I did! I finished I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou.
So, I was whelmed. I had the same feeling as I did when I read Obasan. I don’t think one is supposed to like these books. I don’t think one is supposed to gain enjoyment from them. I think one is supposed to read them as bearing witness. Still, both are a bit joyless and bleak and probably full of symbolism that I never pick up on because I almost never pick up on symbolism. There was a distance from the narrative too that made everything seem faded rather than vibrant – like compared to another Southern memoir Bastard out of Carolina.
I don’t have any deep well of feelings towards this book. I read it. It passed the time. Now I can nod when people talk about it. Maybe I’d find Angelou’s poetry is more intense and memorable, since I think that this book is just going to fade out that I read it.
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I would have to agree.
I read this book several years ago…& now I recall nothing about it at all.
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That’s sort of how I feel – There are far more memorable and compelling memoirs and/or fiction around that don’t get the same love as I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings does. But you never really know what’s going to stay popular I guess.