I'm a hard sell. When someone tells me a book is funny, I invariably wind up wondering why s/he found it funny -- because I definitely did not. I tend to ignore most reviews of books (or movies), preferring to decide for myself on the merits, or lack of them in a given piece of work. That said, I chose to review Bettyville because I was actually intrigued by the cover--the very reason we've always been told not to judge a book. But the photograph had an authentic feel to it that rang a small bell for me. So I got the book. And I truly loved it. I loved George Hodgman and his mother; his father, too.
Hodgman's great gift is to present the connective tissue between reader and writer, the thoughts and feelings and events that knit us together in a manner achieved only by the most profoundly truthful and deeply felt telling of lives lived. In spite of our obvious differences (male/female, straight/gay, etc) Hodgman's feelings mirror my own in too many ways to enumerate. He made me laugh repeatedly; he moved me often. I felt his irritation, his anger with himself, and his good-hearted impulses toward others. I knew him because he reveals himself so completely, so courageously, so hilariously. For example: "Just a typical American family, torn between love and homicide, but united in our own way." One just has to laugh at something so absolutely true.
This book deserves recognition and accolades. Read it and feel your heart open and then constrict, then open again. The parent in me wants to adopt the little boy in George. The child in me wants to be friends with that lonely boy whose isolation feels remembered to me. And the sister in me wants to help George prepare some treats for Betty, and then persuade her to put on her comfy old wrecked sandals so that we can all go out for a nice, easy walk.
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