Alexandra Fuller

I've read all of Alexandra Fuller's memoirs...in fact, I've read Don't Let's Go to the Dog Tonight at least twice. It haunts me.

This book is Ms. Fuller's first novel. It tells the story of two American Indian boys raised by the reservation's resident midwife (who is the grandmother of one of them). As they mature, they choose different paths in life, with one becoming a respected elder and healer and the other choosing a more violent, destructive lifestyle. The story is told in a series of show more very short chapters that not only tell what is happening, but brings a cultural or historical perspective at the same time. From that perspective, it's very well done.

I wonder why Ms. Fuller chose to write about a culture and society she is not part of. I don't think she's done a bad job of it, but it is part of what fascinates me about this author. In her first memoir, she seemed unaware of the racism among white African settlers; she found nothing unusual in having a toddler clean rifles; and seemed detached from her younger sister's death. Again, she is writing as an outsider. Like her other writings, this book will stay with me both for the story, and for what it says about the author. show less

Alexandra Fuller is a beautiful writer. Her life has been a series of traumatic incidents that would damage anyone, and at the end of the day, she is better suited for dealing with chaos and crisis than she is for prosperity and peace. I feel like she and her husband were just too far apart culturally to ever really mesh. This story of the dissolution of a marriage is a little disorganized, but perhaps that is an accurate reflection of their relationship. Of any relationship. I think one has show more to read her first memoir Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight to appreciate this one. There is pain on every page, as Fuller realizes that no matter how much she loves her husband, she can't be with him and also be herself. show less

This isn't a typical memoir, but rather almost an autobiography told in a series of snapshots of the author's growing up in Africa. There isn't a lot of introspection. She just presents things as they are/were, herself included. And although she and her family are white, and essentially colonizers continuing the incursion of the British Empire (until the African colonies won their various wars of independence), she is also a true child of Africa, having spent her entire childhood and young show more adulthood there. And although she and her family were better off than the local Africans, by any other standard they were living in squalid poverty.

The racism and colonialism come through loud and clear without Fuller having to make an issue of it, as does her mother's alcoholism and mental illness, but that's not really what this story is about. It's the story of a dysfunctional, unconventional family, made more so by their geographical and economic circumstances, and yet there was love and a strong familial bond. She doesn't apologize for her parents' and her own (learned) racism, but we do see her become more aware and responsible as she grows older.

In addition, it's an homage to a land, a love story to one of the harshest places on the planet. And perhaps it's growing up in such harsh circumstance that makes Fuller's life at that time so vivid and so alive, and why she loves it to this day. This memoir is a complex story told in a deceptively simple manner. There's a lot to unpack, and Fuller leaves most of that unpacking to the reader. show less

I have yet to read an Alexandra Fuller book that didn't completely captivate me, and this one is no exception. More journalistic than autobiographical, but so much of her own story threads through the telling that it's reasonable to classify it close to memoir. I suppose it's really a biography that's of an white African soldier who survived war, but it's also a journey book, a trauma book, a distinct evocation of place book. Almost a romance, definitely a tragedy, and layers and layers of show more sorrow and racism and deep, deep love -- less for country than for the land itself, less about healing than about carrying on when broken. show less