A New Review Rolls In

The Association for Mormon Letters, which is a group of academic, smart-type folks in the Mormon community, reviewed my book.

Here is the link to their site and my review.

Association for Mormon Letters

Oh heck, I'm just going to copy it here, too.
I'm glad the reviewer made a point of commenting on the one thing I have run into over and over with my book, and can't fix. People are reluctant to read it because it might be sad. Which it is.
But it is also funny, hopeful and in the end, peaceful.
What else can I say?

Anyway, here is what the Association for Mormon Letters had to say:

Young, “Ezra and Hadassah, a Portrait of American Royalty” (reviewed by Jaymie Reynolds)

Review
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Title: Ezra and Hadassah, a Portrait of American Royalty
Author:Heather Young
Publisher: CreateSpace (https://www.createspace.com/4522786)
Genre: Non-fiction
Year: 2013
Pages: 240
Binding: Paperback
ISBN-13: 9781494311162
Price: $14.00 (Kindle edition also available)

Reviewed by Jaymie Reynolds for the Association for Mormon Letters

“My first memory of life doesn’t begin with my biological parents. My memory begins at the foster home … ” A somewhat innocuous beginning to a story riddled with hard topics. As a reviewer, I almost passed this book by. I was rather hesitant to read a book that centered around the content I knew this book contained. Stories of child abuse, even when told by a survivor of such, are rarely uplifting or positive in any way. They may be cathartic, but they are, more often, rooted in anger and frustration that passes easily from the words of the author to the heart of the reader. That being said, Heather Young’s book, “Ezra and Hadassah, a Portrait of American Royalty,” is a surprising find.

Within the pages of this book, one finds the expected elements of a horrible, abuse-filled childhood. What is missing from the pages for the most part is the vituperative anger one so often hears in this type of memoir. Young’s voice is, in general, pragmatic and, at times, even positive. She strikes a nice balance in telling her tale — giving enough detail to help readers understand and sympathize, while avoiding the graphic descriptions so common in this field of content. Child abuse is a tragic reality in the world today, and Young promotes awareness of it in a way that is heartfelt and non-abrasive.

Young and her brother are the key players within this book. Somehow, despite all odds, each child grew into an adult who found something better than they’d known. Each of them found peace in their own way. Young is very honest about both of their journeys and the steps that led them to their adult selves. Surprisingly, even the most painful parts of Young’s work are presented in a way that still seems to encapsulate a glimmer of hope. This book is lacking the overall negative mood that so many of its contemporaries encapsulate. That’s not to say Young glosses over critical details or tries to pretty up ideas and events that cannot be made beautiful regardless of how they’re presented; rather, she manages to discuss difficult things in a way that invites readers to empathize and want to read on.

The target audience for this novel is at once both extremely broad and exceptionally narrow. Young doesn’t seem to be speaking to a specific demographic. Child abuse and systematic failures to protect little ones are topics that crave awareness within all venues. At this time in history, advocacy is not limited to specific readers. However, the audience that will seek out such writing may be more narrow, especially within the LDS community. The topics that are built into Young’s life experience are challenging to digest, and many may choose to avoid related works in order to focus on things they find joy in.

Latter-day Saint readers will likely be comforted at Young’s tone. Her feelings about her experiences and their aftereffects are clear, but she avoids most of the verbal landmines that may rile or upset readers. These readers may be somewhat startled to find that this story is presented in a way that invites them to support the author and hope for her success rather than in a way that would prompt them to feel attacked. Even though the role of some members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints factors negatively in Young’s life, she is fair in her presentation of both the positive and negative examples she’s seen within the Church. She presents her tale in a way that recognizes the fallacy of human nature and the infinite good that can as easily be found within the hearts of other people all within one community or religion.

While Latter-day Saint readers will likely be pleasantly surprised at how Young presents her story, there are a few small elements that may be uncomfortable for some readers. Aside from the inherent painfulness of the topics Young has been forced to confront in her life, she does use a few, small swear words in her descriptions. Within context and based on her experiences, these words do not detract from her work, but they may upset sensitive readers. In addition, some LDS readers may be uncomfortable with small discrepancies as Young explains basic LDS doctrines. Overall, Young does a fantastic job giving LDS and non-LDS readers sufficient, accurate details in order to understand religious and doctrinal references. One that readers may take exception to, however, is Young’s explanation of the Word of Wisdom. This elucidation comes as Young tells of buying marijuana as a means of helping her terminally ill brother with chronic pain. She explains that she knew he would not smoke it because the Word of Wisdom “forbids smoking, drinking coffee, caffeinated tea, and alcohol.” She fails to mention illegal drugs.

In spite of small discomforts and inherently painful topic matter, taken as a whole, Young’s memoir is both well-written and is smoothly read. Perhaps what makes Young’s offering so valuable to readers is the triumph that is found in the ashes of many fiery challenges. These pages are riddled with sorrow and pain and still manage to convey hope and pull readers along to a place of peace and victory. As one who picked up this book with some hesitation, I would not hesitate to recommend that Young’s tale be added to the field where advocacy and change grow. Ezra and Hadassah is not an easy read, but it is a positive one.

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Why Social Services Matter

Stanfield Manor - Where the magic happens

The photo above of Stanfield Manor brings back so many good memories to me. This is the federally and state-funded low-income apartment building that my brother, Rex lived in the last 5 years of his life. For those 5 years, Rex had a safe, secure place to lay his head at night and a community of people he delighted in serving. 

The injustices of being born with intellectual disabilities that automatically render someone incapable of competing in the working world, tied to the reality that not everyone is born into a magically wealthy, happy home, creates a whole population of people like my brother.  

As you read my book, "Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty," you learned that Rex didn't have the gift of a loved childhood. He suffered in ways that I struggled to describe while writing our story. The greatest relief I experienced as Rex's sister was the day he moved into this apartment building and I knew for the first time in his whole life, he was safe.

Rex had disabilities that prevented him from having meaningful employment. He couldn't financially provide for himself without help. For every post I read on Facebook decrying the evils of healthy people who refuse to work living on the welfare dole, I want to reach out and smack them upside their heads with a case of my books. Dang, do that many people not know someone like my brother? 

Yes, my brother was homeless, he couldn't work. Yes, he lived in a various homeless shelters because he had no home. No, he wasn't a drug addict, an alcoholic or a criminal. He was like  many people who life had crapped on so spectacularly that he had no option but to rely on the generosity of others who had been given much more.

While living in Stanfield Manor, Rex made the most of every opportunity he had. He helped his elderly neighbors take out their trash. He moved their furniture for them. He shared his meager $90 a month in food stamp provisions with anyone who asked. He was willing to help anyone, anywhere, at any time. His generosity of spirit wasn't always returned in kind. He had his checkbook stolen and almost died from a particularly cruel assault with a deadly weapon. 

Make no mistake, Rex valued his home in Stanfield Manor. When Rob and I had to tell him he could no longer live there, it broke Rex's heart. He did not want to leave his friends, his neighbors, the people he felt very strongly that God had asked him to serve. He was on a mission to ease the burdens of the downtrodden wherever he found them.

 I cried the day Rob and I cleaned out Rex's apartment. I knew he wouldn't be coming back. His doctors gave him less than 6 months to live. As Rex's neighbors floated by his doorway, stopping to inquire on his health and future, I had to repeat his diagnosis over and over.
Incurable brain tumor.
Invasive. 

Hospice.
Coming to live with us.
Death.

The only comfort I had that day was in doing the one act I knew Rex would approve of. As each person approached the apartment, I asked what they could use.
"Would like Rex's couch? He would like you to have it."
"Do you need more bowls or silverware? How about this pot?"
"This is Rex's favorite plant. Would you like to have it?"

On and on the day went, a steady stream of remembrances of beloved items, and confidence knowing they were going to grateful new owners. By the time we finished, Rex's apartment was bare, only his clothes, a box of personal items and his computer tucked in the back seat of our car ready to make their move to a new home.

I cannot help but be emotional when I read of funding being cut to low-income housing, health care for the poor, or food support programs. Every dollar taken away from helping people in desperate straights, for whatever reason their circumstance, all I can think about is my beloved brother and the last 5 years of his life. The happiest, secure years of his life. He lived on less than $500 a month, $89 of that going for rent on his apartment at Stanfield Manor. He finally had a home, a place where he belonged and was loved. Isn't that something that everyone deserves?