The Monday Book – The Many Lives of Mama Love: A Memoir of Lying, Stealing, Writing, and Healing by Lara Love Hardin

Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader and always learning; sometimes substitute teaching, sometimes grandbabysitting, sometimes selling books

The Many Lives of Mama Love: A Memoir of Lying, Stealing, Writing, and Healing by Lara Love Hardin

The Many Lives of Mama Love: A Memoir of Lying, Stealing, Writing, and Healing by Lara Love Hardin

True story within…and confessions, as well, that had to be difficult to publicize. At least one member of our book club, which met recently to discuss this book, disliked the start of the book so much that she could not, would not read it through to the end and sent such word to our book club meeting, so troubled was she by the story of a woman who she saw as having wronged her children in this manner.

And yes, given the book’s subtitle and its chronological movement through these themes, getting through the “lying” and “stealing” portions of the book can be challenging. This is not easily an “unlikable” main character, nor a challenging or unreliable narrator. Given that this is Lara Love Hardin’s memoir, and she is telling her own story, this opening narrative had to be even tougher to write/confess/publicize, than it is to read it. And as a reader I did have similar feelings to my fellow book club member, initially, about the choices Hardin made: drug use and the ensuing horrible behaviors seemingly chosen over caring well or completely for her–their–children.

But I had to believe that since she’d also written the book and was telling her now published story, that I needed to keep reading through the “writing” and “healing” portions as well before I tried the book on the whole. Judging Hardin wholly and completely by what had to have been the most difficult part to publish and share seemed not fair. And I’d already purchased the book and selected it for book club, so I believed it worthy of the read.

Further, it is this difficult content and confession to bad parenting that make things challenging at the start. The writing, itself, and the storytelling, throughout, are of strong quality, due literary merit, even. This serves as testament to that MFA Hardin mentions early on and which she had previously earned. Additionally, I saw from the subtitle that the “writing” and “healing” portions of her memoir were yet to come.

I read the entire book in one day, traveling through the painful months and years of Lara Love Hardin’s storied life in just minutes to hours. Possibly in part because of that short duration of time and thinking spent in her space, and my reading style prompting me to live in it for the duration of my time with the book, I was better able to see through to the improved parts more quickly as well.

Hardin and her then husband were so caught up in their drug use that they had taken to stealing from others, both neighbors and strangers over time, to support their bad, bad habits. Their child together was in the worst spot, as each of them had ex-spouses with whom they shared custody for their others. Thankfully, when jail time for their crimes ensued, Hardin’s ex-husband and his wife took in Hardin’s son to be able to live with his brothers as well. That soothed some of the sharp edges of that part of the story.

From there we see inside the jail system–neither she nor her husband were sent to prison for a long haul–as they each spend months there, teaching us lots about what really goes on there and inside the walls. That also allowed us to learn how very difficult it is to ever get–let alone stay–out, once in, she and her husband not exactly on the same upward path toward recovery and quitting. Catch-22s and systematic challenges abound.

It is during this time of Hardin’s story that we not only learn of these difficulties from the inside but also discover where she gets her “Mama Love” name, using that ol’ MFA to help others write–and right–their own situations and stories among the good things she does while in and working her way out. She is most especially effective at helping incarcerated moms work toward reuniting with their children.

I need to stop telling you her–the–story, or I’ll take away the fun of all of the redeeming qualities of Hardin’s story and book, make it less meaningful for you to read and discover, experience it all yourself. That’s the point of reading a good book, right?

You may not, either, see the “Mama Love” goodness to Lara Love Hardin at her story’s start, but there’s a pretty good chance that your understanding of her and her plight may also grow into some forgiveness for her, too, for how hard she worked and for how much we can learn from her. And how much we may be able to do to help–rather than curtly judge or dismiss–someone working toward change when we meet them ourselves.

Come back next Monday for another book review!

The Redemption of Evansville

Those of you who have read Little Bookstore know about the trip Jack and I made in 2011, visiting indie bookstores and small towns. One of these was a little place along I-64, not named in the book because every bookstore we tried to visit there turned out to be a porn shop.

Fulton Avenue Books was the only shop I mentioned by name in Little Bookstore. I had no idea at the time how (in)famous it was. About every three days, someone finds my blog through a search on “Fulton Ave Books,” or “Fulton Books Evansville,” or even “porn shops little redhead Wendy Indiana.”

(I have no idea, and I’m not about to Google to find out.)

But soon after my book came out,  a nice e-mail arrived from a lady named Betsy, saying, “I know where you were: Evansville, Indiana. I live there, and it’s not ALL bad! There’s a really nice Middle Eastern restaurant just one town over, and pleasant shops. We’re not just porn bookstores!”

I told Betsy it was a fair cop; yes, it was Evansville, and we’d actually tried FOUR stores, not just the two mentioned in my book, and she shot back an invitation that, next time we were out that way, she would buy us dinner at a great place in a cute part of town.

So when Jack and I realized that our trip to MariaJoseph Books near St. Louis would take us past the infamous Evansville, we let Betsy know.

“Saturday night dinner on us,” she responded. “We’ll show you the good stuff!”

Well, she and her husband Freeman and daughter Sarah showed us Newburgh, which is a little town right next to Evansville, full of quaint shops and cool bistros. And we had a lovely meal of goat cheese and curry and baklava–oh bliss. But we teased her that she’d had to come to the next town over for redemption–whereupon she hauled out a little gift bag and gave us chocolates (mmm, pecans) and lavender soap as well, both made in Evansville.

We had a grand time discussing Sarah’s teen sweet stash exchange with an online pal from Sweden (salted licorice not a hit with Sarah stateside; peanut butter spat out in horror in Sweden) and talking about the chances of survival for printed books and media. (We think they have better chances than peanut butter does in Sweden).

Would that all small towns in America had such staunch defenders as Betsy is to Evansville! Evansville, thou art redeemed–and scented pleasantly with lavender.