When
Natasha Trethewey was nineteen, her mother was murdered by her abusive,
unstable former stepfather. Years later, Trethewey has crafted a memoir that
looks at her childhood, her relationships with the woman who raised her and the
man who took everything, and the circumstances surrounding the fateful event.
A former
U.S. Poet Laureate, Trethewey writes with the precision and care one would
expect, but her prose amounts to far more than well-crafted turns of phrase. Though
reflective and digressive, Memorial Drive is marked by undercurrents of
sadness and tension that enchant audiences and bind the narrative. Trethewey
shifts fluidly from personal ruminations to documentary evidence such as police
reports and phone transcripts. The latter’s inclusion may seem jarring, but it
helps to create an indelible (and horrifying) impression of the terror that
Joel Grimette subjected his (former) family to and Gwen’s rational yet futile
attempts to resist.
There are
strong parallels here between Tretheway’s tale and the one shared by Trevor
Noah in Born a Crime. Like Noah, Trethewey is biracial, and as in Born
a Crime, Memorial Drive explores the complexities of racial identity.
But whereas Noah (a comedian) tempered his accounting of his life’s calamities
with humor, Trethewey leaves us only the anguish of avoidable tragedy.
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