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sarahanne8382's review
3.0
This was a nice change of pace read for me. A writer who now splits her time between California and France, reflects on her Midwestern childhood and that of her ancestors when a French friend claims that Americans don't care about their family histories.
As a proud midwesterner, I'm not sure why I wanted to read a book by someone who fled the Midwest as soon as she could, and if I were in a different mood I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it much, but I'm a closet genealogist and it was fun to hear about the author's pioneer ancestors and discover that at least branches of her family cared about preserving their history. And after buttering me up with stories of New England and Midwestern settlers' trials of living in log cabins, I was actually interested in hearing the author's story of finding her way in the world on the cusp of the Women's Lib movement.
I also appreciated the way she talked about place as a way of coming into yourself. While I didn't have to move across country and then across the ocean to come to myself, I did leave behind my small-town roots for the outskirts of a big city and couldn't believe how much more comfortable it made me feel in my own skin. So while I can't fathom her borderline ex-pat status, I do understand the need to move away from the place you grew up (even if your childhood was perfectly pleasant) in order to fully come into your adult self.
Kind of a strange little book, half genealogy, half memoir, but something a little different and not too taxing.
As a proud midwesterner, I'm not sure why I wanted to read a book by someone who fled the Midwest as soon as she could, and if I were in a different mood I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it much, but I'm a closet genealogist and it was fun to hear about the author's pioneer ancestors and discover that at least branches of her family cared about preserving their history. And after buttering me up with stories of New England and Midwestern settlers' trials of living in log cabins, I was actually interested in hearing the author's story of finding her way in the world on the cusp of the Women's Lib movement.
I also appreciated the way she talked about place as a way of coming into yourself. While I didn't have to move across country and then across the ocean to come to myself, I did leave behind my small-town roots for the outskirts of a big city and couldn't believe how much more comfortable it made me feel in my own skin. So while I can't fathom her borderline ex-pat status, I do understand the need to move away from the place you grew up (even if your childhood was perfectly pleasant) in order to fully come into your adult self.
Kind of a strange little book, half genealogy, half memoir, but something a little different and not too taxing.
maevejreilly's review
3.0
Diane Johnson grew up in Moline, I’ll., and I heard my favorite book podcasters, the hosts of Backlisted, rave about another of her books called “the First Mrs. Meredith.” I’ve been unsuccessful in tracking it down, but I really hope it’s better than this book. There are some interesting pieces here, like when she works with Stanley Kubrick on the script for The Shining, and when she leaves her first husband and takes her 4 kids and sullen teenage nanny to England to work on the book about Mrs. Meredith, but other than that I found little of interest in this memoir. Though it is interesting to know that one of Charles Dickens’ sons died in Moline and is buried there.
lisa_mc's review against another edition
1.0
While the concept of urban vs. rural is nothing new, the concept of "flyover" is fairly recent -- the U.S. first saw nonstop transcontinental commercial flights in the 1950s, and the word itself is documented only in the past 30 years. Initially a dismissive, if not disparaging, term, "flyover" has been taken back (to some extent) by those of us in the states whose wide blue skies are crisscrossed by contrails.
But readers expecting insights into modern Middle America will not be getting them from Diane Johnson's "Flyover Lives." This choppy, inaptly titled memoir provides some interesting stories, but never really comes together.
The book opens in France, where Johnson is visiting some bigwigs at a summer house and the discussion turns to history and the awareness -- or lack thereof -- of the French and the Americans of their own history. Then comes a short section about Johnson’s largely happy, largely middle-class upbringing in Moline, Ill.
From there, she delves into the past, to her ancestors who first came to the Midwest from the area around the U.S.-Canada border. This section, about half the book, is by far the most interesting part of the book, as it draws heavily on old family letters and diaries that detail everyday life in the 19th century, both in the Northeast and in the Midwest. The narration flows well and the stories spring to life (and will make many readers grateful for such modern conveniences as plumbing, telephones and doctors).
But then we’re back to Johnson’s life, jumping from Illinois to California to England to France and back and forth. The writing itself is artful and evocative throughout -- unsurprising from a Pulitzer Prize- and National Book Award-nominated author -- but the book seems more like a loose collection of essays than a unified whole.
And the “Flyover Lives” of the title never materialize. Johnson’s ancestors -- and her own childhood -- predate “flyover” by decades. By Johnson’s own admission, she couldn’t get away soon enough: she left Moline as a young woman and didn’t return for 50 years. This lends an air of condescension to many of her observations, as if we’re all still unsophisticated, uncultured rubes: “In my childhood, people … had long since left off wondering about what went on the world outside; maybe this is still a midwestern mind-set, and, paradoxically, the greater urbanity offered by television now may have increased the impression that the outside world is a deplorable mass of tear gas and bombs.”
It may have seemed that way when she was a child in the 1930s and ’40s, but we’ve moved forward since then. We may be the ones the politicians talk about when they talk about “real America,” but we don’t fit neatly into any one box: we are rural and urban, multiracial and multiethnic, with widely varying interests and professions, no more or less “American” than any other American.
But readers expecting insights into modern Middle America will not be getting them from Diane Johnson's "Flyover Lives." This choppy, inaptly titled memoir provides some interesting stories, but never really comes together.
The book opens in France, where Johnson is visiting some bigwigs at a summer house and the discussion turns to history and the awareness -- or lack thereof -- of the French and the Americans of their own history. Then comes a short section about Johnson’s largely happy, largely middle-class upbringing in Moline, Ill.
From there, she delves into the past, to her ancestors who first came to the Midwest from the area around the U.S.-Canada border. This section, about half the book, is by far the most interesting part of the book, as it draws heavily on old family letters and diaries that detail everyday life in the 19th century, both in the Northeast and in the Midwest. The narration flows well and the stories spring to life (and will make many readers grateful for such modern conveniences as plumbing, telephones and doctors).
But then we’re back to Johnson’s life, jumping from Illinois to California to England to France and back and forth. The writing itself is artful and evocative throughout -- unsurprising from a Pulitzer Prize- and National Book Award-nominated author -- but the book seems more like a loose collection of essays than a unified whole.
And the “Flyover Lives” of the title never materialize. Johnson’s ancestors -- and her own childhood -- predate “flyover” by decades. By Johnson’s own admission, she couldn’t get away soon enough: she left Moline as a young woman and didn’t return for 50 years. This lends an air of condescension to many of her observations, as if we’re all still unsophisticated, uncultured rubes: “In my childhood, people … had long since left off wondering about what went on the world outside; maybe this is still a midwestern mind-set, and, paradoxically, the greater urbanity offered by television now may have increased the impression that the outside world is a deplorable mass of tear gas and bombs.”
It may have seemed that way when she was a child in the 1930s and ’40s, but we’ve moved forward since then. We may be the ones the politicians talk about when they talk about “real America,” but we don’t fit neatly into any one box: we are rural and urban, multiracial and multiethnic, with widely varying interests and professions, no more or less “American” than any other American.
whatdoreadss's review
2.0
When I started reading this book, I wasn't aware of the fact that it is an autobiography. To be honest, it was the cover which took my attention. The story was a bit disappointing and boring in my opinion. I expected more..
michelekendzie's review against another edition
3.0
I almost didn’t read it because I didn’t like the people in the prologue but I persisted, expecting to be more interested in the stories about the ancestors. I love the topics of history and genealogy. But it was boring at times, more like a list of things that happened rather than stories. I ended up skipping some parts and skimming a bit so I could just call it done and return it to the library.
shelfimprovement's review against another edition
2.0
As someone from a flyover state, I found this book to be a little condescending. Johnson completely missed the point when it comes to capturing what's great about small town life in the Midwest.
angelinee's review
3.0
As much as the authors tries to connect the dots for us, the book really reads as two: her memoir and her family history. Nice little vignettes but overall didn't come together for me.
whatdoreads's review against another edition
2.0
When I started reading this book, I wasn't aware of the fact that it is an autobiography. To be honest, it was the cover which took my attention. The story was a bit disappointing and boring in my opinion. I expected more..
debnanceatreaderbuzz's review
2.0
I don’t review books I don’t like; there is always the possibility that it is just me.
So all I will say is that I did not like this book. I read it, cover to cover, but I had to force myself to keep reading. I didn’t take anything away from it.
My favorite part was the beautiful cover. And that’s it.
Apologies. Most likely it is just me.
So all I will say is that I did not like this book. I read it, cover to cover, but I had to force myself to keep reading. I didn’t take anything away from it.
My favorite part was the beautiful cover. And that’s it.
Apologies. Most likely it is just me.
agmaynard's review
3.0
Edging into 4 stars. Memoir is really more linked essays, some one two pages long. Using diaries and letters from Northeastern U.S. forebears who pioneered into Ohio and Illinois, Ms. Johnson paints a mostly grim tales of the hardships particularly of her foremothers. Weaving in her own story in several episodes, she offers interesting writing whatever she focuses upon. Recommended.