous, but Eggers’s often last-minute refusals to abandon the silver-lining, his enduring sentimentality amid existential and physical destitution, never fail to lead you back out into the sun.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. Vintage, February 2001.

Reviewer bio: Kelsey Owen is an editorial assistant at Under the Gum Tree.

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Guest Post by Evan White

I’ve been reading the memoir How We Fight for Our Lives by Saeed Jones. What I like about the book is this: the story of a young, gay black man growing up in the south could go any number of expectedly tragic ways. And in the hands of a lesser writer, a story like Jones’s might have fallen prey to the unrelenting misery that is so often a substitute for poignancy. As it stands, however, How We Fight for Our Lives clips along without stopping to cry, and it’s this clear-eyed observation—this cataloguing of experience, and, by implication, the self—that makes Jones’s story by turns shocking, elegiac, and revelatory. Plus, he’s funny.

How We Fight for Our Lives by Saeed Jones. Simon & Schuster, October 2019.

Reviewer bio: Evan White is a graduate of the University of California, Davis. White co-founded Absurd Publications and published the anthology, All the Vegetarians in Texas Have Been Shot, in addition to the creative journal The Oddity.

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