Reviewed by Clarissa West-White
Bearing Witness: Not so crazy in Alabama is the creative and adventurous tale of a straightforward, shoot-from-the-hip kind of gal’s inner journey that places her at odds with her Northernesque – i.e. Harlem – rearing and her rejuvenating, albeit brief stint in Montgomery, Alabama. The memoir is a collection of loosely related stories that reveal the interconnectedness of everyday life – among strangers, colleagues, business associates, the common wo/man on the street – and how in learning and appreciating others we learn more about ourselves – the good, the bad and the dreadful. It is through these encounters that readers unearth the speaker’s notions of Southernisms.
“…portraits painted by the media which are wrought with mythology about backwoods redneck bubbas and long-suffering noble negroes [are] too simplistic a picture for too complex a people… people…whom I might have once categorized as “undesirables” … have taught my overeducated ass a thing or two” (1, 61).
Even though the speaker has admittedly maintained less than stellar thoughts regarding Montgomery stemming from her occasional summer visits as a child, as time ticks, the usual happens – what was once thought contemptuous becomes delightful, an annoyance a quaint quirk. Yet, Montgomery lulls the speaker into submission and she finds resolve in things and places that once conjured negative, damaging images, “The stays were awkward because I felt conscious of my outsider status. Those visits seemed oppressively long, filled with what my young mind thought to be strange people who had a penchant for asking strange questions…” (1). Therefore, the South is a force that comes to stand for more than humiliation, degradation and unspent hostility.
At the novel’s start the writer informs readers of a number of facts: She is a least 27 years old, 5’ 4”, her tenure in Montgomery lasts five years, the writing process is not easy for her, and like many her age she is still in search of her purpose, her calling. Although she has an MFA in television production and has worked in low-level positions in LA production houses, and as a radio talk show host among what appears an endless string of occupations, she can’t afford decent transportation and must place her dream of becoming the next Spike Lee on hold. And so her escapade begins. Stranded and penniless she returns home to Alabama to “the heat. The bugs. The bugs. The heat” (8) and is ashamed to reluctantly admit that she must do like so many before who felt they couldn’t do anything else… “I had no choice but to get a teaching job” (43).
Thompson continues to entice readers with memories that conjure past hurt – a sometime painful mother-daughter relationship, stories of survival from students and women prisoners, the bitterness of being unfairly compared to your fairer skinned cousins – and side splitting humor – the straightening of her hair, southern religious experiences, and the dreaded visits from her southern relatives. In her efforts to convince readers that Southerners are like everyone else, or even above, “the only times I was ever called a “nigger”… was never in the South” (26). It is thus difficult to overlook the stereotype that the writer puts forth about West Indians when describing a friend, “She has so many jobs, she would put a Jamaican to shame” (87, 109). The irony is not lost. Clearly, no malice is intended, but couldn’t the same be said of well intentioned Northerners (and Westerners) who maintain that the South is a curious place due to believed but unobserved facts regarding the lifestyle, mannerisms, and speech of those who live there?
She is also capable of depicting Montgomery as a southern town with a twist. It possesses like places, things and people, but they are all still very different. This becomes apparent in her search for a place to worship, “It was a black Catholic church complete with a Kwanzaa ceremony, gospel choir, and liturgical dancers…. I like my Catholicism served straight up, no fancy stuff. I like my masses to begin on time and end in an hour” (130). Likewise, her mother’s waxing nostalgia of the South complete with Rockwellian images leads to protest, “I guess old Jim Crow was just a mere annoyance, like a piece of lint on an angora sweater” (30).
Although, probably not the writer’s fault, there appear numerous typos within the text, and because she is admittedly attempting to summarize past conversations, there are places in the text where you feel uncomfortably outside the happenings occurring within. Since the sequence and placement of some of the conversations appear tenuous at best, the reader is compelled to search for a discernable timeline. The text thus starts slowly; grabbing readers only as the conversations establish a life of their own. Yet, despite these observations, Thompson was able to weave the tales of sometimes tragic lives into an easy, quick and humorous page turner that beckons readers to take interest in the lives of people they wouldn’t normally think twice about – a receptionist, a random woman at a gym, a non descript office worker. The reader begins to mimic Thompson’s preoccupation with those she meets, the lives she has crossed and the impact felt. As she recalls a bumper sticker stating, “Never Doubt the Path You have Chosen” the text serves as a roadmap for self actualization and its lesson could easily be Never Doubt the Path that has Chosen YOU!