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Book Review of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
danelleb avatar reviewed on + 19 more book reviews
Helpful Score: 1


Oh, be still my heart. Had I any idea how much I'd love Francie Nolan, I would have read this years ago. And then read it over and over again.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn follows the life of Francie Nolan, a girl growing up in Brooklyn at the turn of the century. Like the Dickens book David Copperfield, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn can't be reduced to its plot. It's about too many things without a direct something. It's about poverty, struggling, politics, immigrants, education...just life in general. But, it's also about family, identity, love, loss of innocence and growing up. And we see it all through the eyes of a poor, lonely, extremely observant little girl.

Francie lives in her tennament flat with her realist of a mother, her dreamer of a father, and her younger brother, Neely, the favored child. The Nolan family is a part of the poorest of the poor. Francie learns early what it is to go hungry, how far a penny can go, and that she must get an education. We grow to know Francie's family, which extends to her aunts, neighbors, shopkeepers, teachers and the local kids. The family ties that Smith captures are a part of the reason Francie wants so much to get an education, grow and change, but it's also what keeps her grounded. Like it or not, it's who she is. The book is sad, Francie and Neely's upbringing is bleak, but we do witness some bits of joy and laughter.

The writing isn't flowery. It's easily on level with upper-elementary reads. But there's something about it. Smith is able to draw you in and evoke emotions in her simple and clear prose. Even without an apparent plot, you continue to read on. You wait to see Francie triumph because you know she will. She works hard and she has to give up on some big dreams for some small gains, but she never quits. Like the tree growing out of the grate in Brooklyn, Francie keeps reaching up. And you can't help but love, admire, and see yourself in the story she tells.

The night was heady and frosty. There was no wind and the air was cold and still. The stars were brilliant and hung low in the sky. There were so many stars that their light made the sky a deep cobalt blue. There wasn't a moon but the starlight served better than moonlight.

Francie stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms wide. "Oh I want to hold it all!" she cried. "I want to hold the way the night is - cold without wind. And the way the stars are so near and shiny. I want to hold all of it tight until it hollers out, 'Let me go! Let me go!" p.403

"Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be trughtful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost." p.421