
arvin V. Arnett’s memoir, Pieces from Life’s Crazy Quilt, is built of small pieces—vignettes from her childhood in 1930s Detroit. Yes, Marvin is a girl. She is also African American in a city where Negroes are relegated to the poor side of town and second class status. And she is a bright little pitcher with big
ears, who can’t resist the human dramas playing out around her. The cast of characters include her magnificent parents, William and Grace, her older brother, and sister (who dies suddenly when Marvin is five), the congregation of the Church of the True Believers, her Aunt Bessie and Uncle Smitty, good Mrs. Eubanks who adores Franklin Roosevelt, and the small community of neighbors on her street.
Arnett makes me feel nostalgic for a world I’ve never known. It couldn’t be more different from my childhood growing up white in the desert of the atomic west in the 60s and 70s—and yet I recognize that precious sense of belonging. After adopting her life for several summer evenings in a row, I miss Marvin’s difficult, sometimes harrowing, but abundantly loving and decent childhood. Most of all I miss the decency.
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