How We Sleep on the Nights We Don't Make Love by E. Ethelbert Miller  (1)
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Whispers, Secrets and Promises by E. Ethelbert Miller (1)
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
What constitutes a good father, a good husband? Miller, an accomplished poet and director of the African American Resource Center at Howard University, muses deeply on this familiar question in his lyrical recounting of his South Bronx childhood. One of three children, Miller seems bewildered by his solitary, humble father, Egberto, a Panamanian who worked nights at the post office and slept away the days, remaining emotionally remote from his wife and family. Determined to understand Egberto's nonetheless unwavering familial commitment, the author, now a father and husband himself, revisits a crucial moment at age 10 when the brooding patriarch, not an especially chatty man, told him, "I could leave your mother and be like everyone else." In the end, Miller's intense probing produces more questions than answers, particularly in the case of his late brother, who surprised everyone by becoming a monk and who died young. Meanwhile, in a startling departure from the usual memoir formula, Miller inserts the energetic voice of his sister, Marie, a nurse, to complement his own sedate observations of his life and family. This bold device works on occasion, but it often breaks the rhythm and pacing of the narrative and can be confusing. Fortunately, Miller recovers his stride in the chapters that zero in on his growth as a poet and editor, his marriages and his maturation as a man and father. Modest and sincere, this restrained memoir also succeeds as a superb document of the Black Arts Movement of the 1970s and the current African-American literary scene. (June)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From School Library Journal
YA-Fatherhood is sometimes defined as creation of offspring and Miller allows readers to digest his journal of literary offspring in a very loving tribute to Howard University's African American Resource Center. For over 20 years, it has helped to provide a haven for writers and artists. Miller, the director of the center, began his own personal transformation as a writer following the deaths of his brother and father within two years of one another. He wraps readers in his musings while his journey unfolds on the campus of Howard University, circa 1968. He has traveled to the former U.S.S.R. and Cuba. His love of words has even taken him to the desert of Las Vegas where he experienced a sort of spiritual awakening. Parallel to his story is the voice of his oldest sister Marie. She inserts her extrinsic view with wit and melancholy thoughtfulness. Young adults will be instantly drawn to the stories of the collegiate lifestyle. The author describes dating pretty coeds and the nuances of attending a historically black institution of higher learning. He describes his change of name and declaring a major in Afro-American Studies as a break from familiar. He also begins to realize that he must be his own man-just as his West Indian father did when he arrived in Harlem.
Connie Freeman, Ivy Tech State College, Fort Wayne, IN
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
See all Editorial Reviews
What constitutes a good father, a good husband? Miller, an accomplished poet and director of the African American Resource Center at Howard University, muses deeply on this familiar question in his lyrical recounting of his South Bronx childhood. One of three children, Miller seems bewildered by his solitary, humble father, Egberto, a Panamanian who worked nights at the post office and slept away the days, remaining emotionally remote from his wife and family. Determined to understand Egberto's nonetheless unwavering familial commitment, the author, now a father and husband himself, revisits a crucial moment at age 10 when the brooding patriarch, not an especially chatty man, told him, "I could leave your mother and be like everyone else." In the end, Miller's intense probing produces more questions than answers, particularly in the case of his late brother, who surprised everyone by becoming a monk and who died young. Meanwhile, in a startling departure from the usual memoir formula, Miller inserts the energetic voice of his sister, Marie, a nurse, to complement his own sedate observations of his life and family. This bold device works on occasion, but it often breaks the rhythm and pacing of the narrative and can be confusing. Fortunately, Miller recovers his stride in the chapters that zero in on his growth as a poet and editor, his marriages and his maturation as a man and father. Modest and sincere, this restrained memoir also succeeds as a superb document of the Black Arts Movement of the 1970s and the current African-American literary scene. (June)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From School Library Journal
YA-Fatherhood is sometimes defined as creation of offspring and Miller allows readers to digest his journal of literary offspring in a very loving tribute to Howard University's African American Resource Center. For over 20 years, it has helped to provide a haven for writers and artists. Miller, the director of the center, began his own personal transformation as a writer following the deaths of his brother and father within two years of one another. He wraps readers in his musings while his journey unfolds on the campus of Howard University, circa 1968. He has traveled to the former U.S.S.R. and Cuba. His love of words has even taken him to the desert of Las Vegas where he experienced a sort of spiritual awakening. Parallel to his story is the voice of his oldest sister Marie. She inserts her extrinsic view with wit and melancholy thoughtfulness. Young adults will be instantly drawn to the stories of the collegiate lifestyle. The author describes dating pretty coeds and the nuances of attending a historically black institution of higher learning. He describes his change of name and declaring a major in Afro-American Studies as a break from familiar. He also begins to realize that he must be his own man-just as his West Indian father did when he arrived in Harlem.
Connie Freeman, Ivy Tech State College, Fort Wayne, IN
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
See all Editorial Reviews
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