In a random coincidence of events, this was an ALC from libro.fm not long ago that I went for, because it looked interesting. And then, as I was browsing a used bookstore not a few weeks later, there it was, on the shelf! That seemed like a sign from the universe that I should read it. So, I bought it, and here I am. 

 

The Mango Tree is a memoir of, as the subtitle indicates, of fruit, Florida, and a felony. Though, while the book opens and closes with the felony aspect, the majority of it really is about the author's life in Florida, growing up as the daughter of a Filipina mother - an immigrant to the US as a young adult - and (for nine years) a white father who was a bit of an uneven presence in her life. And, of course, the fruit: her mentally unwell mother's pride and passion, as a connection to a homeland she left behind. Tometich was moved to write this memoir after receiving a call that her mother was in jail, for shooting at someone (with a BB gun), who was trying to steal mangoes off her prized mango tree (which, incidentally, was located on the front lawn of her yard...private property). In this book, Tometich walks the reader though how we got to that moment, starting with her parent's histories and families, spending quite a bit of time reflecting and remembering her own tumultuous childhood alongside her younger siblings (including trips to visit family in the Philippines and her mother's attempts over the years to bring her family to join them in the US), and then transitions quickly through her college and young adult years (as she is able to leave her childhood home and find her way to becoming her own person, free of her mother's volatility) and finishing with a sort of full circle moment, as her mother completes her probation and Tometich is able to visit the Philippines with her again, this time with her own children. 

 

This ended up being a really interesting memoir, for me. Tometich's writing is clear, precise, and so personable. I just felt really comfortable, almost like she was telling me the stories herself, in conversation, as I was reading. In particular, the way she writes the “normal”/nothing special things of growing up (universal experiences of family deaths, intra-family dramas, new homes and making friends and school, cultural traditions…and even the, hopefully less universal but probably more common than we’d like ones, like domestic abuse, child neglect-abuse and racist grandparents) and makes it fascinating to see the inner workings. The way that each family is the same and unique simultaneously is communicated so well in this memoir. Relatedly, her view of herself as a “nothing” person/family, and still finding in that a story worth telling/sharing in this way, is unexpectedly inspiring.     

 

I was really impressed with the detailed level of the memories Tometich retains from childhood. They are so coherent and authentic in the small things and snagged/replay aspects, like number significance and counting and syllables. I am always so curious about how memory works like that, because I think that if I were to try to remember that much specificity from my own childhood, I wouldn't be able to. It makes me feel like I've lost so much. But I appreciate being able to experience others' details in this way. 

 

A major theme, throughout, was the progression of Tometich's mother's mental health spirals, from when she and her siblings were too young to get her help through their whole lives, as she remains  unready to accept or be open to any hlep they could give. It's a difficult cycle to watch, as their relationship/communication ebbs and flows along with her mother's mental health. In the final sections of the memoir, Tometich gets much more reflective and philosophical. This affects the pacing, as far as skipping chunks of "not as relevant" time passing, as opposed to the more basic memory sharing/story telling of the earlier sections, which set up all the background experiences we need to know, in order to understand the coming of age realizations. And it also plays out in those coming of age realizations themselves. Specifically, we watch Tometich looking back as an adult, recognizing and acknowledging the cyclical patterns of trauma/violence and abuse/temper/family roles and responsibilities, that she (and her mother before her) had lived through. It was a thoughtful circling back within a well-developed framework. 

 

In fact, the entire transformation Tometich goes on as she "grows up," and chooses to share with the reader, is a lovely literary lexical and introspective journey. From her beginnings as a "nobody" and growth into "somebody" (not alone, following her own goals), and further her transition into anybody and everybody (as the anonymous restaurant critic) was striking. It really hits, in a very relatable and yet fully individual, way. And alongside her evolution of views on "normality," makes for a very striking memoir.  

 

 

“We siblings are not three points on a line. We are three far-flung points in a giant triangle. If you squish the situation just right, sometimes two of us will come together. But getting all three of us aligned has proved impossible.” 

 

“They made me realize the fallacy of normality. That abnormal is the norm, and it's something to be treasured. Our abnormalities don't have to define us, but they do shape us. They rough up our edges and give us texture.” 

 

“As a kid raising kids, is it your fault if they fuck up? [...] How do you stop these cycles from repeating?” 

 

“…maybe it’s that we as daughters, as children, tend to flatten our parents, compressing them into the characters we need them to be. We reduce them to the sidekicks, the villains, the kooky court jesters of our life stories. In some cases, we do this because we have to. Because parents are capable of serious soul-crushing harm, and we must minimize that to survive. But in doing so, we forget they have life stories of their own. They have reasons for their actions. Not always justifiable ones, but ones that should at least be considered.” 

 

“Perhaps the US brings out the worst in my mom because that’s the only way she knows how to be taken seriously in this country.” 

 

“I’ve been so afraid of becoming my mother, I’ve failed to recognize  her many strengths.”