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Christian Adoption Novel Clean, Uplifting and Moving
Depressing Family Drama Rich in Discussion-Worthy Topics
Fascinating Memoir Describes Indian Orphan's Long Journey Home
Upbeat Adoption Tale a Warm, Summertime Story
Relatable Premise Just Not Enough to Earn My Undying Love
When an African-American family moves into the ramshackle house next door, Ivy's interest is piqued. The single mother and three children look like no one else in tiny Copper Grove, Maine, which doesn't stop Ivy from trying to welcome them to the neighborhood. She soon realizes why her friendly overtures are being rebuffed—the kids don't want her to know how often they are left by themselves. When their mother fails to return from work one day, leaving her children scared and locked out of their home, Ivy can't stop herself from intervening. Taking the trio into her own home, Ivy pours all the love in her mothering heart into their well-being. Despite Nick's vehement protests, the situation is looking more and more permanent. Ivy couldn't be happier with the arrangement, but what will it do to her fracturing marriage? And how will her heart heal if the children are taken from her? Does Ivy dare risk it all in the hopes of finally creating the family she's always wanted?
The first in a planned series revolving around the Darling Family, All Right Here by Carre Armstrong Gardner, is a hopeful, inspiring novel. Although it's classified as Christian fiction, the religious aspects of the story feel natural, not heavy-handed. The story's focus really is family—the warmth, the conflict, the joy, the jealousy, the love, etc. that exist in every large brood. It examines some weighty issues, but does so in a way that is both realistic and PG-rated. While I appreciated all of these elements, there were a few things that bugged me about the story. The altering viewpoints, for one. I get that, while All Right Here zeroes in on Ivy's story, it's meant to be an introduction to the whole Darling clan. Which is all well and good, as long as all the different narrators have distinct voices and problems that are intriguing in their own right, something that doesn't really happen here. I was most interested in the story's main conflict and found it distracting to head-jump. As the adoptive mother of a bi-racial child, I identified most with Ivy, although there were definitely aspects of her experience that didn't ring very true. Still, my biggest problem with All Right Here is that, in general, I found the Darlings—the whole lot of them—underdeveloped and just not rounded enough to really live and breathe inside my head. Considering all of this, the novel ended up being just an okay read for me. Disappointing, because I wanted to love this one. Ah, well.
(Readalikes: I can't really think of anything. Can you?)
Grade:
Family: Isn't It About Love?
Anyone who knows about my beautiful, bi-racial daughter, adopted a few years ago from the bayous of Louisiana, will understand why I found Being Lara by Lola Jaye such a compelling novel. I would have read the book based on the cover alone (when my little girl saw the model on the front, she exclaimed, "It's me, Mommy!"), but the plot line also intrigued me. With themes of transracial adoption, racial/cultural identity, family, and other issues I ponder every day, I knew this story would speak straight to my heart. And it did. I sympathized with Lara, in all her confusion and vulnerability, as well as with her two mothers, both of whom narrate some sections of the story. While I don't necessarily agree with how the Reids handled the whole adoption thing, I recognized all their feelings of anxiety, doubt, guilt and fear, as I've experienced them all since the day I decided to become an adoptive mother. As for the actual story, it's fast-paced, well-told, realistic (except, perhaps, for the rather tidy end) and heartwarming without being sappy. I'm not sure I buy the idea that Lara didn't notice her family was different until age 8 (after all, my 3-year-old will look at a picture of Disney princesses and identify herself as Tiana and me as Belle), but that's a small matter, really. From the lovely cover (I need the number of the hairstylist responsible for that gorgeous hair!) to the important (and very relevant to me) themes to the globetrotting storyline (just try not to be affected by Jaye's descriptions of Nigeria, a place she once lived), I liked Being Lara a whole lot. It reminded me that families aren't about "matching," they're about love.
6 American Jews + 1 Abandoned Bulgarian + 4 Ethiopian Orphans = A Family??
and four Ethiopian orphans? Chaos, for starters. Eventually, though, you get a family. The Greene-Samuel Family of Atlanta, Georgia, to be exact. How did these 11 people meld different backgrounds, different personalities, and different expectations into one happy, workable unit? That's the question Melissa Fay Greene tackles in her parenting memoir No Biking in the House Without A Helmet. With trademark humor, the journalist describes the tumultuous blending of cultures that rocked her household when she and her husband, already the parents of four, decided to adopt five more children.Adoption seems so theoretical, and fun, until you realize you will have to put one foot in front of the other in real time, through actual streets of a city with an impossibly exotic name, on a continent you've never been to, surrounded by people rapidly speaking in many languages of which you will understand not one word - all with the goal of bringing back a traumatized young human being from very far away to your everyday midtown American life (120).
Secret Daughter a Heart-Wrenching Story, Beautifully Told
(Image from Indiebound) I've always loved adoption stories. Something about all the heartbreak, sacrifice and
enormous love that goes into the process has always spoken directly to my heart. Back when I still thought bearing children would be an easy, unwrinkled process for me, I'd watch TLC's Adoption Stories and bawl my eyes out. The program no longer airs, but even if it did, I wouldn't be able to watch it now. After adopting my daughter, my feelings on the subject are so tender that all it takes is hearing the word "adopt" to make my eyes leak. And yet, I still love adoption stories. Which is why I approached Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda with such eagerness. Not to mention a big box of Kleenex.
The book tells the parallel stories of two mothers - one a 31-year-old pediatrician in California, the other a peasant woman living in rural India - and the child that brings them together. After suffering multiple miscarriages, Somer Whitman Thakkar discovers that she is infertile. The news shocks her, the knowledge that she will never bear a child shaking her to her core. While Somer grieves, then prepares herself for invasive fertility treatments that have little chance of working, her husband suggests adoption. Furious with Krishnan for giving up on her, on them, Somer refuses to consider the idea. Until she realizes how futile it is to dream of something that will likely never happen, especially while hundreds of abandoned children linger in foreign orphanages, just waiting for good families to rescue them. When Somer sees the baby who's been chosen for her and Krishnan, a little Indian girl with curly black hair and stunning hazel eyes, she knows she's made the right decision. Soon, the couple's on their way to Bombay, intent on bringing the child home to California.
Meanwhile, Kavita Merchant mourns the loss of the infant she has just borne. She knows her husband, Jasu, is right - they can't afford a baby on the meager salary they make from working the fields. Especially a girl. They need sons to help with the work, to carry on the family name, to support them in their old age. A girl will only cost them money they can't afford to spend. But Kavita wants this beautiful, hazel-eyed child, even while she knows her husband will never allow her to keep the baby. Refusing to let this newborn daughter suffer the same grisly fate as her last, she whisks the child off to Bombay, where she places her in a grimy orphanage. The anklet she places on the baby's foot is the only token Kavita can give her child, the only proof the girl will have that she was loved on sight, instantly cherished by the woman who gave her life.
Twenty years later, Asha Thakkar clasps the anklet between her hands, wondering about the people who gave it to her. Although she's enjoyed a stable childhood with parents who doted on her, Asha still feels as if something's missing in her life. She's learned a little about her country of birth from her father, but she's never visited India. She knows bits of her story, just not enough to feel whole. She holds pieces to the puzzle of who she is, yet she can't get a complete picture. So, when the opportunity to study in India for a year arises, Asha takes it, even though she knows it will infuriate her mother. Maybe for that very reason. Still, Asha knows that staying with Krishnan's family in Mumbai will give her a chance to get to know her extended adoptive family, see her home country with her own eyes and, maybe, help her find the answers to the questions that plague her.
As Asha digs for her roots in India, Somer grapples with her own worries and anger. Krishnan's increasing distance doesn't make things any easier. Her marriage crumbling, Somer embarks on a journey not unlike her daughter's. It's a desperate search for herself that will end the same way Asha's does - with heartbreak, with illumination, and with understanding. At the same time, Kavita continues to mourn her lost daughter, never realizing that Asha is closer than she ever could have imagined. All the stories converge in a taut, emotional finale that proves redemption can often be found in the most unlikely of places.
Gowda writes with strength, heart and wisdom, making Secret Daughter a stunning debut novel that will stir the mothering heart in anyone. It's a heart-wrenching story, beautifully told, about longing, fulfillment and everything in between. I wept with Somer because I didn't just feel her pain, I knew her pain. And her joy. And her love for a little girl who came from another, but is somehow her own. Secret Daughter moved me, not because the story's sentimental - because it's strong, stirring and satisfying. Not unlike adoption itself. It's so powerful that I'm still sniffling and, thanks to Gowda, I'm fresh out of Kleenex.
(Readalikes: Reminded me a bit of Lucky Girl by Mei-Ling Hopgood; Shine, Coconut Moon by Neesha Meminger; and a little of Skunk Girl by Sheba Karim)
Grade: A-
If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG-13 for mild language (no F-bombs) and mature subject matter
To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Secret Daughter from the generous folks at Harper Collins and TLC Book Tours, for whom this review was written.
When the Black Girl Sings Leaves Me Wanting More
(Image from Barnes & Noble)In my quest to find new book blogs, I stumbled across Reading in Color, a spunky new blog written by the lovely Ari (aka Miss Attitude). She's young, black and committed to promoting books written by, for and about People of Color (POC). After scrolling through her posts, I knew she was the perfect person to help me with another of my quests - ever since I adopted my daughter (who is part African-American, part caucasian/Cajun), I've been trying to find books featuring bi-racial, adopted and/or black characters. My baby's not even walking yet, but I want her to have a library of books featuring interesting people whose experiences might be similar to hers. Who knows what will happen as she discovers her own, individual identity - I just want to make sure she's exposed to every side of her unique heritage. Ari came through in a big way, recommending sites like The Brown Bookshelf and Color Online as well as a whole list of books. Among her suggestions was When the Black Girl Sings by Bil Wright. While I didn't love the book, I think it offers a lot of insights into adoption, race, family, identity and life itself.
The novel stars Lahni Schuler, a black teenager who lives in Connecticut with her adoptive parents, who are white. Although her mom and dad adore her, they're having trouble getting along with each other. With their impending divorce, Lahni feels her world crumble even more. She's already dealing with a new school - a private one full of snooty white girls who make her feel very, very black. Plus, she's being stalked by a wannabe gangsta. Not only is he white, but he's also a complete whack job. Angry at her dad, worried about her mom, and feeling sorry for herself, Lahnie's not exactly a happy camper.
One day, Lahni's mother finds just what they need to put their lives back together: religion. Resigned, Lahni trudges along to the Church of the Good Shepherd, hoping it will cheer up her mom. She's amazed to find herself moved to tears by the congregation's resident choir, led by a flamboyant black pianist and an equally black diva named Carietta Chisolm. Lahni enlists their help in training for an upcoming school talent competition. In the bosom of the choir, she finally feels a sense of belonging. Still, she's got issues: How does she deal with her parents' dissolving relationship? Will she survive in a school that seems bent on ostracizing her? How is she going to shake her creepy stalker? And, should she even be entering a singing competition when the other girls seem so much more talented? As Lahni tackles her problems, she'll learn a thing or two about who she really is - and how, in the end, that knowledge is all that really matters.
As much as I wanted to love this book, I found the writing a little lackluster, the characters a little too flat and the plot a little too predictable. What I do appreciate is Wright's straightforwardness in tackling issues of race, specifically how a black child might feel growing up in a white family and community. Despite the conflicts Lahni faces, her adoption is portrayed in a positive light - her parents couldn't care less about her ethnicity, they love her for her. But it also shows how different a parent's view can be from that of a child who feels like an outsider every day of her life. I also enjoyed the characters of Marcus Delacroix III (the choir director/pianist) and Carietta Chisolm - although both are larger than life, they come off as both interesting and believable.
So, yeah, there's lots to love about this book, I just wanted a little more depth. When the Black Girl Sings starts off so strongly; I mean, the first two lines read: "I never once let any of them see me naked. Until that Friday, when I had no choice" (2). Who can resist reading on? Unfortunately, the writing fizzles along the way, making it a weaker story than it could have been. I'm still glad I read it as it gave me a lot to think about - I just wanted more from the author.
(Note: I'm still looking for books with bi-racial, adopted and/or black characters to add to my list. Bring on the recommendations! And thanks again, Ari, for all your help!)
Grade: C
If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for sexual content (in conversations, not action)
Lucky Girl Upbeat, Only A Little Bitter
(Image from Barnes & Noble) Every year, thousands of babies leave Asia for foreign lands, boarding planes that will jet them off to new countries, new lives, new futures. Chances of the babies ever re-connecting with their birth families are slim to none, a big plus for many adoptive couples. Considering this, Mei-Ling Hopgood's story really is pretty amazing. It's also funny, poignant and compulsively readable.
Hopgood, an American journalist who was adopted from Taiwan as a baby, talks about her reunion with her birth family in her memoir Lucky Girl. Raised in Michigan by her loving adoptive parents, Hopgood lived a happy, secure American life. She thought little about her Taiwanese culture or the family who had placed her for adoption. Mei-Ling knew enough - she was born to poor farmers who could barely support the 6 children they already had - to appreciate the good fortune that brought her to middle-class America. She was, indeed, a lucky girl.
As she grew up, Mei-Ling faced the kind of identity crisis common to transracial adoptees; by the time she graduated from college, however, she simply viewed her Asian roots with "distance and ambivalence" (119). Little did she know that her past was about to come a whole lot closer, demading anything but ambivalence. A recent college graduate, Hopgood was living in Detroit when she got the phone call that would change her life. On the other end of the line, Chris Hopgood, Mei-Ling's adoptive mother, mentioned that Sister Maureen - the nun who had cared for Mei-Ling after her birthparents placed her in an orphanage - was in town. Chris encouraged her daughter to call their old friend, which she did. An invitation to dinner and an off-hand remark about finding her birthparents later, Mei-Ling realized she had opened Pandora's box. Suddenly, Taiwanese relatives were phoning at all hours of the day, pelting her with questions and requests. The family that abandoned her in an orphanage two decades ago now couldn't leave her alone.
In spite of herself, Mei-Ling wanted to meet her birth family. March of 1997 found her embarking on her first trip to Taiwan, a journey that would take her into the heart of a loud, complex family that was, intriguingly, her own. She formed instant bonds with her 5 Taiwanese sisters, who encouraged her to locate another sister who had been adopted by a Swiss couple. Mei-Ling found the sisters engaging with their uproarious, unfiltered personalities. Her birthparents (whom she calls Ma and Ba) were another matter - Ba dominated every gathering with his cantankerous, controlling attitude and Ma let him, much as she had throughout their entire marriage. Language and culture obstructed effective communication, and Mei-Ling struggled to feel close to these parents she never knew. To add to the confusion, she felt a disturbing undercurrent in the family, as if behind their boisterous facade they hid deep, dark secrets. The more Mei-Ling probed, the more she discovered. In the end, she had to decide what to do with this new family and the Asian roots that ran a lot deeper than she'd ever been willing to admit.
Like most stories about transracial adoption, this one touches on themes of identity, culture, and family lost and found. The difference is tone - Lucky Girl is upbeat, funny and only a little bitter. While it pays homage to Mei-Ling's close-knit American family, it doesn't discount her Taiwanese relatives, who, despite the horrors of their past, make the effort to reunite their fractured family. Filled with colorful anecdotes and astute observations on transracial adoption, the book makes for an entertaining, but thought-provoking read. The writing could have been tighter, but, all in all, I enjoyed this one.
Grade: B
(Note: Lucky Girl will not be available until April 28, although it can be pre-ordered at Amazon or Barnes & Noble. It will also be featured in the June issue of Elle magazine, probably with comments by yours truly.)
In Their Own Voices Eye-Opening Resource for Adoptive Parents
The first question people ask upon glancing at my newborn daughter is, "What's her ethnicity?" Her brown skin and curly black hair pretty much serve as a billboard, announcing loud and clear that she is not my biological child. The fact that she's bi-racial (her birthmother is white; her birthfather is black) doesn't matter a lick to me, but I realize it may become a challenge for her as she grows up in a white family living in a predominantly white community. My concern led me to Amazon, where I searched for books to give me some instruction. I found surprisingly few. However, In Their Own Voices: Transracial Adoptees Tell Their Stories by Rita J. Simon and Rhonda M. Roorda looked to be exactly the kind of book I wanted. So I ordered it, waiting anxiously for it to arrive on my doorstep. As soon as I read the Introduction, I realized the book was not going to give me what I craved. What I really wanted was reassurance that: (1) As a white woman, I can effectively raise a bi-racial child; (2) Said child will be confident, responsible and whole, unaffected by her birth and subsequent adoption, and (3) Because of the bonds we create, she will never long for her biological family, or prefer it over ours. A few pages in, I discovered that In Their Own Voices is hardly the feel-good, reassuring type book I thought it would be. Instead, it's unflinchingly honest, sometimes frightening, but always fascinating. Like one reviewer said, "It should be required reading for anyone who is thinking of adopting or has adopted a child from another race."
The book consists of interviews with 24 black and bi-racial adults who were adopted as children by white families. Author Rhonda M. Roordan, herself a transracial adoptee (TRA), conducted all the interviews but one - Roordan answered questions asked by co-author Rita J. Simon. Prompted by the authors' questions, the interviewees discussed their experience as black children growing up in a white family; their relationships with both the black and white communities; their views on transracial adoption; whether they consider themselves black or white, and so on. The interviews are presented in Q & A format, which allows readers to hear the people speak "in their own voices." It feels like an intimate roundtable discussion, a candid, no-holds-barred conversation with those who have been there.
Another thing that surprised me (I know you all are laughing at my naivete) was that there are people out there who vehemently oppose transracial adoption. In my mind, it's better for a child to be placed with a loving family of another race than for him/her to bounce around from foster home to foster home, waiting for an adoptive family of their own race. Even if the child feels out of place in his/her adoptive family, at least he/she is in a loving environment. So, it shocked me to read these statements from William T. Merritt, a spokesman for the National Association of Black Social Workers:
"We view the placement of Black children in White homes as a hostile act against our community. It is a blatant form of race and cultural genocide."
To be fair, Merritt made the first statement in 1971, and the second in 1985, when debates about race were perhaps more heated. It is also unclear if he considers bi-racial kids "Black children." When I first read these words, I was appalled, especially after reading interview after interview stating that few black couples are available to adopt. After pondering the idea that "white families - no matter how liberal or well-intended - cannot teach a black child how to survive in an essentially racist society" (9), I find myself at least understanding the NABSW's position. I still believe that love conquers all, but I can definitely see where the group is coming from. (For more information on the NABSW and their work to find suitable African American homes for children in need, please visit their website.)
The authors of In Their Own Voices do not take a stand on the issue of transracial adoption, or white parents raising black children; rather, they allow the reader to draw his/her own conclusions based on what he/she has read. What I took from the book is this: White families can successfully raise black children, but they should make a conscientious effort to expose their children to the black community. If they are not committed to helping their children find their identity - racial and otherwise - then they should not adopt transracially.
I'll be honest, certain aspects of this book scared me to death, but other parts actually did give me some of the reassurance I needed. Most of all, In Their Own Voices opened my eyes to issues to which I had not given enough thought. It's truly a fascinating, eye-opening look into transracial adoption. That being said, I also have to point out that this book was published in 2000, with most of the TRAs being adopted in the early 1970s. Also, most of the respondents were raised in the Midwest or on the East Coast. I'm curious how the experiences of TRAs adopted in the 90s would compare with their counterparts from the 70s. I also wonder how the lives of TRAs raised in the South or on the West Coast compare to those on the opposite sides of the country. I wish the authors had addressed both of these questions. Lastly, I should clarify something that the authors don't - all of the transracial adoptees with whom they spoke were either black or a black/white mix. So, if you are looking for a book that specifically addresses children of Asian or Eastern European or American Indian or Indian descent, this is not it. Of course, much of the information would apply, I'm just saying I think the cover should have noted that the authors were discussing black/white adoptions. All in all, though, In Their Own Voices is a fabulous resource for white parents and their children. I highly recommend it, as well as its companion volume, In Their Parents' Voices, which is sure to be just as enlightening as this one.
(Note: I realize this is a controversial subject and that I may have inadvertently offended some people. I apologize if this is so. As always, I value your comments on this book or the topic of transracial adoption in general. If you prefer to communicate with me privately, send me an email at blogginboutbooks[AT]gmail[DOT][COM] .)

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