Missing men

Joyce Johnson’s classic memoir of growing up female in the 1950s, Minor Characters, was one of the initiators of an important new genre: the personal story of a minor player on history’s stage. In Missing Men, a memoir that tells her mother’s story as well as her own, Johnson constructs an equally unique self-portrait as she examines, from a woman’s perspective, the far-reaching reverberations of fatherlessness. Telling a story that has "shaped itself around absences," Missing Men presents us with the arc and flavor of a unique New York life—from the author’s adventures as a Broadway stage child to her fateful encounters with the two fatherless artists she marries. Joyce Johnson’s voice has never been more compelling.PrefaceI once had a husband who started obsessively painting squares—three squares in shifting relationships to each other on what appeared flat ground, colored emptiness. He explained to me that the negative space in his work was as important as the positive, that each took its form from the other. What interested him most was the tension between them. I remember being fascinated by his concept of negative space, though negative seemed the wrong word for something that had so much presence. I was still young then, too young to look at my history and see how my life has shaped itself around absences—first by happenstance; ultimately, perhaps, by choice.oneSamuel Rosenberg’s DaughtersToward the end of her life, when I thought my mother’s defenses were finally down, I asked whether she remembered her father’s death, which occurred when she was five years old. “Oh, yes,” she replied brightly. “He was in a trolley car accident, and we never got the insurance.” Then she looked at me with the glimmer of a crafty smile. “You’ve asked me too late. I’ve forgotten everything.”She had never spoken of what it was like to grow up without a father. In fact, she seemed to lack a recollected girlhood, except for one memory she was willing to call up: the Victory Garden she’d tended during World War I, when her family was living near Bronx Park. Her garden was at the top of a long hill. When she was in her nineties, her mind kept wandering back to that sunlit patch of earth, and she would marvel over and over that the carrots she grew there were the sweetest she’d ever tasted. Otherwise, except for her singing, which had pre-dated my arrival into the world, it was as if my mother’s life and memories had begun with me.“I have a trained voice,” I’d sometimes hea

שנה

2005

שפה

English

הוצאה

Penguin (Non-Classics)

מהדורות

3

עמודים

288

ISBN

9780143035237

מקור הנתונים: Wikidata