The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

For Christmas, I told my brother that he could simply get me books as a gift. One of them was The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. I was especially excited because I love memoirs. I’d heard of it before but never read it in high school or college, and I’m glad I waited—reading it now, with a more fully developed perspective, allowed me to better understand and appreciate the story’s complexity.

I loveeeeeed it. The writing style is simple yet incredibly effective; with its short chapters and clean prose, I moved through it quickly during my five-hour flight from Japan to Manila! The storytelling is strong, and what I appreciate most about memoirs like The Glass Castle is how they read like fiction. It follows a clear narrative arc, almost a fairytale version of how Walls experienced her childhood, and, as she grows older in the story, you can feel the distinct shift as that fairytale belief begins to unravel.

I loved being able, as a reader, to see her parents and upbringing through her younger perspective, the magical whimsy she layered over tense or troubling situations, and the rose-colored glasses she wore simply because she loved her family. She didn’t care much if her parents didn’t put food on the table, or whether they didn’t celebrate holidays, or if their living conditions declined. Love from her parents was enough. As children, we’re taught that our parents are our home, but Jeannette’s parents refused to take care of themselves. In turn, this forced their children to grow up too quickly, become fiercely independent to a fault, and confront adult situations head-on while still in elementary school.

With four kids constantly traveling from one place to another, there was no sense of stability, and even when stability briefly existed, her parents remained irresponsible. Reading this made me feel a range of emotions, including frustration and confusion.

My frustration stemmed squarely from the parents, particularly moments like when Jeannette’s eccentric, artist mother convinced her that keeping a whole ham on the kitchen shelf was better than using the refrigerator to avoid a hefty electricity bill. As the ham spoiled and maggots spilled out of it, she still told her daughter to eat it. Or when her alcoholic father began drawing up plans for the Glass Castle and even started digging the foundation, only to give up halfway through and use the gaping pit next to their house as a garbage dump, where trash piled up over time.

Creating distance between yourself and your family is much easier said than done, and I found it interesting how Jeannette speaks about her family later in life in a way that doesn’t come from bitterness

My confusion came from a simple question: why have children if you are unwilling to take care of them? Even in the book, Jeannette notes that other poor parents in their neighborhood still managed to care for their kids, they found a way. Granted, no parent is perfect and no two families are the same, but their mother’s open abhorrence of domesticity and rejection of the responsibility of raising a family feels absurd when you have four children.

This, of course, isn’t solely their mother’s fault. Both parents, mother and father, demonstrate, in different ways, that they are highly intelligent individuals in their own right, which only strengthens my confusion. Despite this, they consistently make careless decisions for their family and for themselves, seemingly choosing a life of chaos. Neither of them is able to hold down a job, often for selfish reasons, and their choices repeatedly place their children in harm’s way.

Reading this also made me think about how many women, once they have families, are expected to push their own dreams aside in sacrifice for their children’s upbringing—a reality I find unfair. Mothers should be allowed to have lives, hopes, and aspirations outside of motherhood. However, in Jeannette’s case, that balance seemed impossible due to her father’s lack of support for their mother, his alcoholism, and his reckless abandonment. Both parents were struggling with mental health issues and addiction, and it shouldn’t have fallen solely on the mother to raise the children. I don’t want to overly criticize her parents, but their choices made it very difficult for me to understand, or empathize with, the reasoning behind the decisions they made.

She taught me how powerful it is to confront the truth, and that family will never be an easy aspect of life—if it is for you, it’s something not to take for granted.

Despite everything their parents put them through, Jeannette and her siblings did learn a great deal from them, including a love of reading, art, adventure, self-reliance, and compassion. This stood out to me in particular. Even as Jeannette grows older, she maintains contact with her parents after leaving to pursue her education and, eventually, her career. Meanwhile, her parents continue living without a plan or any permanent place to settle. Creating distance between yourself and your family is much easier said than done, and I found it interesting how Jeannette speaks about her family later in life in a way that doesn’t come from bitterness. Instead, her perspective feels like an acknowledgment that, yes, what happened was bad, but it shaped her into the fierce, independent person she is today, and that is inspiring.

This book showed me that our childhood experiences profoundly shape who we become—duh—but it’s really about moving past those experiences and transforming trauma and pain into something meaningful. For Jeannette, that outlet became journalism and writing. Her traumas never became a burden she placed on others; instead, she came to terms with the truth of who her parents were and what had happened to her family all those years. She taught me how powerful it is to confront the truth, and that family will never be an easy aspect of life—if it is for you, it’s something not to take for granted.