Elizabeth T. (e-luminate) reviewed Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found on + 7 more book reviews
Helpful Score: 2
What a disappointment, my entire book club thought so. Would have served well as an article. You could tell she had a hard time filling the pages. Came across selfish, whining. Surprised it got published. Avoid if possible, chose something else instead. Only finished it for the book club.
It started when Cain slew his brother Abel. Ever since these Biblical brothers duked it out, siblings throughout the ages have been at war with each other. Of course, not every sibling relationship is one of rivalry. There are countless siblings who are hand-in-glove simpatico. Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found by Marie Brenner, however, is not a symbiotic sibling love letter, but rather a detente treaty.
"Apples and oranges" is how their mother described them. On the surface, this assessment seems apt. Carl was a green tea sipping, gun-toting, right-wing, Texan apple farmer. Marie, in comparison, is a Starbucks quaffing, New Yorker who writes for Vanity Fair and other elite publications. As she states, "Our relationship is like a tangled fishing line. We are defined by each other and against each other, a red state and a blue state, yin and yang." For decades this was the state of their relationship: deep love buried underneath a surface of anger, misunderstandings, and harsh words. However, when Carl is diagnosed with terminal cancer Marie rushes to his side to try and save him and their relationship.
Apples and Oranges is clearly written through Marie's prism. This partly inevitable as she is the author and partly due to Carl's meticulous eradication of his notes and letters. At certain points in the memoir I questioned Marie's assessment of her brother. For example, when Carl sought "'a hard-working individual'" to manage his apple farm, Marie characterized "the ad [as having] . . . the social skills of a blowtorch." Some readers, however, might simply describe Carl's ad as plain-spoken. Still Marie does not spare herself in this memoir and is candid about her own shortcomings.
The memoir is strongest when the relationship between Carl and Marie is front and center. The parallel story of the Brenner family history, while notable and worthy of its own tome, was often distracting. Similarly, the passages concerning the history of apples in America did not move the primary story forward, except to demonstrate Marie's devotion to finding a common ground with her brother.
When the spotlight shines on Marie and Carl's relationship, Apples and Oranges is a compelling read. Few memoirs are as authentic as the passage below:
I love you more than anyone . . . . You are my brother. We are Brenners. Team Carl.
There is no epiphany. There are no final words.
Don't leave me, he says. Tears run down his cheeks. I am sorry for everything.
Apples and Oranges is a lot like real life: messy, complicated, and worth savoring every second.
"Apples and oranges" is how their mother described them. On the surface, this assessment seems apt. Carl was a green tea sipping, gun-toting, right-wing, Texan apple farmer. Marie, in comparison, is a Starbucks quaffing, New Yorker who writes for Vanity Fair and other elite publications. As she states, "Our relationship is like a tangled fishing line. We are defined by each other and against each other, a red state and a blue state, yin and yang." For decades this was the state of their relationship: deep love buried underneath a surface of anger, misunderstandings, and harsh words. However, when Carl is diagnosed with terminal cancer Marie rushes to his side to try and save him and their relationship.
Apples and Oranges is clearly written through Marie's prism. This partly inevitable as she is the author and partly due to Carl's meticulous eradication of his notes and letters. At certain points in the memoir I questioned Marie's assessment of her brother. For example, when Carl sought "'a hard-working individual'" to manage his apple farm, Marie characterized "the ad [as having] . . . the social skills of a blowtorch." Some readers, however, might simply describe Carl's ad as plain-spoken. Still Marie does not spare herself in this memoir and is candid about her own shortcomings.
The memoir is strongest when the relationship between Carl and Marie is front and center. The parallel story of the Brenner family history, while notable and worthy of its own tome, was often distracting. Similarly, the passages concerning the history of apples in America did not move the primary story forward, except to demonstrate Marie's devotion to finding a common ground with her brother.
When the spotlight shines on Marie and Carl's relationship, Apples and Oranges is a compelling read. Few memoirs are as authentic as the passage below:
I love you more than anyone . . . . You are my brother. We are Brenners. Team Carl.
There is no epiphany. There are no final words.
Don't leave me, he says. Tears run down his cheeks. I am sorry for everything.
Apples and Oranges is a lot like real life: messy, complicated, and worth savoring every second.
