‘ve read very few memoirs in my not-so-short lifetime (Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Wharton’s A Backward Glance, I can’t think of any others, but I’m sure there are more I’ve read) because, as a rule, I stay as far away from nonfiction as possible. But I recently read a book called Pieces from Life’s Crazy Quilt by a woman named Marvin V. Arnett. A woman named Marvin? She explains that it is a namesake of a beautiful friend of her mother’s, another woman named Marvin.
The memoir traces Arnett’s life during her elementary school years, circa the Depression. It gives a
perspective into a black community salted with other races (for instance, Polish immigrants and descendants play roles in Arnett’s life) in Detroit during this era. And there is a sense of community that is lost today in Detroit-sized cities; I bet one would be hard pressed to find a community like Arnett’s, where everyone knew everyone and took care of everyone.
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