Breaking Night

I just finished Liz Murray's book Breaking Night, which is my book club's book for February.

Here is a synopsis I got off Amazon:

From runaway to Harvard student, Murray tells an engaging, powerfully motivational story about turning her life around after growing up the neglected child of drug addicts. When Murray was born in 1980, her former beatnik father was in jail for illegally trafficking in prescription painkillers, and her mother, a cokehead since age 13, had just barely missed losing custody of their year-old daughter, Lisa. Murray and her sister grew up in a Bronx apartment that gradually went to seed, living off government programs and whatever was left after the parents indulged their drug binges; Murray writes that drugs were the "wrecking ball" that destroyed her family-- prompting her mother's frequent institutionalization for drug-induced mental illness and leading to her parents inviting in sexual molesters. By age 15, with the help of her best friend Sam and an elusive hustler, Carlos, she took permanently to the streets, relying on friends, sadly, for shelter. With the death of her mother, her runaway world came to an end, and she began her step-by-step plan to attend an alternative high school, which eventually led to a New York Times scholarship and acceptance to Harvard. In this incredible story of true grit, Murray went from feeling like "the world was filled with people who were repulsed by me" to learning to receive the bountiful generosity of strangers who truly cared.

My thoughts:

• Liz was a wonderful narrator that was really adept at staying in the moment and telling her story without moralizing or interpreting meaning. She had the rare ability to tell about her horrible childhood without making it feel like she was throwing herself a pity party.
• It did what a good book should do in that it transported you into another way of life/world. It is DEFINITELY a book I wouldn't let my kids read. (In parts, it was even too graphic for me.) Liz is a great example of how kids and even teenagers shouldn't have to think about or deal with adult problems.
• The teachers at Liz's alternative high school were inspiring. They showed what a difference a teacher can make who tries to really see and hear each student. They showed that a good teacher shouldn't pity their students, but instead have high expectations and hold them accountable to their word. I loved the teacher who called each student that was absent or late.
• Something I would change: I really wanted to hear more about her time at Harvard. Did she struggle to keep up with the other students? I think a good work ethic can only get you so far. Could she really excel when she didn't even know where Europe was two years before she entered college?
• I loved that I felt like I was a good mom after reading this book, or at least a long ways off from being the worst mom ever. I also was reminded of the fact that just like food and shelter it is one of a child's basic needs to feel loved and important. .
• Other random tidbits that stuck with me: the description of the bathtub in her parents' apartment, mayonnaise sandwiches, the fact that she kept her mother's NA coin and a picture of her when she was younger (a tangible symbol that she chose to focus on and preserve the good parts of her mother), and birthday cards picked out from the sympathy card section

Favorite Quotes:

• She shot up to feel better, to escape, but somehow the drugs always returned her to the trouble, as though it might be happening to her all over again, right there in our living room.
• Homelessness was becoming more difficult, and I think we all could feel it, how the strain of not having your most basic needs met can drive you a little crazy. Hunger wears on your nerves; nervousness wears on your energy; malnutrition and stress just plain wear on you.
• For the first time, I was making my daily life fit into a bigger purpose: climbing out of the place I'd been born into. That was my edge.
• One thing that helped was a picture I kept in mind, this image that I used over and over whenever I was faced with these daily choices. I pictured a runner running on a racetrack. The racetrack was a reddish orange, divided in white racing stripes to flag the runners' columns. Only the runner in my mental image did not run alongside others; she ran solo, with no one watching her. And she did not run a free and clear track, she ran one that required her to jump numerous hurdles, which made her break into a heavy sweat under the sun. I used this image every time I thought of things that frustrated me: the heavy books, my crazy sleep schedule, the question of where I would sleep and what I would eat. To overcome these issues I pictured my runner bolting down the track, jumping hurdles toward the finish line. Hunger, hurdle. Finding sleep, hurdle, schoolwork, hurdle. If I closed my eyes I could see the runner's back, the movement of her sinewy muscles, glistening with sweat, bounding over the hurdles, one by one. On mornings when I did not want to get out of bed, I saw another hurdle to leap over. This way, obstacles became a natural part of the course, an indication that I was right where I needed to be, running the track, which was entirely different from letting obstacles make me believe I was off it."
• "I'm Teressa. Terry...First of all, I want to apologize to you," she said, standing on the sidewalk on Nineteenth Street. I was confused; I had never laid eyes on her before. She continued, "I've had the article about you on my fridge for weeks. Since I didn't have any money to help you out, I thought I couldn't do anything for you at all. And then last night, I was doing my daughter's laundry, and I thought, how silly of me, maybe you had laundry I could do for you. I mean, your parents, someone, should be helping you with these things while you'r busy with school." I stared at her in disbelief. She asked again, "Well, do you? Do you have some laundry?" Once a week, every week, she stopped by the school in her silver minivan and picked up and dropped off my clean, folded clothing, true to her word. She even added a bag of cookies most weeks. "I can't do much, Liz, but I know I can do that," she said. So while I was studying for my eleven classes, Teressa--Terry--did my laundry.
• Years later, I've often reflected on how blessed I was to have no real understanding of how difficult that day was supposed to be. Had I known how difficult it was supposed to be to interview with Harvard or The New York Times; had anyone told me that those were hard, nearly impossible, things to do, then I may have never done them. But I didn't know enough about the world to analyze the likelihood of my success; I had only the commitment to actually show up and do it. In the years ahead of me, I learned that the world is actually filled with people ready to tell you how likely something is, and what it means to be realistic. But what I have also learned is that no one, no one truly knows what is possible until they go and do it.

Overall: Not my favorite book. I don't think I would ever read it again. It didn't turn out to be an inspiring feel good book like I expected. It was wonderful written and interesting, but it was filled with subjects and topics that I really don't want to spend my spare time dwelling on. It also really frustrates me when people waste their lives away. Even though, I can better understand their perceived lack of options after reading this book; I think Liz serves as an example that everyone does have choices. It was a good book club choice though because it encourage me to read a book that I otherwise wouldn't have read.