Book Review: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I understand why this book is so highly regarded. It is unlike anything I have ever read before - naturally, it wouldn't be, because this is an autobiography. But its narrative style is a style that cannot be taught. It is written by someone who wasn't taught how to write, but wrote so clearly from the soul. It's magnificent, by far the best narrative style—regardless of genre or type—I have read this year.

Maya Angelou, born Marguerite Johnson, is a young black girl growing up in America's deeply prejudiced South. Stamps, Arkansas, to be exact. Men still work like slaves in the cotton fields, albeit poorly paid, and lynching is the constant fear of the black neighbourhoods. The question I have for myself is, ‘How on earth do I review a book about someone's life experiences that are a million miles away from my own?’ Is it prudent?

I would like to say that this is written about a time when attitudes in America’s Deep South were different. But with the way the world currently is and the current climate in the USA… I highly doubt it; in fact, I feel like the country is regressing instead of progressing. For example, I would love to write that Angelou’s experience of hiding in fear from the KKK was a thing of the past, but alas, it is not. It is probably what makes this book such an important read, a shame that this is one of the most banned books of all time, predominantly for its graphic depiction of rape. Violence against women is an awful reality and should not be shied away from; it is akin to sweeping it under the rug, which is funny, as that’s what they tried to do to Maya.

One of my favourite things about this book, which I have lightly touched upon, is the book’s language. We have insight into a world where we would be viewed with caution or outright hostility. There is a certain ‘class’ divide which is highlighted when Maya and her brother Bailey move to California, where everything seemed so much more cultured than the Depression induced Stamps. But the contrast is startling, not just about how shiny everything seemed to be. But rather what is missing, Momma (grandmother) and Uncle Willie are the warmth that is the biggest influence of love and care on the young Maya and Bailey. That somewhat evaporates into thin air because their Mother was there, but also… not. Love is a funny and fickle thing in families. At that point, I wanted nothing more than to hug a young Maya.

I would recommend people read this book. I do not believe I have done this review justice, but then I do not know how to write about and relate, review and dissect the experiences of a young black girl. Nor do I think I should. But I think it's fair to say a massive FUCK YOU to those states and schools that do not think this book is appropriate. Fuck you for trying to silence voices and experiences just because they are not your own. Fuck you.