AMERICAN DAUGHTER :: Stephanie Thornton Plymale

 A version of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness and is republished here with permission.

Stephanie Thornton Plymale is the American dream. She has a long, loving marriage, wonderful children, a thriving design business and a position as CEO of the Heritage School of Interior Design. But her poignant and often distressing memoir, American Daughter, does not begin there. Plymale is also "an American nightmare," a child failed by every part of the American system and, most egregiously, by her mother.

American Daughter opens in 1974, with Plymale and her four siblings (from various fathers in the "relentless succession" of men) living out of a station wagon in a California state park. While their mother works as a motel maid, they explore the beach "like a pack of stray puppies." When they have no food, the eldest, 10, harvests seaweed (their mother responds that seaweed is healthy and "People in the city paid top dollar for it!").

Staggeringly, these were some of the best years of Plymale's childhood. Though she wildly succeeded in leading a life the opposite of her mother's, she was haunted by memories. Decades later, Plymale receives a call from her mother (in violation of the stalking order filed after she threatened to burn down Plymale's house). She has stage-four lung cancer and six months to live. Plymale's recounting of this time with her mother, meshed with her memories, is as astonishing as it is disturbing. The writing is shatteringly candid but never overwrought, the story a stark reminder that "the most difficult people are often suffering in ways we can't fathom."