A moving work that masterfully builds to a dramatic conclusion.
“I began as a witness of a faulty structure embedded in the basement of a safe place. This is what we crave — a secure home we build ourselves. Even with dilemma.” This is just a sample of the vivid imagery present in This I Can Tell You. Brandi Spering tries to reconcile her relationship with an inexplicably absent father and the facts and memories of a young child. This I Can Tell You is a complicated poetic sort of memoir, unpacking emotional baggage and dealing with loss in many forms. In deliberate bits and snippets, Spering shares a panoramic glimpse of the indelible memories of her life. From parental separations to jarring moves, Spering’s childhood is examined with the benefit of retrospection, but with the limitation of a child’s recollection. Dramatic family secrets are hinted at, alluded to, and ultimately revealed through foggy lenses and receding bitterness.
From before the opening act, I love how the author acknowledges her own fallibility. The unreliable haze of memory is an ever present companion in this poetic recollection of a childhood marked by an unspeakable trauma. The pace is quite dreamlike, in that moments are emotionally immersive then suddenly disrupted without warning. Although not chronological, the narrative makes sense on a deep inner level. Spering is an adept storyteller, sometimes capturing emotions with a microscopic view. One realistic example, experiencing the death of a loved one through innocent eyes is both chilling and accurate, calling to mind the volatility associated with youth. Though heartbreaking and crushing, This I Can Tell You is a moving work that masterfully builds to a dramatic conclusion.
