A touching, creative portal into details about life that I suspect many Americans of a certain age range can relate to.
I read this book out of interest from a passing reference to Amy Krause Rosenthal in John Green's The Anthropocene Reviewed book of essays and I am glad I did.
You can also google Amy to find some life-affirming videos, a TEDx talk, and more tie-ins to her life and work.
Sadly, she died of ovarian cancer in 2017, so she had just more than a decade to live when she wrote this book when she was close to 40 years old.
The book takes the "hermit crab" form of an encyclopedia. It's an encyclopedia on Amy's life, but it doesn't attempt any grand strokes and it doesn't profess a linear narrative. It's all agate material, all nuggets, focused on mundane but keen observations of situations, emotions, and curiosities. Through that structure, though, she builds up a wonderful sense of her character, her experiences, and a range of moods and subtle insights that resonated with me. The book is almost like you're eating or drinking up Amy's essence a spoonful at a time.
The reader gets a very clear sense of Amy's voice throughout, or at least I did, as it feels like you're hearing her talk to you with intonations, rhythms, diction tendencies.
She portrays life in a higher strata of middle class than that to which I am accustomed--she references having a housekeeper and is frequently writing about purchasing things or food or coffee and her husband seems well off although she comments he chose not to do golf--but 90% of her experiences seem relatively universal ones to Americans in my circles.
It's interesting to note how some things have changed quite a bit over the past two decades, though, including how we interact with telephones, voicemails, emails, the internet, text messages, and other norms of communication.
It's hard to think about the "aughts" being a time worthy of nostalgia--with the shroud of September 11 and the War on Terror hanging over us, plus the Iraq War, contended elections, and things on course toward the "Great Recession" but this book shows us a portrait of life from circa 2003-2005 in all its contemporary ordinariness, indexed by the creative filter of Amy's mind and her literary sensibilities. It's like a historical bookmark reminding what was.
I enjoyed most the first third to half of this book, when the energy and newness of the structure, her voice, and the observations felt freshest. As the book goes on through the requisite alphabet of the encyclopedia of her life, I felt that it sagged a bit and also was more dependent on revealing her particular life rather than a more generic ordinary life any reader could step into through her keen observations. But because of the structure, it was easy to read through as you could feel you accomplished completing each successive lettered section.
I also felt she could have done more with the cross-references than she did. That kind of meta-textual play could have added a sense of the infinite to the work, but for whatever reason, the book does not charge ahead in that direction. A few entries have a few cross-references, but most do not. Early on I was expecting the cross-references were going to lead to a richly braided experience that would put new shades of emotion on re-readings of referenced material. Alas, they were infrequent and underleveraged such that I didn't actually actively follow any of them, still having the preceding referenced entries in my mind when I noted them.
It's also striking to me how younger readers may not even have a point of comparison for the form this memoir emulates--the encyclopedia. Since the book was written, encyclopedias have been pulled from library shelves, discarded from home libraries, and collect dust where their volumes remain except for more specialized use by researchers in most cases. The way our culture now pushes us to learn about categories of knowledge is through googling or Wikipedia, neither of which provide a sense of whole and both of which surround us with a sense of rushing to get rather than the necessary pausing and paging and poring over that an actual encyclopedia requires. Both newer methods of searching for knowledge are goal-oriented--we seek for an answer, a definition, a fact, a reference, but we may not care as much for learning for the thing itself. When delving into a bona fide encyclopedia, however, there are fewer distractions and the experience of learning is more focused upon a distilled and edited presentation of some truth that editors have worked hard to showcase. Today, many people frown on or disdain editors and many more people do not seem to realize what an editor does or why they should care or may not realize an editor was actually at work presenting what has become known as "content" in the digital realm. There is an additional irony, then, that I remember the early days of the internet and personal computers being driven partially by the excitement of accessing the multimedia encyclopedia on a computer--Encarta was one incarnation. Do you remember the opening sounds of music and human voice that serenaded you when you opened up Encarta as that CD whirred to life in the drive? Do you remember the sense of wonder and expectation that you would find something amazing within but that you might never fathom all its depths? I vaguely remember plumbing those depths for every dinosaur that was searchable, probably because it had nice color images of them, but also remember feeling that the depth paled in comparison to the *real* book versions of encyclopedias, whether specialized or general. Encarta and early digital encyclopedias were necessarily abridged. Since then, the opposite trends have taken root: everything is infinitely scrollably long and unpruned; and editors have in many cases been replaced by a crowd.
So Amy's encyclopedia offering a glimpse of her self as everyperson has achieved a new kind of historical artifact resonance in 2022 simply because we're all older and American culture has shifted from the time of her writing.
Those reflections aside, there is a marvelous quality to the opening pages of this book, when she frames what is to come and what has come throughout her lifetime up to the point of her writing, that in its simplicity and semi-quantitative approach to summarizing or contextualizing a life, reminds one of those when-you-were-born fact cards about how much milk cost, how much gas cost, who was president, etc. It's all mundane but it's all striking--especially if you/we have also lived/shared many of those experiences or that context. She provides a "wabi-sabi" reminiscence, a cross-section.
This is a remarkable and worthwhile book. I enjoyed all of it, but I recommend reading at least the first half.
It's also another book that I'm not sure a younger person will appreciate as much as I did as I am almost 40. Even if someone were 30, I'm not sure that they would have a comparable experience. If someone were 20, I'm not sure that they would get it at all. I think they'd study it like a history text. Amy was born in 1965.