A Childhood Lost
By Jennifer Lauck
The deeply moving memoir of a child with an unbreakable spirit
The house on Mary Street, Carson City, Nevada is the only place five-year-old Jennifer Lauck will ever call home. It's where the sky is deep blue, forever blue, and there are almost never any clouds up there. It's where Jennifer lives with her older brother B.J., her father and mother, and their two cats Moshe and Diane. It should be a perfect, peaceful childhood - but Jennifer's mother is ill, very ill, and a childhood is the last thing Jennifer is going to be allowed ...
With the startling emotional immediacy of a fractured photo album, Jennifer Lauck's incandescent memoir is the story of an ordinary girl growing up in the late 1970s - and the extraordinary circumstances of a childhood lost. As Jennifer moves from Nevada to Hermosa Beach, California, from Palo Alto to Los Angeles we witness a child coping with things she shouldn't have to cope with. But what shines through BLACKBIRD is an unbreakable spirit and a sense of survival that is both profoundly moving and deeply inspiring.
Jennifer Lauck has won two Society of Professional Journalists awards for her work in television news and founded a public-relations company that represents non-fiction authors. She is now a full time writer living in Portland, Oregon and is currently at work on a sequel to BLACKBIRD.
- Other details
- Publication date:
03 Jan 2002
- Page count:
The unblinking look of one child at a hard world. Written gloriously and movingly — Frank McCourt, author of ANGELA'S ASHES
This is one of those rare books that captures both the innocence of the child and the wisdom of the adult author. Beautifully written, utterly convincing, alternately heartbreaking and inspiring — Hope Edelman, author of MOTHERLESS DAUGHTER
Beautifully rendered and consummately moving...Lauck takes us into the mind of a child in all its terrible clarity, helplessness, fury and incomprehension. — Tim Lott, THE TIMES
As powerful as ANGELA'S ASHES. BLACKBIRD never asks for our sympathy, simply our wonder that any child should be asked to endure so much. — EVE