A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is the first of the four books I bought at The Book Stop in Petoskey. I read it when I was a kid, and although I remember that I liked it, I didn’t recall any details other than it was yet another coming-of-age story about a smart bookish girl. I certainly did not remember how gritty & unsparing it is.

This is the story of Francie Nolan, born and raised in the slums of Brooklyn just before WWI. Her mother is a janitor, her father is a singing waiter (when he can find work). Their poverty is relentless; as she grows up Francie comes in contact with physical and sexual abuse, alcoholism, corporal punishment, cold hungry children, unwed mothers, prostitution, failure, disgrace, pederasty, a serial killer, stillbirth, death. She observes it all, digests it somehow, and grows up to be a writer.

The ending is a little too tidy, but overall it works very well. Francie is a wise and lovely narrator, much like Scout Finch in some ways. Her voice is clear and unsentimental, and after all she is describing something universal: growing up. I recognized my own adolescent experiences and feelings over and over again.

One episode that I keep thinking about is the chapter in which Francie tells a lie in order to get a doll. A “Protestant organization” is throwing a Christmas party for the poor children in the neighborhood, and Francie goes even though she is Catholic. At this party, a little rich girl offers to give away a gorgeous doll named Mary to a poor girl whose name is also Mary.

There was a great hush. There were at least a hundred Marys in that audience. It was that adjective “poor” that struck them dumb. No Mary would stand up, no matter how much she wanted the doll, and be a symbol of all the poor little girls in the audience. They began whispering to each other that they weren’t poor and had better dolls home and better clothes than that girl, too, only they didn’t feel like wearing them. France sat numb, longing for that doll with all her soul.

Francie swallows her pride. She raises her hand, lies that her name is Mary, and accepts the doll. To her shame, the lady gives a speech about the Christmas spirit and how wonderful it is that a rich girl with dolls to spare would generously give one away to a poor girl, and the other girls in the audience whisper “Beggar, beggar, beggar” at her.

It was beggar, beggar, beggar, all the way down the aisle. Those girls felt richer than Francie. They were as poor as she but they had something she lacked — pride. And Francie knew it. She had no compunctions about the lie and getting the doll under false pretenses. She was paying for the lie and for the doll by giving up her pride.

Then when she goes home, Francie discovers that unbeknownst to her, her mother had actually christened her Mary Frances.

Wow. That is heavy, don’t you think? I keep thinking of a similar scene in another book, All-of-a-Kind Family Downtown. In that book, which also takes place in the tenements, Henny cuts up her clothes and pretends to be Christian in order to receive a charity doll. On her way home with the doll she realizes the error of her ways, gives the doll to a really poor girl, goes home and confesses all. She doesn’t get punished for her transgressions because she “knew she did wrong” and “tried to correct it.” Granted, the All-of-a-Kind Family books are written for a younger audience, but still. What a rosy view, compared to the other.

It’s interesting too because pride, and hatred of anything smacking of charity, is a huge recurring theme. The fact that the author not only lets Francie keep the doll, but turns her lie into truth, is not at all what I expected. Even though this book is far from preachy, I thought for sure she’d be punished for accepting a handout. The novel is heavily autobiographical; according to the preface it was originally written as a memoir. I keep wondering whether this event actually happened to Betty Smith, or perhaps she simply wished that it had.