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Book Summary InformationAuthor: Barbara Robinette Moss Edition: Hardcover Audio: English (Unknown); English (Original Language); English (Published) Published: 2000-09-12 ISBN: 074320218X Number of pages: 320 Publisher: Scribner
Book Reviews of Change Me into Zeus's DaughterBook Review: And you thought your parents were bad... Summary: 3 Stars
After reading this, you will stop thinking that your parents did a crappy job. This is one of those stories that if it were made into a movie would be criticized as being too exaggerated. Barbara Robinette Moss was born the fourth in a family of nine children. The book opens with Moss' mother eating beans and corn that were intended for planting. This was the only thing to eat in the house, so she scrubbed off the fungicide covering each bean and kernel as best she could, ate them and made the children wait two hours to see if the food was safe. This sets the tone for the rest of the book.
Unlike Angela's Ashes, there is no humor seeping through the pages. Unlike Bastard Out of Carolina (which is not a memoir per se, but autobiographical enough), the writing is quite choppy and there are many loose ends, especially towards the end. But it has such brutality that of course it will appeal to your voyeuristic side.
Much of the narration is centered about Moss' ugliness. I wish she had included a photo of herself in those days. There is the photo on the front cover (her sister Alice looks like John Kerry), where she looks quite normal. I really wanted to see a before-and-after photo. Then there is a very blurry photo of her father, and a photo of her mother. This one is very telling. The mother, Dorris, who in the book at times only wears one "r", was an educated woman. She went to college and studied music, recorded some albums, loved to sing and to recite poetry. She did not fit in the kind of life or the kind of marriage that she chose. The father, S.K., came from an Irish family that arrived in the US at the time of the potato famine. He was a mean drunk in a family of mean drunks, as you will read later in the book. With family like that, no one needs enemies Dorris was so blinded by her dependency to this sorry excuse for a man that she pretty much became a passive spectator and did little to improve the life of her children. At some point, in her mid-fifties, she divorced him, but because she discovered he was sleeping around. Moss fumed: the fact that he was unfaithful was more deserving of a divorce than the fact that he had beaten the children whenever he wanted to, left them hungry, returned their Christmas gifts to the store to get booze money, brought drunks into the house that sexually abused their daughters, did not take a very sick Moss to the doctor when she contracted strep that developed into rheumatic fever, etc, etc. As bad as it was for him to be an alcoholic, equally bad was for the mother to be so cold and passive. It was sad to read about how the children loved their parents, no matter how horrible they were. The epitome of this love came during the father's funeral, when some of them did not want to talk about the "bad" stuff, and were willing to excuse their dad's behavior. "He did the best he could", one of them said. This to me is heart-wrenching.
After reading this, who could be against Planned Parenthood? Nine children these two awful parents had. Animals treat their young ones a million times better. You have to wonder if the baby who died at birth (or not) ended up being the luckiest one of the bunch.
Finally, to set the record straight, Zeus was the father of Aphrodite. Jupiter was the father of Venus. Moss mixed Greek and Roman mythology.
Moss has written a follow-up to this memoir, called Fierce, centered about her adult life. I hope in that one she expands on the aftermath of her many brothers and sisters, and her son, and especially her mother. Did she ever apologize?
Summary of Change Me into Zeus's DaughterA haunting and triumphant story of a difficult and keenly felt life, "Change Me into Zeus's Daughter" is a remarkable literary memoir of resilience, redemption, and growing up in the South. Barbara Robinette Moss was the fourth in a family of eight children raised in the red-clay hills of Alabama. Their wild-eyed, alcoholic father was a charismatic and irrationally proud man who, when sober, captured his children's timid awe, but when (more often) drunk, roused them from bed for severe punishment or bizarre all-night poker games. Their mother was their angel: erudite and stalwart -- her only sin her inability to leave her husband for the sake of the children. Unlike the rest of her family, Barbara bore the scars of this abuse and neglect on the outside as well as the inside. As a result of childhood malnutrition and a complete lack of medical and dental care, the bones in her face grew abnormally ("like a thin pine tree"), and she ended up with what she calls "a twisted, mummy face." Barbara's memoir brings us deep into not only the world of Southern poverty and alcoholic child abuse but also the consciousness of one who is physically frail and awkward, relating how one girl's debilitating sense of her own physical appearance is ultimately saved by her faith in the transformative powers of artistic beauty: painting and writing. From early on and with little encouragement from the world, Barbara embodied the fiery determination to change her fate and achieve a life defined by beauty. At age seven, she announced to the world that she would become an artist -- and so she did. Nightly, she prayed to become attractive, to be changed into "Zeus's daughter," the goddess of beauty, and when her prayers weren't answered, she did it herself, raising the money for years of braces followed by facial surgery. Growing up "so ugly," she felt the family's disgrace all the more acutely, but the result has been a keenly developed appreciation for beauty -- physical and artistic -- the evidence of which can be seen in her writing. Despite the deprivation, the lingering image from this memoir is not of self-pity but of the incredible bond between these eight siblings: the raucous, childish fun they had together, the making-do, and the total devotion to their desperate mother, who absorbed most of the father's blows for them and who plied them with art and poetry in place of balanced meals. Gracefully and intelligently woven in layers of flashback, the persistent strength of Barbara Moss's memoir is itself a testament to the nearly lifesaving appreciation for literature that was her mother's greatest gift to her children. In the tradition of Bastard Out of Carolina and Angela's Ashes, Change Me into Zeus's Daughter chronicles a child's coming of age in an abusive and dirt-poor environment. With the gripping narrative drive of both of those bestselling books, Barbara Robinette Moss's candid yet lyrical account takes hold of our hearts and doesn't let go until the final page. Her story juxtaposes heart-rending adversity with the playful chaos of eight siblings growing up in the 1960s South, with its creeping kudzu and soybean fields, its forthright and sometimes peculiar inhabitants, and its boiling racial tensions. The hardships related here are both familiar and unique: the Christmas presents exchanged for drink money, the failed businesses, the decrepit shacks that served as temporary homes, the disturbing early-morning discipline. Under the tyrannical rule of a father who "inflicted pain recreationally, both physical and emotional," the only bright spot in Moss's childhood was her mother, Dorris. Slavishly devoted to her husband ("she seemed to crave him as much as he craved alcohol"), Dorris held the family together by absorbing most of the abuse. But in the end she lacked the courage to leave him, and her children had to act as their own protectors. As if poverty and her father's mistreatment weren't enough of a burden, Moss also had to contend with a face disfigured by malnutrition. As a result, she sought refuge in whatever elusive beauty she could find: the poetry her mother taught as a substitute for material things; the fertile, red Alabama soil; the love of her baby sister Janet. Her urge to create beauty and her longing to embody it culminate in surgery that transforms her face but brings with it a crisis of identity. In her outpouring of memories, Moss occasionally gets lost in her tale, embedding flashback within flashback. More problematic is the portrayal of her father: he's relentlessly cruel until a near-fatal beating, after which he begins to briefly connect with his children. For us, it's too late, and we can only react to his death with a sigh of relief. But these minor quibbles are just that. Moss's extraordinary memoir enthralls us from its alarming introduction--in which Dorris feeds her starving children a meal of potentially poisonous seeds--to its poignant conclusion. --Lisa Costantino
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