In reclaiming Josefina from the mug shot and clickbait headlines that followed her arrest, the author opens the door to something even more lasting, and possibly more severe: a daughter’s unflinching gaze ... Keeping us close to the child’s-eye view of her formidable mother and the tragedies that befall their family — including her father’s sudden, mysterious death when Tometich was 9 — yields moments of unexpected humor and stinging truth. She writes scene and dialogue with the metronomic precision of a seasoned broadsheet reporter, her ledes and kickers often bearing a sly, precocious slant ... Tometich’s reclamation of the mother whose jailing she fantasized about as a child hinges on a dawning sense of her own internalized shame. 'The justice system does not see her as a whole person, worthy of leniency and redemption,' Tometich writes, late in the book, of the harshness of Josefina’s punishment. 'And up until this point, neither did I.' The reader clamors for a sense of what has proceeded from that reckoning, a story as yet untold.
Tometich’s narration, interspersed with sardonic bite, feels a little clunky, switching time frames and subject matter at a frenetic pace. Tometich’s life is filled with frustrations and she frequently asserts that she is a nobody, even though, with her mom working as an ICU nurse, the family lived a comfortable life, and Tometich had strong family support from Filipino relatives who stayed with them (Tometich’s Yugoslavian dad died when she was nine). An American-born teenager living with an immigrant tiger mom—readers have seen this before as familiar fodder in family relationship dramas, especially in households with Asian matriarchs.
...the sense that Tometich gives of having almost fallen into her career (in which she has enjoyed a fair amount of success) as a restaurant critic belies the skill with narrative and language that she displays. Her showing is stronger than her telling; with power and resonance, the author recalls vivid and visceral details that gave contour to her childhood—some perhaps expected in the narrative of a first-generation American, others more severe and startling. As the writer ages, starts her own family, and builds the distance and perspective required to contextualize her mother’s story and character, certain passages seem to rush to a tidy conclusion, with almost cliché reflections. However, these attempts at a clean resolution counterbalance a text that, on the whole, leans into the struggles of both mother and daughter, without forcing peace between or within either of them. Tometich’s measured tenderness and understanding grant complexity and authenticity to a story about finding one’s identity and owning its source. A well-paced, nuanced memoir by a practiced storyteller.
Tometich writes with awe and humor about her irascible mother, who provided her children with a middle-class upbringing, while never underplaying the emotional toll extracted along the way. It’s a moving account of coming to terms with the forces—good and bad—that shape a person.
