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The Yellow House: A Memoir (2019 National Book Award Winner) Hardcover – August 13, 2019
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A New York Times Bestseller
Named a Notable Book of the Year by the New York Times Book Review
Named one of the “10 Best Books of 2019” by the New York Times Book Review, Seattle Times, Chicago Public Library, the Chicago Tribune, and Slate
Named a Best Book of 2019 by the Washington Post, NPR’s Book Concierge, NPR’s Fresh Air, the Guardian, BookPage, New York Public Library, and Shelf Awareness
Named a Best Memoir of the Decade by LitHub
A brilliant, haunting and unforgettable memoir from a stunning new talent about the inexorable pull of home and family, set in a shotgun house in New Orleans East.
In 1961, Sarah M. Broom’s mother Ivory Mae bought a shotgun house in the then-promising neighborhood of New Orleans East and built her world inside of it. It was the height of the Space Race and the neighborhood was home to a major NASA plant―the postwar optimism seemed assured. Widowed, Ivory Mae remarried Sarah’s father Simon Broom; their combined family would eventually number twelve children. But after Simon died, six months after Sarah’s birth, the Yellow House would become Ivory Mae’s thirteenth and most unruly child.
A book of great ambition, Sarah M. Broom’s The Yellow House tells a hundred years of her family and their relationship to home in a neglected area of one of America’s most mythologized cities. This is the story of a mother’s struggle against a house's entropy, and that of a prodigal daughter who left home only to reckon with the pull that home exerts, even after the Yellow House was wiped off the map after Hurricane Katrina. The Yellow House expands the map of New Orleans to include the stories of its lesser-known natives, guided deftly by one of its native daughters, to demonstrate how enduring drives of clan, pride, and familial love resist and defy erasure. Located in the gap between the “Big Easy” of tourist guides and the New Orleans in which Broom was raised, The Yellow House is a brilliant memoir of place, class, race, the seeping rot of inequality, and the internalized shame that often follows. It is a transformative, deeply moving story from an unparalleled new voice of startling clarity, authority, and power.
- Print length304 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherGrove Press
- Publication dateAugust 13, 2019
- Dimensions6.75 x 1.25 x 9.25 inches
- ISBN-100802125085
- ISBN-13978-0802125088
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Editorial Reviews
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Praise for The Yellow House
Winner of the 2019 National Book Award for NonfictionA New York Times Bestseller
Named a Notable Book of the Year by the New York Times Book Review
Named one of the “10 Best Books of 2019” by the New York Times Book Review, Seattle Times, Chicago Public Library, the Chicago Tribune, and Slate
Named a Best Book of 2019 by the Washington Post, NPR’s Book Concierge, NPR’s Fresh Air, the Guardian, BookPage, New York Public Library, and Shelf Awareness
Named a Best Memoir of the Decade by LitHub
“[An] extraordinary, engrossing debut . . . kinetic and omnivorous . . . [Broom] pushes past the baseline expectations of memoir as a genre to create an entertaining and inventive amalgamation of literary forms. Part oral history, part urban history, part celebration of a bygone way of life, The Yellow House is a full indictment of the greed, discrimination, indifference and poor city planning that led her family’s home to be wiped off the map. It is an instantly essential text, examining the past, present and possible future of the city of New Orleans, and of America writ large.”—New York Times Book Review
“[A] forceful, rolling and many-chambered new memoir.... [Broom's] memoir isn’t just a Katrina story — it has a lot more on its mind. But the storm and the way it scattered her large family across America give this book both its grease and its gravitas.... This book is dense with characters and stories. It’s a big, simmering pot that comes to a boil at the right times.... This is a major book that I suspect will come to be considered among the essential memoirs of this vexing decade. There are a lot of complicated emotions coursing through its veins. It throws the image of an exceptional American city into dark relief.”—New York Times
“The memoir from Louisiana native Broom tells the story of her mother’s beloved shotgun house in east New Orleans and the family she raised there. The house was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, and Broom writes about the racial and economic inequality that has haunted New Orleans for decades. Author Heidi Julavits called the book “a masterpiece of history, politics, sociology and memory.”—Los Angeles Times, “7 Highly Anticipated Books to Get You Through the Dog Days of August”
“Broom’s book is a memoir — but also so much more. The New Orleans native has written a hybrid of the most exquisite kind, part family history, part archaeological dig, part self-exegesis. It all comes back to the house of the title, a “New Orleans East” shotgun dwelling that has given hope, heartbreak, shelter and transformation to decades of Broom’s family. And Broom has used it to inspire something new.”—Washington Post, “The 10 Books to Read in August”
“I’m most excited about reading The Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom. I tend to love books that capture a sense of place, and I’ve always been fascinated with New Orleans. Like Jamaica, New Orleans is a destination people seek out to have a good time, but few people see the reality behind the touristy facade. Very rarely do I see a story of the people who have been in New Orleans for generations—this memoir promises an intimate, beautiful portrait of a black family and the place they call home.”—Nicole Dennis-Benn in Vanity Fair
“A remarkable journey...Her tale is one of loss, love, and resilience.”—Robin Roberts, Good Morning America
“Sarah M. Broom's gorgeous debut, The Yellow House, reads as elegy and prayer. The titular house is the fulcrum for Broom's memoir about her large and complex family. Perhaps more important, it stands in for the countless ways America has failed and continues to fail African Americans...Sarah M. Broom is a writer of great intellect and breadth. She embraces momentous subjects. The Yellow House is about the relentless divestment of wealth from the African American family no matter how hard its members work; and our government's failure to protect its poor from predictable environmental catastrophe and subsequent trauma; and our gross neglect of poor neighborhoods; and sham promises that never materialize or are broken too easily, and the papering over of deep systemic problems by politicians and we the people. The Yellow House is also about the persistence of love and grit...There's a young woman whose winding journey takes her away from and back to her family, as she circumnavigates the world in order to connect with herself — which means coming to the sober reckoning that some holes can never be filled.”—NPR
“One of the year’s best memoirs, The Yellow House finds an epic, fascinating, empathetic history of New Orleans within the life of one woman, her family, and the home they grew up in...The book is at once intimate and sprawling, spinning at times dozens of stories in what amounts to a vital reframing of a misrepresented community, and an urgent meditation on the American dream.”—David Canfield, Entertainment Weekly
“The title of Sarah M. Broom’s debut memoir refers to the east New Orleans home her mother bought in 1961. There, Broom was raised alongside her 11 siblings in a part of the city that became riddled with crime and poverty. In The Yellow House, Broom traces back a hundred years worth of her family history and the hardships they faced. She pays particular attention to Hurricane Katrina, which completely destroyed the family’s house. In its aftermath, Broom examines what it really means to rebuild roots and how to define a home.”—Time, “Here Are the 11 New Books You Should Read in August”
“Broom’s memoir of poverty, striving, and justice in pre and post-Katrina-stricken New Orleans concerns rising tides, the literal ones that took her childhood home, and the structural ones, too, that, instead of lifting all, are threatening to drown. Broom has a reporter’s eye but an essayist’s heart, blending urban history of her segregated home city and her family’s attempt to survive in it.”—Vogue
“NOLA Darling, Sarah M. Broom's obsession with her childhood home in New Orleans is the focal point of her intimate nonfiction debut...This brave work delves into such issues as poor housing, subpar health care, family bonds, personal erasure and survival.”—Essence
“In her tough yet tenderly wrought book The Yellow House, [Broom] explores ... the long-term effects of erasure and the price of staking a claim on unpredictable territory.... The label 'memoir' doesn’t quite contain—or honor—the entirety of what Broom has accomplished. The Yellow House is both personal and sharply political; it’s an attempt to redraw not just the map of New Orleans but also the city’s narrative—to reset it on its foundation...Meticulously observed and expansively researched, Broom’s inquiry is an excavation...She plunges into the family’s deep, uncertain history; stories pieced together about her maternal grandmother Ameilia ('Lolo'), her Auntie Elaine and her mother, Ivory Mae, are touchstones, pins in the new map...These elder voices, thick with the rhythm and texture of time and place, are a chorus of narrators, the forebears who navigated a stratified, racially segregated map. They weigh in, testify, spin tangents. It’s the book’s music...In New Orleans, there is a parade call-and-response refrain—a funky roll call, if you will—that asks revelers to shout out their provenance—the New Orleans neighborhood from which they hail. Where you from? The Yellow House is Broom’s luminous, literary answer to that appeal...Broom’s work is a shoring-up, a strengthening. It’s the result of tenacious naming and claiming, revisiting all the histories—formal and informal, polished and rough. She worked with great care, and with a resolute honesty leavened with grace. Readers may hear echoes of James Baldwin in the relentlessness of her inquiry, and in the sinewy cadences of her sentences...Pared down to its studs, The Yellow House is a love story. It is a declaration of unconditional devotion and commitment to place. Broom also pays homage to the relationships we protect, the ones we yearn for and circle back to; the ones that hold us and don’t give up on us, that are our living and breathing foundation.”—Los Angeles Times
“Sarah M. Broom’s book is an extraordinary example of how language can make things. Her words, sentences, thoughts as she creates East New Orleans—where she was born—move faster than you will ever keep up—but you damn sure don’t want to let go.”—John Edgar Wideman, author of Writing to Save A Life: The Louis Till Project
“Every few years, a book comes along that teaches readers of memoir how to read and writers of memoir how to write. Calling Sarah M. Broom’s The Yellow House a memoir feels wrong. Somehow, Broom created a book that feels bigger, finer, more daring than the form itself. The Yellow House literally taught me how to read and write. I will never write or read about family, longing, blackness, femininity, joy and state-sanctioned terror the same way after sitting with this book. Broom narratively glides through choppy air almost in slow-motion, and when I least expect it, she digs into the ground of New Orleans conjuring the most humanely massive intervention I’ve read in 21st century memoir writing.”—Kiese Laymon, author of Heavy
“A great, multigenerational family story . . . Broom is an engaging guide; she has some of David Simon’s effortless reporting style, and her meditations on eroding places recall Jeannette Walls. The house didn’t survive Katrina, but its destruction strengthened Broom’s appreciation of home. Broom’s memoir serves as a touching tribute to family and a unique exploration of the American experience.”—Publishers Weekly
“The Yellow House is a masterpiece of history, politics, sociology and memory. Actually, it’s just a masterpiece, period. Sarah M. Broom’s carefully researched portrait of a family and a place possesses the emotional vastness of a multi-generational novel, and shies away from nothing. Her pages are artfully controlled, meditative logic proofs of heartbreak, humor, devastation, celebration and rage. Broom shows what literary nonfiction—and what books—can yet do and be. I already consider her to be one of America’s most important and influential writers.”—Heidi Julavits, author of The Folded Clock
“Gorgeously written, intimate and wise, Sarah M. Broom’s The Yellow House is an astonishing memoir of family, love, and survival. It’s also a history of New Orleans unlike any we’ve seen before, one that should be required reading.”—Jami Attenberg, author of All Grown Up
“A heartfelt but unflinching recovery project . . . Broom’s lyrical style celebrates her family bonds, but a righteous fury runs throughout the narrative at New Orleans’ injustices, from the foundation on up. A tribute to the multitude of stories one small home can contain, even one bursting with loss.”—Kirkus Reviews
“From a singular writer, a crucial memoir of life on the margins—one that, through ruthless observation and deepest intelligence, might help reintegrate what happens in those margins into the central narratives of American life. Alternating gracefully between immediacy and critical distance, she leaves us with deep insight not just into her own family, her own community, but into governance, justice, and inequality in the round. Timeless in its telling, The Yellow House could become a modern classic.”—Whiting Nonfiction Grant Jury
“Broom’s brilliant book demonstrates that context and setting are crucial to telling a story, and will ring true for anyone who also grew up in a house that loomed large over everything that happened to their family.” —Isaac Fitzgerald, The Atlantic
About the Author
Product details
- Publisher : Grove Press; First Edition (August 13, 2019)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 304 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0802125085
- ISBN-13 : 978-0802125088
- Item Weight : 1.25 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.75 x 1.25 x 9.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #272,637 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #935 in Women in History
- #3,638 in U.S. State & Local History
- #10,086 in Memoirs (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Sarah M. Broom is a writer whose work has appeared in the New Yorker, The New York Times Magazine, The Oxford American, and O, The Oprah Magazine among others. A native New Orleanian, she received her Masters in Journalism from the University of California, Berkeley in 2004. She was awarded a Whiting Foundation Creative Nonfiction Grant in 2016 and was a finalist for the New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship in Creative Nonfiction in 2011. She has also been awarded fellowships at Djerassi Resident Artists Program and The MacDowell Colony. She lives in New York state.
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Early in the book, Broom’s mother Ivory Mae bought a shotgun house in New Orleans East after the death of her first husband. The newly built area was booming economically. “The newspapers fell hard for New Orleans East. Here was a story with possibility for high drama involving men and money and wetlands, dreaming and draining, and emergence and fate.” A few years later, she married a man 19 years her senior. Her new husband, Simon Broom, had fought in the Battle of Manila during World War II. “He earned five stars fighting on behalf of a country that listed his name on a roll-call docket as Simon Broom (n), the (n) for negro or negroid or n[*]gger.” Simon Broom worked in NASA’s New Orleans East facility, which was another factor in the area’s growth.
New Orleans East was built on swampland. Simon and Ivory are constantly struggling to keep the back of the house from sinking. In 1965, Hurricane Betsy hit the neighborhood. New Orleans East, including the yellow house, was half destroyed. “This story, that the levees were blown, the poorest used as sacrificial lambs, would survive and be revived through the generations.”
Both Ivory Mae and Simon Broom had children from previous marriages and had several more together. Sarah was the youngest of 12. Simon died when she was 6 months old. Though Simon was hardworking, he never quite finished working on the Yellow House and his death only accelerated its decay.
Growing up, Sarah witnessed the comings and goings of her family. Her elder siblings found work and moved out but moved back in between jobs or marriages. Sarah was born with an eye defect but tried hard to hide it from others, including her mother. As a teenager, Sarah felt ashamed of the Yellow House. Her mother was great at making clothes for her children but wasn’t as good at fixing the house, creating a contrast between how the children looked and the place they had to return at the end of the day. People assumed they lived in a functional house. Only the family knew how precarious their house was. “When would the rats come out from underneath the sink where the plastic bowl caught leaking water? You could not say. This is how your disappointment in a space builds, becomes personal: You, kitchen, do not warm me. You, living room, do not comfort me. You, bedroom, do not keep me.” Sarah never invited her friends over. “By avoiding showing people the place where we lived, we unmoored ourselves.”
Sarah felt the urge to run away. She went to Texas for college and California for grad school. She moved to New York City after graduation and worked for O Magazine. She was at a noisy party as Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. Her family, her grandmother, her mother and her siblings, scrambled to evacuate. “That absence, my not being there physically, began to register in me on subtle emotional frequencies, I can see now, as a failure.” The Yellow House broke apart during the storm and was practically abandoned. In Katrina’s aftermath, “the Yellow House was deemed in ‘imminent danger of collapse,’ one of 1,975 houses to appear on the Red Danger List, houses bearing bright-red stickers no larger than a small hand.” Sarah did want the Yellow House gone, but a bulldozer wiped it out without giving the proper notification, leaving her frustrated. “I had no home. Mine had fallen all the way down. I understood, then, that the place I never wanted to claim had, in fact, been containing me. We own what belongs to us whether we claim it or not¼Houses provide a frame that bears us up. Without that physical structure, we are the house that bears itself up. I was now the house.”
In order “to understand more broadly the displacement of my New Orleans family,” Sarah became a humanitarian aid worker going to Burundi, where she was often assumed to be Tutsi: a major ethnic group in Burundi, but she couldn’t speak Kirundi, which didn’t help her frustration. “One important reason to travel the world is so you know how to speak about things...So that there exists in one’s mind a system of comparison...” After eight months, she returned to America and worked as a speechwriter for New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin. Even with connections at the city hall, bureaucracy stood in her way. She couldn’t speed up the reimbursement for her mother’s demolished house, which took seven long years to resolve.
At the end of the book, Sarah and her brothers went back to the site of the house to cut the grass. “We were cutting grass for the look of it, making a small blot of pretty in a world of ugly. From high up above where the survey pictures are taken, this would not show. But standing on the ground, we knew.” Trimming the grass in the empty lot is an action charged with a deep affection for a place that no longer exists, and a deeper regret for her powerlessness. As a final struggle to honor the house and calm her regrets, Sarah began writing this book, the thing that a writer does the best.
In her review of the book, Martha Anne Toll points out that The Yellow House“stands in for the countless ways America has failed and continues to fail African Americans.” As difficult as the African American experience may be in the United States, I still envy Sarah Broom for having grown up in a society that allows free expression.
I have a similar on and off relationship with my hometown. I was born in China and immigrated to Canada in 2006. After becoming a naturalized Canadian, I moved back to China for three years. Those three years could be compared to Sarah returning to New Orleans and working for the city. I still believe that people should work to improve their birthplace instead of running away, but my enthusiasm was met with indifference, just as Sarah’s had been.
While I was in China from 2012 to 2015, I sensed that people were becoming increasingly forgiving of the military crackdown on the Tiananmen Protests in 1989. That new forgiveness wasn’t based on a thorough examination of the facts, but on a belief that ends justify the means. China’s unprecedented economic boom has also convinced people to discard their doubts in the party. They believe that a totalitarian regime is more efficient than a democratic system, and they happily cede their freedom and human rights. Sarah was disillusioned with the bureaucratic system in her hometown. For me, it was both the state’s tight control and people’s insensitivity.
I returned to North America in 2015. After settling down, I began writing the book I’d always wanted to write: a memoir blended with China’s historical narrative. I first wrote it in Chinese, my native language, but there’s absolutely no way the government would allow it to be published. I decided to write it again in English. “I desire to dream in another language, which would place me in a different world altogether. Ultimate displacement,” Sarah wrote in a letter to a friend of hers. I strongly identify with her desire to feel displaced by language.
Simply choosing to write in a new language shaped a huge part of my family life and social life. After my memoir was published, my account on WeChat, a Chinese social media platform, was blocked. Since the Great Firewall of China blocks any social media site developed in a Western country, I’ve since been isolated from my friends and family who are still in China. If I want to talk with my parents, I can still pick up the phone. But I don’t usually have any reason pressing enough to call my friends. I was always happy enough keeping tabs via WeChat. Now that I’ve lost access, those invisible ties were cut. “The large, close family is like an amoeba. To disconnect from its slithering mass is to tear. A friend once told me that it is easier to cut than to tear. I learn this, but slowly,” Sarah writes. I didn’t really feel a great loss when I was cut off from my friends in China. I had been growing away from them anyway. The final cutoff, though it wasn’t my choice, seemed to save me the pain of saying goodbye.
In the era of globalization, there are always faraway disasters for people to pay attention to. In January 2020, when news of the novel coronavirus in Wuhan broke, it quickly overshadowed my concern for the Australian bushfires. At first, the disease appeared containable. The Wuhan Health Commission determined that the virus had originated from a seafood market and reassured the public that it was only transmissible from animal to human, not human to human. However, on January 16, a Japanese patient was found to be infected, and he’d never set foot in said market. On a Chinese news website based in California, users joked about the virus’s patriotism since it only manifested outside China.
I started to suspect a cover-up by the Chinese government. There’s certainly precedent. In the spring of 2003, SARS started to spread in Guangdong and Beijing. The Chinese government first denied the virus’ ability to spread until the virus began running rampant through Southeast Asia, Australia, Europe, and North America. On Jan. 23, the city of Wuhan announced a city-wide lockdown. Flights, trains, and buses leaving Wuhan were canceled, highways were blocked and all public transportation within the city was suspended. Even private vehicles now need special permits to operate.
These measures were intended to discourage people from traveling, but the response seems like too little, too late. The number of active infections grew by a couple of thousands every day after the desperate methods were enforced. For people who had already contracted the virus, the transportation shutdown made it impossible for them to get treatment. On Weibo, the Chinese equivalent of Twitter, desperate people are tweeting for help. Every day, I come across tweets saying things like, “My father is dying, but we can’t get to the hospital,” or “I’m running out of time.” I watched a video of a woman on her balcony banging on a gong and crying out, "I don't know what to do!" The video was shot by a stranger living in another quarantined building across the street. The photographer undoubtedly has his(her) own story to tell, but the woman wailing on the balcony seemed more cathartic, so they posted that instead. The video reminded me of the images of people stranded on rooftops after Katrina. Wuhan is in the midst of a humanitarian crisis.
China is no stranger to humanitarian crises but lacks art depicting said crises. I often lament that there aren’t classic artworks depicting disasters, natural disasters or human disasters. In her nonfiction book, Louisa Lim refers to China as “The People’s Republic of Amnesia.” It’s harsh criticism, but not undeserved.
China’s lack of recorded history is the direct result of government repression. They believe that the pursuit of truth will lead to disapproval of the Party, which isn’t untrue. Chinese writers are under increasingly strict censorship and are simply not permitted to plumb the depths of human despair. W, a senior writer I greatly respect, has recorded her daily life on Weibo since the outbreak. She lives in Wuhan, the eye of the storm, so her well-written posts were of particular interest to me. Unfortunately, authorities decided her writing was too negative and blocked her Weibo account. Never one to give up, she chose another social media platform to stage a comeback. When I read the latest entry in her new journal, her tone had become mellow and cooperative:
“Our enemy is the virus,” she writes. “I am absolutely in line with the government, co-operating with every decision, and trying to help the government calm the people’s anxiety. It's just that we all have different ways of doing things, and I may occasionally reveal my own feelings. That's all.”
It was painful to see such a talented writer forced to justify having her own ideas and feelings. The high-pressure propaganda machine has reduced the nation’s most creative minds to apologizing for straying from party lines even a little bit. But what choice does she have? If she hadn’t started being careful, she might have lost her publishing privileges entirely.
I thought that W had the potential to write a book as great as The Yellow House when the disaster is over, but I now doubt that that will happen. Even if she has the ability, that book would never see the light of day, just like my book on the Tiananmen Square Protests. In order for my book to be published, I chose to write it in English, which killed my chance to go back to China. I am an ocean away while China is suffering. It saddens me that neither I nor W will ever be able to publish a sentence as powerful as Sarah Broom:
“But standing on the ground, we knew.”
Recently, more than a few people have flatly told me that the time for "Katrina stories" has passed. To be clear, they are mostly people who live or work in what is still called "The Sliver by the River" or (as named in the months after 2005) "The Isle of Denial." Meaning the wealthier, white historic area. Everywhere else outside of that enclave, those stories continue to evolve and efforts to reclaim community and dignity moves at a proper New Orleans pace. Which is to say, as needed. At human-scale. At family-level. Painfully and yet properly.
That, in a nutshell, is the core message of the impressive "The Yellow House" written by New Orleans East native Sarah M. Broom. Her description of her siblings, mother, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends and distant relatives are deeply recognizable to anyone who has worked or lived alongside of the people who have held this city together even as their rights are restricted in every sector of its society. In my time here, I have lived through the abrupt disappearance of the Creole community in the French Quarter (which happened in the months after the 1984 World's Fair when even the shabbier sections were desired by developers, leading to a massive spike in rents), in the 1990s/2000s HUD Hope VI era where public housing was torn down and replaced with "market-rate" apartments, and of course again in the years after 2005 when whole areas of town became overwhelmingly full of white, new singles in place of families that had been there for generations. (What I know is that those new residents would have still been welcome if they had not spent their community energy calling police on second-lines interrupting their Sunday morning, adding alarms and buzzers to newly gentrified homes, and complaining about their tax bill while paying twice as much annually for hot yoga.) No new affordable housing has been built at the same rate as the old was taken away, and the workers of the Sliver find themselves being pushed from more of those areas every decade.
Yet, the Broom family house and story is not even part of those divided areas and stories: it is in a part of New Orleans that is still unclaimed by the disaster capitalism squad. But don't read that it means it's unwanted or unclaimed- its not: returning families, car repair stations, seafood shops, churches, NASA workers, squatters, lawn-mowing sons and brothers are some of those she finds still there on her trips back to Wilson. She makes clear that the area does have history even if the official holders of the city's narrative haven't yet seen the value, or have yet to realize that telling a wider set of stories outside of the old tropes would help New Orleans heal itself and make it relevant to a wider group of Americans who are not interested in romanticizing slave-era history or in made- up ghost stories, peddled for tips.
The angst of not having a childhood home or school or family at the same turn off the main road after decades or generations at that place has changed many New Orleanians. After Katrina, I worked with a few young African-American New Orleanians who had returned to help their family. Like Broom, they had begun to establish a life elsewhere, but felt a deep need to understand what their family was going through and what their family meant to its city. To hear the full story.
Many of them noted that it was hard to truly understand why their family wanted to return to that land or what damage has been done. Similarly, years after the levee breaks, the author realizes that her mother is carrying all of her official papers at all times in case of a sudden evacuation and constantly worries about "leaving this Earth" without owning her own house again. That is the type of Katrina PTSD that each family deals with in their own way still.
The family matriarch had reason to worry about holding on to papers and about legalese: 11 years after the city tore down the yellow house without properly notifying the family (they sent notice to the mailbox at the house), Ivory Mae finally signed the papers to end their own Road Home nightmare. This episode ends the book, but clearly, not this story.
By taking us through her Yellow House, Broom shares her long journey which at the end of the day, doesn't take her back there. But it does offer her some "divine clarity," which is available to all of us if we can take the time to absorb it.
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which I am currently reading to my wife at night and we are both enjoying it.


















