My Brother

Looking back at my reading these past few months, a lot of the books I've read have dealt with death, illness, or grief, or all three, in some way. Upon reflection, the simple reason for this, even though a few books probably didn't get much thought when selected, is that I'm growing older and these realities are becoming more certain and there's some fear that I need to make sense of, and books have been known to help with that.

So to this book which is my sixth by Kincaid, and it has everything I love about her: pure honesty, the beauty of prose, a cadence accomplished by repetition, and a level of awareness of both self and that around self. It's still a tough read. Jamaica Kincaid's younger brother, Devon, died of AIDS and this book show more is a result of contemplating the grief and pain that loss brought.

Kincaid was already established and acclaimed when she had published this and before her brother died. As a child she had been a brilliant student but had been forced to abandon her studies and immigrate to the U.S.A. and work as an au-pair to help earn money for her family back in Antigua. Her ascension to the echelons of contemporary literature, where she's rightfully placed, resembles the fantastical and miraculous, and given the circumstances she must have endured, it is. So when she has to return home because of her brother's illness the gulf in their situations (Kincaid middle-class, American, accomplished, comfortable with a nice family of her own; Devon poor, fatally ill, suffering and dying, unaccomplished and unknown, without a family of his own and much to show for himself) confronts the circumstances she might have faced had she remained home and all the complicated emotions it brings, as well as the reality of her dying brother.

The complexity of human relationships, of situation, of life in general. Nothing is ever simple and Kincaid herself, nor her dead brother, nor her family, nor anyone for that matter, is simple. To turn all that grief and difficulty into something this beautiful is testament to her gift. show less

This book is the author's attempt to come to grips with the dying of her youngest brother. She knew him for only a few years of his life, three on either end, and has an admittedly complex relationship with him. Most of her familial relationships are complicated, and soured by years of cruelty and neglect. Despite this, when she heard that her brother was dying of AIDS, she found deep within herself a well of something like love. Was it love? She's not totally sure, but this feeling drove her to return home and know her brother as an adult. She felt responsibility to help him. She purchased drugs for him, a bed, consulted with doctors and counselors.

This book recounts her experiences and frustrations as she tries to know he brother show more briefly before he dies. It is not beautiful, but extremely honest. For its honesty, perhaps most of all, it is difficult to read. It threw in sharp relief all the accepted lies, omissions, and euphemisms that death mandates. So few people, even those who are dying themselves are able to face or understand their own mortality. This book is thoughtful and poetic as it wrestles with some of the greatest questions of this life. show less

I bring some background to my comments. I lived in Antigua and knowk the places Kincaid refers to, I have heard her read from her best known book A Small Place to an Antigua audience. I think she is a very autobiographical author and bringing herself into the book is part of her style. Her tidbits of Antigua culture,especially family life are on target. But the strength of this book is a view of dying,not just her brother's death but those of others. The book meanders, it circles back,it repeats, but for any of us who have lost a family member and have such mixed feelings reflecting back on our earlier relationships I think this book makes us think,gives us a context for facing our own feelings of ambiguity with death.

Interesting read about Antigua, since I was there when I read it. It was sad and well written, though a little too restrained for my taste. I wanted more emotion and less repetition.