Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace by Anne Lamott
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
My first Anne Lamott.
But it is. I loved most of it. I love her brokenness shining forth unapologetically, unabashed vulnerability, and snarky humor. Thus, Anne Lamott is a hit. But I do have to say that I wasn’t sold from the beginning. This particular level of brash and unabashed is a notch above my comfort level, or at least it was, to start. I don’t know how anyone can just throw it all out there quite that unapologetically, with quite that level of vulnerability. With humor. Lots and lots of humor.
The humor, of course, I appreciate with reckless abandon, even if a little dark at times.
After an essay or two, I adapted, and grew to love her honesty: truth, no matter how ugly, right there amidst the navigations of life. She flays open her every thought, throws the switch and trains the floodlights on the darkest parts of her life, her mind, her past, her present. It’s uncomfortable to watch, but I admire the strength. I hope to heaven that she changes the names of the folks she mentions, to protect the innocent and even the loathesome, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she didn’t. Makes me a little glad we don’t know eachother personally.
I can see why you would either love Lamott or hate her, from her writing style, yes, but especially from her political angst. She pulls no punches, and in this polarized world, you will either be on board, or you won’t. I say this even as I realize that I am neither. I am so very on the fence politically, that I could fist pump her angsty pages and punch them with a more sinister fist, both in the same breath. I was a little uncomfortable with her looseness here, but who am I to ask her, a woman who is painfully more honest in her writing than I am, to bottle up this one aspect of herself? Stupid, that’s who.
GW, you might not want to read this one.
After all is said and done, I love that even in her raw state, even when I want to be judgmental towards her, or patronizing, or generally shiny-happy and terrible, she somehow still manages to put me in my place. She turns to God while I look down my nose. And there it is. My judgment turns to humility, without much of my own input, and for that, one of the blessings that flow between her words, I am grateful. That is a skill that God must appreciate.
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