When you discover that a person has written six books of autobiography, you’re bound to wonder: Is she just a prolific narcissist, or has she really lived a six-volume life? If she’s Maya Angelou, there’s no doubt that the latter is the case: So compelling is her private story, so extravagant her public gifts, so generous her embrace of every level of experience that six volumes hardly seem enough. These books—written over a span of thirty years—cover only half of the author’s remarkable life. In fact, the last volume ends with her just beginning to write the first.
I grew up about 20 miles from Stamps, Arkansas. From this, the first I read, to the collections produced late in her life, Angelou’s words spoke to me like nothing before. Around 1990, the job of escorting her to a speaking engagement deep in the Delta of the state. Stunned that I had been chosen to do this and thrilled that I was going to be with her and hear her live, I counted the hours for this event. Then, I received a copy of the three-single-spaced list of her “requirements.” I had had a similar gig for other famous people, none had made such requests. The one-hour “show” left me breathless but the experience was disappointing, as I learned to deal with the diva mentality behind the scenes. The experience shaded my experience of hearing and reading her thereafter. But, on dark days, or troubled times, guess what comes off my shelf to be read for soothing? I haven’t lived in Arkansas for some 30 years, but her words can reach a base in me like no others.
It vividly describes a time and experience that increasing becomes more obscure. I think that this is a book that is only going to grow in significance as time goes on.
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