by James McBride
ages: adult
First sentence: “As a boy, I never knew where my mother was from — where she was born, who were parents were.”
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About 30 pages into this book, I thought to myself: “I think I’ve read this before.” I had: my review went up on November 29, 2007. Interestingly enough, even though I didn’t remember much about the book, my reaction is still pretty much the same: it’s an interesting book, possibly and important book, definitely an uncomfortable book, but I think I’ll add that I’m not sure it’s a memorable book.

This part of my original review I still agree with:

I do have to confess that my feelings of being an interloper, though, were real. I felt like I was prying into someone else’s personal business, a place where I had no right to go. I still can’t place why I felt that way. [I think part of it, this time around is that I loathed Ruth’s father. Seriously loathed him.] I felt like it was too personal, too emotional, too close for me to truly enjoy. These people were real people. These things really happened. I feel this way often when reading books on the Holocaust, too. I can’t believe these conditions, these atrocities are really out there. It pushes me out of my bubble, and I react by feeling like an interloper. Like I’m not supposed to be there.

I still appreciate the chance to see into the lives people lead, especially if they make me uncomfortable. I probably would never have remembered this story, and the obstacles and challenges these people faced in their lives. For that, I am grateful. Sometimes book groups are good, if only to get you to reread books you don’t remember.