I am gravitated to stories where the characters are slung into fates of poverty, chaos and hardship. People who live entrenched in the muck of tragedy are marked forever, either by compassion or bitterness, by strength or despair. Jeannette Walls empathetic and image-rich memoir, The Glass Castle, is about surviving the wreckage of a nomadic childhood wrought with deprivation and neglect. Walls writes her story with love, never demonizing her parents, even though they spurned so much instability for their four children.
For several years, the Walls’ family lived a colorful existence, shuttling from one dusty desert town to another in search of gold, freedom and the creative life. They slept under the stars and searched for geodes and bits of turquoise. They learned the principles of art and engineering from their parents and rejected the world of material goods for adventure and the open highway.
Walls’ mother was a woman wholly absorbed in her art and did not care for domesticity. She would rather spend her time painting than forage for food for her children. Most of the time she refused to work, despite the fact she had a teaching certificate. She was more attuned to the tortured beauty of a contorted desert tree than to the emotional and physical needs of her children.
For several years, the Walls’ family lived a colorful existence, shuttling from one dusty desert town to another in search of gold, freedom and the creative life. They slept under the stars and searched for geodes and bits of turquoise. They learned the principles of art and engineering from their parents and rejected the world of material goods for adventure and the open highway.
Walls’ mother was a woman wholly absorbed in her art and did not care for domesticity. She would rather spend her time painting than forage for food for her children. Most of the time she refused to work, despite the fact she had a teaching certificate. She was more attuned to the tortured beauty of a contorted desert tree than to the emotional and physical needs of her children.
Her father, a man with a brilliant and imaginative mind, sank into long bouts of alcoholism, unable and unwilling to hold steady jobs for the sake of the family. He had incredible charm and could con and hustle like the devil. For many years, he horded the blueprints of his imagined Glass Castle, a palace powered by solar energy, where they all would one day live. The Glass Castle serves as a greater metaphor for the book symbolizing the sweeping promises and unrealized genius of her father.
The four Walls children had no choice but to band together and fend for themselves, often taking on responsibilities that seem unimaginable for children to take. They raided garbage cans for food, collected bottles and cans for pocket change and tried to fix up the dilapidated houses in which they lived. But the children were raised to be scrappy and self-sufficient. They fought neighborhood bullies and social stigma and truly valued any material possession they ever owned.
One segment of the book that struck me is a scene where Rex Walls takes his children to the zoo to show what an animal in captivity is like. He went straight up to a cheetah’s cage and petted the wild cat. He then had Jeanette place her hand in the cage and the animal licked the salt off her palm. Of course, this caused a ruckus at the zoo, inviting stares, accusations and security guards.
Even though her mother was like a child in her degree of selfishness and practicality, she often had insightful things to say. Walls writes, “Mom, who had Maureen in one arm and her sketch pad under the other, pointed out that the animals had traded freedom for security. She said that when she looked at them, she would pretend not to see the bars.”
In many ways, the human being must make a trade-off between freedom and security. Working a steady job, getting a mortgage and raising a family requires the human soul to sit still and follow rules. Traveling, creating art and fighting the system are born from the soul’s desire for freedom and independence. The route to security is safe and comforting, but also limiting and dull. The path of freedom is exhilarating and challenging, but also dangerous and subject to social disapproval. In short, Jeannette Wall’s parents chose the path of ultimate freedom and said to hell with society’s rules.
The most amazing thing about this memoir is the outcome of Jeannette Walls herself. She somehow worked her way up the ranks of the journalism field in New York City as a gossip columnist for MSNBC. She has interviewed and rubbed elbows with the rich elite. She hid her life story for two decades in fear of rejection. She survived her childhood by being resilient, resourceful and hard-working. While many people who come from dysfunctional backgrounds succumb to substance abuse, poverty or madness, she did not. Jeannette Walls has thrived like a cactus flower under the sizzling sun.
I recommend The Glass Castle to anyone who comes from a dysfunctional family. You can not spend your whole life blaming others for what was done or not done. You can not wallow in self pity and lay down and die. You must do whatever it takes to survive, for surviving is the most elemental point of our own existences. And if you endure the madness, and take the right steps, one day, things might get brighter.
The four Walls children had no choice but to band together and fend for themselves, often taking on responsibilities that seem unimaginable for children to take. They raided garbage cans for food, collected bottles and cans for pocket change and tried to fix up the dilapidated houses in which they lived. But the children were raised to be scrappy and self-sufficient. They fought neighborhood bullies and social stigma and truly valued any material possession they ever owned.
One segment of the book that struck me is a scene where Rex Walls takes his children to the zoo to show what an animal in captivity is like. He went straight up to a cheetah’s cage and petted the wild cat. He then had Jeanette place her hand in the cage and the animal licked the salt off her palm. Of course, this caused a ruckus at the zoo, inviting stares, accusations and security guards.
Even though her mother was like a child in her degree of selfishness and practicality, she often had insightful things to say. Walls writes, “Mom, who had Maureen in one arm and her sketch pad under the other, pointed out that the animals had traded freedom for security. She said that when she looked at them, she would pretend not to see the bars.”
In many ways, the human being must make a trade-off between freedom and security. Working a steady job, getting a mortgage and raising a family requires the human soul to sit still and follow rules. Traveling, creating art and fighting the system are born from the soul’s desire for freedom and independence. The route to security is safe and comforting, but also limiting and dull. The path of freedom is exhilarating and challenging, but also dangerous and subject to social disapproval. In short, Jeannette Wall’s parents chose the path of ultimate freedom and said to hell with society’s rules.
The most amazing thing about this memoir is the outcome of Jeannette Walls herself. She somehow worked her way up the ranks of the journalism field in New York City as a gossip columnist for MSNBC. She has interviewed and rubbed elbows with the rich elite. She hid her life story for two decades in fear of rejection. She survived her childhood by being resilient, resourceful and hard-working. While many people who come from dysfunctional backgrounds succumb to substance abuse, poverty or madness, she did not. Jeannette Walls has thrived like a cactus flower under the sizzling sun.
I recommend The Glass Castle to anyone who comes from a dysfunctional family. You can not spend your whole life blaming others for what was done or not done. You can not wallow in self pity and lay down and die. You must do whatever it takes to survive, for surviving is the most elemental point of our own existences. And if you endure the madness, and take the right steps, one day, things might get brighter.
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