I judge the quality of a read by how fast I am going and by how much I remember. Jeannette Walls is superb by making such a riveting memoir of her childhood with her wacko-demented-do you have any idea of responsibility-supposedly intelligent-hippy-homeless parents. The reading was quick and fluid, and it transported me to a world of despair and their decrepit existence without it being sappy and exaggerated. There were even many humorous parts that led me to believe that poverty can also be dealt with a lot of levity and skittish joy. I cannot imagine homelessness and what it is like to be “skeddadling” all over the US. Bohemian is one thing but to neglect and abuse children and say that you love them is another story. The Walls father, Rex, as bright as he might seemed to be was a brute and malicious person. He could not hold a job and had many argumentative bouts with priests, the law, the school, the government, the police and just about anyone who he encountered that questioned his behavior. He truly was the family’s cross to bear. His malice was in his constant betrayals with money and his taking advantage of his children’s allegiance to him. The lies, the embarrassments and the immorality of his life were the bread and butter of his children. He even blasphemed about Jesus H. Christ and Virgin Mary’s conception.He stole the money that the kids were saving so that they could leave for New York and flee their dysfunctional household. He would beat up his wife and dangle her body out a window, or yell loudly as he cursed his wife and life, in front of all townspeople to see. He was a drunken scoundrel as far as I could read, but not in the hearts and memories of his children.
This was the double edged sword of co-dependence in alcoholic families.
Rose Mary, the mother was slothful and lazy. She was born with wealth and had the resources that could have spared her children of their abject poverty. But she chose to live with self absorption and neglect of her children by being the writer artist who never sold any piece of work. She had art supplies, fruitwood archery sets, a 2 carat diamond ring, large landholdings in Texas and Phoenix but she never thought about how she could spend her monies on anything else but thrift store items and sugary foods. She could not be bothered with cleaning house, cooking and disciplining her children, she barely held a job that would be their only source of income. Jeannette would many times question why she would not act more like a mother.
These people are the kind who would be the candidates for either not knowing or disregarding all of Moses’ Ten Commandments. It is a great wonder that their children came out somewhat “together” and became able to fend for themselves. Lori found jobs being an artist and making posters for others, Brian became a policeman, Jeannette became a writer and news reporter and Maureen a settler in California who continued to look for herself after she was incarcerated for stabbing her mother.
The funniest part of the novel was when Jeannette said her mother’s work is much like that of a caryatid. When asked what that was, she said it was those Greek sculpted ladies on the temples carrying the world on their heads. For their mom, the only thing worse than her life is to be like those caryatids. I also laughed a lot about the public swimming pool having separate swim times for blacks and whites. Jeannette swam with her colored friend Dinitia in the “free” morning swim hours where they played black people music. The black ladies had no clothes and were bumping butts and their bodies. In the afternoon swim times, white people had to pay. There was no humor in the pool being severely chlorinated enough to burn one’s skin to an itch though.
The saddest part of the novel was when Jeannette was brought to the bar by her father so that he could make some money off her. He would somewhat peddle Jeannette to a pool buddy and let her be fondled. Jeannette wrote about this incident with an almost sickening detachment. The next saddest part was when Jeannette would be with her lover and would be regarded as “textured” as she exposed her scars and skin grafts on her skin from the fire that she survived as a child.
There are more parts that I remember vividly, too many to write about with either glee or sadness, but all in all, “Mountain Goat” aka Jeannette did well for herself and is living proof that yes, “whatever it is that did not kill you is probably what made you stronger” if you maintained your “focus”. I credit her for finding her life and making it successful and not being bitter and contentious about her past and her parents. She has a shining spirit that can be likened to the luminosity of “Venus”, a planet that her father gave her for Christmas. I think she is one the brighter reflections in the firmament of writers.
