- Like most English teachers, I shudder at the newly-developing word, “relatable.”
- My family and I LOVE the Daily Show; Jon Stewart practically raised our children.
So you might not think we’d love his replacement, Trevor Noah. But you’d think wrong. We loved Trevor from the beginning (forgiving him his occasionally juvenile humor the same way we forgave Jon his old-Jewish-guy schtick).
And now that I’ve read Trevor’s memoir, Born a Crime, I admire him on a whole new level. And I admire his mother more.
I only wish I had finished Trevor’s book before Christmas, so I could have given it to everyone I love. I don’t want to tell you too much about it; the book is comprised of anecdotes, to divulge any of which would spoil your joy in reading.
But I will tell you this. Although Trevor claims a different nationality, gender and race (OK, half different–but in South Africa that MEANS different) from mine, I found his story more…RELATABLE than anything I’ve read in the past year. He doesn’t just write of racial injustice–though there’s plenty of that, growing up in the last days of apartheid. He writes of topics I, privileged white American female, RELATE to:
- adolescent yearnings to belong
- a complex relationship with religion
- self-consciousness over appearance
- heartbreak (over the opposite sex, pets, family members)
- joy in his own gifts (languages, foot speed–and you’ll see why that’s important!)
- deep, unshakable love for his AMAZING mother
The book is also really stinkin’ funny, but that’s something I simply appreciate rather than relate to, because, alas, I am not so gifted.
And it’s shockingly sad. Something else I, thanks be, cannot relate to. But Trevor makes his family’s sadness ACCESSIBLE, and that’s close enough. Also–“accessible” is a real word.
Have you read it? Please add your review here. If not, do yourself or someone you love a favor and read Born a Crime as soon as you can.