Jenyfer Matthews

I know I complained an awful lot about my weekend away. In fact, though it was a long ride, the trip would have been nice if I could have contented myself with either the mountain climb (sans migraine) OR the beach. The main source of my dissatisfaction is that I wanted to do both and only really had time for one. Oh well.

There was a bright spot though – I had a lot of time to read while sitting on the bus. I brought along my e-reader so I could finish up a book I was in the middle of, and also so I could read in bed without disturbing my son. But I also brought along a paperback: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.

(Just an aside: if she had written that book with today’s attitude toward flashy pen names, do you think she’d have stuck with Betty Smith? Or gone for something like Beatrice Smythe-Whitmore?)

I got this book out of a pile of freebies a neighbor in my old building left in the stairwell – it was a familiar title and the blurb looked interesting. It’s been sitting on my nightstand for ages though. I normally only have time to read at night, and by then I only have so much mental energy left for reading books that require a bit more attention. So I’ve looked at this one every time I’m between books and have then chosen another one.

I decided that with so much time to read on the bus, it was the perfect time to turn my attention to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Though it starts out slowly enough, it didn’t take long to hook me. A good character will always suck me in, and this book is nothing if not full of good, rich characters.

It’s the story of Francie and her family, and her life growing up in terrible poverty in Brooklyn before World War I. Her father was charming and a talented singer but an alcoholic, her mother worked as a maid to hold their family together. Francie and her brother Neely started working when they were little children, collecting scraps and selling it for pennies to contribute to the family’s income. Often they subsist on coffee and the variety of meals their mother created from stale bread and little else. Ultimately, it’s the story of survival and persistence and growing up and bettering yourself, in spite of the many obstacles put before you.

There’s a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly . . .survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.

This quote from the book is a metaphor for Francie – and for all the poor people in the city.

Apparently, the book is nearly autobiographical as Betty Smith grew up in the area of Brooklyn she wrote about and many of the characters are based on people she knew growing up. Perhaps that’s why it felt so alive – a best seller in its time and written in clear, no-nonsense prose, it reads as well today as it did when it was published in 1943. Almost makes me long for another long bus trip so I can take in another classic.

Or maybe I’ll just skip the bus and make time to read in the daytime instead!

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