Title & author
Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson
Synopsis
Another Brooklyn is a meditation on girlhood, its ups and downs, the beauty of adolescence and the terror of growth. In under 200 pages, Woodson paints a vibrant, pulsing story of girls intrinsically wound together, yet torturously alone because of societal constructs, expectations, and restrictions.
Who should read this book
Fans of The Bluest Eye and Godshot
What we’re thinking about
Memory as past and present
Trigger warning(s)
Racism, sexism, suicide, substance abuse, death of a parent (off screen)
“We were four girls together, amazingly beautiful and terrifyingly alone. This is memory,” writes Jacqueline Woodson (Amistad, 2016). Another Brooklyn is a meditation on girlhood, its ups and downs, the beauty of adolescence and the terror of growth. In under 200 pages, Woodson paints a vibrant, pulsing story of girls intrinsically wound together, yet torturously alone because of societal constructs, expectations, and restrictions.
When her father moves their family to Brooklyn, August becomes enamored with the trio of girls she sees walking by her apartment window. She longed “to be a part of who they were, to link my own arm with theirs and remain that way. Forever” (Woodson, 19). Their familiarity with one another, ease, and apparent fearlessness draw August in. Yet all the while she remembers what her mom used to tell her: “My mother had not believed in friendships among women. She said women weren’t to be trusted” (19).
Despite her mother’s warnings, August befriends the threesome. And Woodson starts to paint a picture; it’s not the women August must be wary of, but society and the expectations it places on women and what those expectations force women to do. “We came by way of our mother’s memories,” she writes (55). And so Gigi begins to act, Angela to dance, Sylvia and August to become something more than what others expect of Black women. But these impressions from their mothers are not even their own, rather how society shaped them. “I can’t tell anybody but you guys,” Gigi says after she’s sexually assaulted. “My mom will say it was my fault” (58). For generation after generation, society has taught women what to do, what not to do, how to be, and what not to be. “But what about his daughters,” August wonders. “What did God do with his daughters?” (23). August believes there is more—more than feeling alone, more than being cast aside as unworthy, girls being left to stomach their own pain. And although the friend group may try to comfort one another, seeing the “lost and beautiful and hungry” in one another, they always knew “we were being watched” (38, 71).
In the end, memory paints itself as a way out, or perhaps a way forward. “I know now that what is tragic isn’t the moment,” August notes. “It is the memory” (1). Memories are fleeting, and everything we experience becomes memory. August finds comfort in knowing that what she experiences as a child is only temporary. “At some point, we were all headed home,” whether that means to a better place, a different place, or even what comes after life (170). Carving a life for herself beyond what others expected, August pushes against society’s expectations for a young Black girl living in Brooklyn. But throughout the novel are the individuals that help August get there—her therapist, her father, her brother, and yes, her friends. The CDC’s 2023 report on youth mental health found that 30% of girls had seriously considered committing suicide—double the amount of teen boys and up ~60% from 10 years ago. For LGBTQIA+ youth, that 30% jumps to almost 50%. Providing mental health care—medical resources and cultural resources—is critical, as well as educational resources, career resources, food and housing resources, and more. Another Brooklyn suggests what another life might look like, one in which such support, resources, and care are accessible, readily available, and how it is on all of us to help those in our lives make their way.
“And as we stood half circle in the bright school yard, we saw the lost and beautiful and hungry in each of us. We saw home.”
Join in
Contribute your thoughts by using the “Leave a comment” button found underneath the share buttons below. Answer one of these questions, ask your own, respond to others, and more.
What role does memory play in not only August’s past, but present?
Did the depictions of childhood make you think about your own childhood? If so, in what way?
Please note that all comments must be approved by the moderator before posting. We reserve the right to deny offensive or spam-related commentary. And, for the wellbeing of our BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and/or disabled-identifying community members, please respect the personal capacity to address questions on certain topics. We encourage you to search for the answer in a great book or online instead. Thank you!