My Childhood in Pieces

About My Childhood in Pieces

From the award-winning poet, dark comic microbursts of prose deliver a whole childhood, at the hands of a not quite middle-class Jewish family whose hardboiled American brutality and wit were the forge of a poet’s coming of age

“My grandparents taught me to write my sins on paper and cast them into the water on the first day of the New Year. They didn’t expect an entire book,” Hirsh says in the “prologue” to this glorious festival of knife-sharp observations. In micro chapters—sometimes only a single scathing sentence long—with titles like “Call to Breakfast,” “Pay Cash,” “The Sorrow of Manly Sports,” and “Aristotle on Lawrence Avenue,” Eddie’s gambling father, Ruby, son of an iron-smelter, schools him and his sister in blackjack; Eddie’s mom bangs pots and pans to wake the kids (to a breakfast of cold cereal); Uncle Bob, in the collection business, can be heard threatening people on the upstairs phone; and nobody suffers fools or gives hugs. In this household, Eddie learned to jab with his left and hook with his right, never to kid a kidder, and how to sneak out at night.

Steeped in rage and exuberance, Yiddishkeit and Midwestern practicality, Hirsch’s laugh-and-cry performance animates a heartbreaking odyssey, from the cradle to the day he leaves home, armed with sorrow and a huge store of killing poetic wit.