The Reluctant Reader: The Glass Castle

My most recent read – a memoir by Jeannette Walls called The Glass Castle – has been the most enthralling and most difficult book to get through yet.

The difficulty lies not in the writing though. This is one of the most entertaining and straightforwardly written books I’ve ever read.

The difficulty is in the subject matter, really sad subject matter.

 

The Glass Castle is laugh-out-loud funny in places, but with tragedy woven throughout.

It details Walls’ challenged upbringing and the heartbreaking paths her family traveled down, usually in a clunker of a car being driven by her father one-handed (while the other clutched a bottle).

 

Each short chapter feels like a deeply personal, scattershot memory.

The entire book is told chronologically, starting with Walls' earliest memory (a hospital visit when she was three, after catching fire boiling hotdogs unsupervised).

 

The short chapters run together like a grainy home movie spliced together with chunks missing. 

Each is so raw I felt less like I was reading a carefully edited memoir, and more like I was sneaking a peek behind the curtain of her family’s turbulent home (only the Walls family didn't have a lot of curtains, and they rarely had what most of us would call a "home").

 

In that sense, turning the pages became like growing up alongside the Walls children, first enamored by their parents’ sense of adventure, and eventually completely disgusted at their selfishness and neglect.

 I turned the pages quickly once I started. It was such an engrossing tale it was hard not to keep reading, almost constantly.

Waiting to meet a friend for lunch, coffee brewing, everything became an excuse to sneak in a few chapters.

I couldn't help myself. I was just so anxious to see what would happen.

 

Though I rushed to finish the book, there were times it was tough.

I wanted to throw the book down often, I was so mad at the parents’ failures. (With a mentally unstable mother and an intelligent but scatterbrained drunk of a dad, it's a wonder Jeannette Walls lived through her childhood, much less thrived.)

But other times I – like the author – saw slivers of goodness in them.

It was those tiny glimpses of goodness that made it hard to write any of the “characters” off completely, though for the sake of the author I often wished I could.

Walls struggled with the same thing herself, being deeply disappointed but also completely in love with her crazy parents.

And I think that's something we can all relate to, in varying degrees, with at least one person in our lives.

 

Though I have a tendency to be overly sensitive anyways, I think even a pretty evenly-keeled person would consider The Glass Castle gut-wrenching. You might not have to stop for hug breaks to ward off sobbing like I did, but I'd be surprised if it didn't choke you up.

But in spite of its tragic subject matter, the book is gracious in its approach (which makes it that much easier to recommend).

It entices you in slowly, before hooking you into hanging on for the longhaul, through the Walls family's rare ups and their frequent, heartbreaking downs.

 

The narrating is truly so expertly done you’ll feel tortured right along with Walls herself.

In fact, you'll see her family not only through her eyes, but in the same cognitive reasoning as she did at the time of each memory.

That means that as she tries to grow up and make sense of her family's struggles, you'll be doing the same.

Her self-indulgent parents will seem first like renegades, adventure-seekers in a world of stuffy adults. People that set out to raise independent children, but who do so unwisely by letting their kids fend for themselves much of the time.

But as the story progresses, and Walls’ own eyes widen, yours will too, as a reader, and as her confidante.

As she grows the loving dad who gave her a star (Venus actually) for a Christmas present, who checked under her bed for monsters, will start to look less like a hero and more like a guy that spends the family’s grocery money on booze...

Her mom will go from a free-spirited, struggling artist and poet in the eyes of her children, to a manic depressive letting her family down by refusing to seek help (in more ways than one).

 

But in spite of all their flaws, maybe even in part because of them, I think you'll fall in love with each of these characters.

You'll develop such a strong sense of caring for them, that it'll be impossible to walk away, and maybe even difficult to shut a page on them.

 

When you finally do finish the book, I suspect you'll be overwhelmed with gratitude (even if you must wipe away a few tears).

You'll be thankful not 'cause the book (or even the tragedy) ended, but for your own childhood, which might not seem so bad in comparison.

It might also make you thankful for Walls’ brave decision to share this story. Her story.

A story she saw as a burden for much of her life, but found relief and freedom in releasing, finally.

 

I think there is great beauty in a story that resonates so deeply with its readers
they require reminders that the pages are not their reality.

 

And that's what The Glass Story does.

It transfixes you, and takes on transformative powers.

 

It lengthens your ability to summon compassion.

It forces you to care about matters it might have been all too easy to miss or ignore before.

It offers faces - even if they must be guessed at - for the labels we’re so quick to slap on problems.

It gives real-life examples of people battling demons, and doing so with charm and wit, along with destruction (self and otherwise).

And when dealing with delicate issues like mental health, poverty and addiction, I think this is especially helpful.

 

The fact is, it’s easy for someone that never went to bed hungry, or to school with shoes that were too small, to ignore hardships that might chip away at her comfort.

She can avoid eye contact while passing a homeless person on the street. She can pretend the dirty kid in her homeroom just refused to bathe that morning.

 

But when someone dares to tell her story, that's hard to ignore.

And that's precisely why stories like this are so important, I think.

 

Stories, especially true accounts, of need, and despair…

They teach us. They grow us. They encourage us.

To be grateful for our blessings. And to loosen our grasp on them.

They challenge us to share them too.

To first open our eyes to see the silent needs around us, and then to meet them, as best we can.

 

The Glass Castle is filled with almost unbelievable desperation.

But it's filled with even more hope.

 

It really is a beautiful story, a true testament to what unconditional love is all about.