One of the most authentic autobiographies told in verse.
White Knuckle grabs readers by the throat and forces their naive eyes wide open to gaze upon what passed for a childhood for Steven Bruce. Offering a chilling look at “the anxious fever of a typical day,” readers will not soon forget the nightmarish memories that haunt the pages. Being born into a family filled with abuse and addiction not only takes a physical toll, but also leaves scars that are not as readily visible. Imagine a life where instead of PB&J, burnt dry toast is on the menu. Or instead of soccer practice followed by a trip to the local ice cream shop, caring for a vomit-soiled mother. And rather than thoughtful holiday gifts or regular acts of affection, being sprayed with boiling water or kicked in the face. Repulsive, repugnant, and physically discomfiting, this collection tells a heartbreaking story through the eyes of a child coming of age in the most deplorable of circumstances.
The poem that shares its title, White Knuckle, really broke something loose inside of me. “How tight they cling to their addictions, knuckle moons, enough to lose hold of their children.” Perhaps it isn’t the shock of knowing that the author was born into a home filled with rampant drug use and domestic violence, but rather, the realization that this is happening everywhere, everyday with no clear solution in sight. And yet, when you keep reading, you will find that not every sad beginning has an equally sad ending. Bruce has obviously suffered, but has a rare talent to convey that raw emotion with such electricity that you’ll have to pause to calm your trembling heart. For some, when Bruce speaks of “the only place you never weep, your sleep”, this poignant collection may hit painfully close to home. For others, the cold realities may be a wakeup call to the injustices in their own neighborhoods. In either case, if you’re looking to read one of the most authentic autobiographies told in verse, White Knuckle is by turns cripplingly sad and cautiously optimistic.
