• I’m Just Happy to Be Here by Janelle Hanchett

    One of the strongest voices in my parenting journey has been that of Janelle Hanchett, the hilarious and profane author of the Renegade Mothering blog. The appeal of the blog is its fierce rejection of the beatific cult of motherhood and its earthy exploration of the realities of parenting. While that alone is enough to attract many readers, one of the more compelling aspects of Renegade Mothering is her past as a self-destructive alcoholic and addict, which gives Ms. Hanchett a humility that has created some of her best writing and created a devoted community of tens of thousands of readers.

    I’m Just Happy to Be Here: A Memoir of Renegade Mothering is the background story of her life, beginning with the discovery that she was pregnant at 21 with a young man that she had only met a few months prior. Without harboring any doubts, she and her boyfriend keep the baby, who attends their wedding a year later. So begins her family, at an age that is unbelievably young by modern standards.

    But – and here is the plot twist –  Ms. Hanchett is in the beginning stages of a fight with addiction that will take her down some very dark roads that endanger the well-being of her first two children and the future of her marriage.

    There is always a voyeuristic pleasure in witnessing a life that you wouldn’t lead, and here Ms. Hanchett certainly delivers. Her descriptions of the next few years, as her addictions grew worse and her lifestyle degraded into squalor, are the sort of thing that you really want to read from a distance. Yet Ms. Hanchett’s signature humor keeps the narrative from turning into a self-flagellation, as does her honest introspection about her motivations.

    Her story is a rare narrative – the voice of the drug-addled mother – and it challenges our cultural assumptions about such women by telling the story in a middle-class context. Ms. Hanchett is helped by privilege – her white skin, a family that can hand over thousands of dollars for expensive rehab centers and take in her children, a completed college degree, an employer that was willing to to give her long periods of absence to address her addictions. And yet, while it could have easily turned into a Gilbertesque story of unaware self-finding, Ms. Hanchett doesn’t allow for it. She forces us to understand the women that she could easily have been, if she had been born into different circumstances. It is her confrontation and understanding of her failures despite her privilege that lead her to a place of pure humility and grace.

    Readers of Renegade Mothering might be surprised to find that Ms. Hanchett’s voice is altered in her memoir, dropping the quick jokes that pepper her blog posts. And yet, this more serious tone suits the story, as an older Ms. Hachett narrates the realities of addiction for an audience that may not understand addictive behavior.  For those of us with addiction in our families, her story will ring uncomfortably true, both in her stories of chasing the next high and in the recovery process. By the time Ms. Hanchett finds a lasting sobriety, we are battered with the brutality of the destructiveness of substance abuse and the failures of the health system to provide appropriate treatment, even to those who have the resources to navigate it.

    Fans of Renegade Mothering will enjoy the novel for its deep-dive into the story that Ms. Hanchett has often referenced in her more personal posts.  But those unfamiliar with the blog will also find a page-turning and addictive story about the potential of a young woman who lost her way for a time, only to emerge into the world of competitive mothering with enough self-knowledge to understand that it was time to build a community of her own.

     

    I'm Just Happy to Be Here: A Memoir of Renegade Mothering Book Cover I'm Just Happy to Be Here: A Memoir of Renegade Mothering
    Janelle Hanchett
    Memoir
    Hachette Books
    May 1, 2018
    Hardcover
    320

    From the creator of the blog "Renegade Mothering," Janelle Hanchett's forthright, darkly funny, and ultimately empowering memoir chronicling her tumultuous journey from young motherhood to abysmal addiction and a recovery she never imagined possible. Pregnant at 21 by a man she'd known three months, Janelle Hanchett embraced motherhood with the determined optimism of the recklessly self-confident. After giving birth, she found herself bored, directionless, and seeking relief in wine, which she justified as sophisticated and going well with chicken. But over time, her questionable drinking habit spiraled into full-blown dependence, until life became bedtime stories and splitting hangovers, cubicles and multi-day drug binges--and eventually, an inconceivable separation from her children. For ten years, Hanchett grappled with the unyielding progression of addiction, bouncing from rehab to therapy to the occasional hippie cleansing ritual on her quest for sobriety, before finding it in a way she never expected. Hers is a story we rarely hear--of the addict mother not redeemed by her children; who longs for normalcy but cannot maintain it; and who, having traveled to seemingly irreversible depths, makes it back, only to discover she is still an outsider. Like her irreverent, laugh-out-loud funny, and unflinchingly honest blog, Hanchett's memoir calls out the rhetoric surrounding "the sanctity of motherhood" as tired and empty, boldly recounting instead how she grew to accept an imperfect self within an imperfect life--and think, "Well, I'll be damned, I'm just happy to be here."


    Genre: contemporary, memoir, women's fiction
    Subjects: A.A., addiction, alcoholism, diety, god, marriage, motherhood, parenting, recovery, religion
  • A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway


    MoveableFeastWhen I finished reading Paula McLean’s The Paris Wife,  a fictional recounting of Hemingway’s relationship with his first wife Hadley, I entered into a small obsession with Hemingway’s life and fiction, which is what led me to A Moveable Feast.  He has been much discussed, not only as a writer,  but also as an adventurer — a larger than life icon of manly man living.  Serving as an ambulance driver in Italy during  World War I, then a foreign correspondent during the Spanish Civil War and World War II, Hemingway very much lived the stories of love and danger that fill his novels.

    He also knew nearly all of the literary greats of his day and was himself an overnight success with the publication of his first novel, The Sun Also Rises.  Always wary of losing his own authentic voice by being sucked into the world of wealth that surrounded him, he frequently took dangerous writing assignments that put him into the front lines of conflict.  He loved outdoor sports and had a life-long fascination with bullfighting, deep-sea fishing and big-game hunting that appears again and again in his work.  But for all the dangerous and exhilarating pursuits, it was alcohol that would get him in the end, destroying his ability to write, from both a physical and mental perspective.  His last book, his memoir A Moveable Feast, is frequently cited as proof that his talent was declining.  And yet, A Moveable Feast was still a delight for me, as I fell into the enchantment of Hemingway’s distinct cadence, sharp dialogue and forthright description of the glittering literary expatriate world of Paris.

    Oh, how I love the dialogue of Hemingway.  As a writer, I can’t help but admire how well he describes character through dialogue.  It is the work of a master.  When he first meets Gertrude Stein, he writes:

    ‘You can either buy clothes or buy pictures,’ she said.
    ‘It’s that simple. No one who is not very rich can do
    both. Pay no attention to your clothes and no attention
    at all to the mode, and buy your clothes for comfort
    and durability, and you will have the clothes money to
    buy pictures.

     

    ”But even if I never bought any more clothing ever,’ I
    said, ‘I wouldn’t have enough money to buy the
    Picassos that I want.’

     

    ‘No. He’s out of your range. You have to buy the
    people of your own age – of your own military service
    group. You’ll know them. You’ll meet them around the
    quarter.

    There’s just no one that writes dialogue like Ernest Hemingway.  I can only sit back and admire the eloquently rhythmic exchanges, enjoying the beautiful simplicity of the language.

    When Hemingway arrived in Paris,  he was a young man and an unknown in literary circles.  Thanks to an introduction by Sherwood Anderson,  who had mentored him back home,  he was able to enter the same social circles of the most famous Modernist writers.  A Movable Feast is a tell-all memoir about many of the famous people that he knew; Gertrude Stein, James Joyce, Ezra Pound and F. Scott Fitzgerald feature prominently, with chapters devoted to Hemingway’s relationship with each of them.  He gives us his impressions of them, both from his perspective as a young man and the perspective of his older self — the mature and confident writer that he became.  When Hemingway describes his first meeting of F. Scott Fitzgerald, he writes that

    Scott was a man then who looked like a boy with a face between handsome and pretty. He had very fair wavy hair, a high forehead, excited and friendly eyes and a delicate long-lipped Irish mouth that, on a girl, would have been the mouth of a beauty.  His chin was well built and he had good ears and a handsome, almost beautiful, unmarked nose. This should not have added up to a pretty face, but that came from the colouring, the very fair hair and the mouth. The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more.

    It’s moments like these that make A Moveable Feast so enjoyable.  The modernists were larger than life people, so Hemingway’s memories of them are delightful for literature fans.  Although the book could run the risk of sounding like a gossip column, it is Hemingway’s devotion to writing that saves it. When he criticizes the relationship between Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, it is because of its affect on Fitzgerald’s work.  He writes:

    He was always trying to work. Each day he would try and fail. He laid the failure to Paris, the town best organized for a writer to write in that there is and he thought always that there would be some place where he and Zelda could have a good life together again.

    As a memoir, there is not much in the way of insight into Hemingway himself — but A Moveable Feast can sometimes be painful in its honesty about the other writers.  When he writes about Gertrude Stein that “she disliked the drudgery of revision and the obligation to make her writing intelligible, although she needed to have publication and official acceptance, especially for the unbelievably long book called The Making of Americans,” I couldn’t help but wince for Stein.  Yet, having read The Making of Americans, I have to agree with his commentary.  Still, it’s painful to read such a public pronouncement of his opinion of someone he once considered a friend, and made me wonder about the cost to the author about writing so truthfully in a memoir.  A Movable Feast was published posthumously by Hemingway’s fourth wife Mary Welsh Hemingway a few years after his suicide.  Would Hemingway himself would have gone forth so bravely? I suspect, given the courage with which he lived his life, that he probably would have .

    This concern with the writing that the modernists were producing drives the book, which provides fascinating insight into how these writers work.  We learn predominantly of Hemingway’s own routines as a young writer and hear his version of the famous lost manuscripts. He ends the book with the publication of The Sun Also Rises, telling us about his transformation from journalist to novelist and the failure of his first marriage. Given the celebrity and curiosity surrounding Hemingway as a man, it’s a must-read for any Hemingway enthusiast — and an excellent companion to The Paris Wife.

    • Publisher: Vintage
    • Publish Date: December 1964
    • Paperback: 181 pages
    • ISBN: 0099285045
    • Language: English
    • Rating: 3 of 5 stars

     


    Genre: memoir, nonfiction
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