You Could Make This a Beautiful Place

You Could Make This a Beautiful Place by Maggie Smith

Nonfiction - Memoir

2023

Finished on November 10, 2024

Rating: 5/5 (Outstanding)

It's easy to see the beginning of things, and harder to see the ends. ~Joan Didion

Publisher's Blurb:

In her memoir You Could Make This Place Beautiful, poet Maggie Smith explores the disintegration of her marriage and her renewed commitment to herself in lyrical vignettes that shine, hard and clear as jewels. The book begins with one woman’s personal, particular heartbreak, but its circles widen into a reckoning with contemporary womanhood, traditional gender roles, and the power dynamics that persist even in many progressive homes. With the spirit of self-inquiry and empathy she’s known for, Smith interweaves snapshots of a life with meditations on secrets, anger, forgiveness, and narrative itself. The power of these pieces is cumulative: page after page, they build into a larger interrogation of family, work, and patriarchy.

You Could Make This Place Beautiful, like the work of Deborah Levy, Rachel Cusk, and Gina Frangello, is an unflinching look at what it means to live and write our own lives. It is a story about a mother’s fierce and constant love for her children, and a woman’s love and regard for herself. Above all, this memoir is an argument for possibility. With a poet’s attention to language and an innovative approach to the genre, Smith reveals how, in the aftermath of loss, we can discover our power and make something new. Something beautiful.

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself. ~Emily Dickinson

I loved this book. However, it's brutally honest, and as Smith reveals the demise of her marriage, those who have faced similar scenarios may find it a difficult read. And yet, this new-to-me poet writes beautiful passages (and poems) centered on marriage, loss, motherhood, friendship and life without falling into a stereotypical navel-gazing rant. Some pages hold a single sentence or quote, others a brief paragraph, and a few need two to three pages to convey Smith's thoughts. It's this sort of layout that begs for "just one more page." It could have been twice as long, and it still wouldn't have been enough for this reader. 

I especially love her lyrical cadence in this passage:

There are so many windows, the house is lit naturally all day long, and you can follow the sunlight as it moves from the back of the house at sunrise to the front at sunset. There are so many windows, I couldn't bear to hang blinds or full curtain panels. With only cafe curtains covering the lower halves of the windows, my head can be seen floating from room to room at night from the street. There are so many windows, living in this house is like living in a glass display case, especially after dark. There are few places to hide.

She sounds like someone with whom I'd enjoy being friends:

I wonder what I would put in my own dating profile. Poet, writer, single mother of two, Gen Xer, lifelong Ohioan, city mouse, vegetarian. Loves books, live music, travel, dogs not cats, black coffee and black tattoos, dark beer and dark chocolate. Self-employed. Author of several books. Liberal, pro-choice, agnostic, monogamous. Aquarius. Gregarious introvert. Funny as hell. Occasionally melancholic. Good cook. Bed sleeper. Woman who, let's be real, probably won't trust you. Woman who will try.

About memoir:

"A memoir is about 'the art of memory,' and part of the art is in the curation. This isn't the story of a woman who fell in love again and therefore was healed and lived happily ever after. This is a story of a woman coming home to herself."

About poetry:

Poems and songs aren't the same, but they both rely on voice and form, rhythm and sound play, metaphor and image, repetition and surprise.

There were aspects of this book that resonated deeply with me, taking me back to a sad time in my life. But like Smith, I carry that young self inside me with the realization that I have grown from those difficult experiences.

How I picture it: We are all nesting dolls, carrying the earlier iterations of ourselves inside. We carry the past inside us. We take ourselves— all of our selves —wherever we go.

Inside forty-something me is the woman I was in my thirties, the woman I was in my twenties, the teenager I was, the child I was…

I still carry these versions of myself. It’s a kind of reincarnation without death: all these different lives we get to live in this one body, as ourselves.

I look forward to reading more by Maggie Smith. I've added Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change to my TBR list. I also subscribe to her Substack newsletters and follow her on Instagram. 

To read Maggie Smith is to embrace the achingly precious beauty of the present moment. ~TIME