They say you can never go home again. However, in Mennonite in a Little Black Dress,
Rhoda Janzen chronicles the time she did just that. She had long left
her conservative Mennonite childhood behind her as she embraced academia
and the world at large. But after a personal crisis of epic
proportions, she returned to her California hometown for an extended
visit with her parents, and she found that going back wasn’t so bad
after all.
I’d heard of Mennonite in a Little Black Dress
and even skimmed the first couple of pages, but it was the
recommendation of a friend, herself the author of a memoir, that
convinced me to read it. It only took a few pages for Janzen’s witty
prose to leave me in stitches. More than anything, this book made me
laugh. But it’s also very poignant, and however many teasing remarks she
may make about embarrassing Mennonite food and puzzling traditions, her
affection for that way of life and especially for the people who live
it is very real.
Like most memoirs I’ve read, Janzen’s doesn’t
follow much of a linear path. We hop around a lot, going back to her
childhood and to her years with her husband Nick, whose departure was
one of the events precipitating her need to return home and regroup. A
recent memory will lead to a related story, sometimes from her own life,
sometimes an anecdote passed down by someone else. Each chapter has a
theme to which everything in it ultimately connects; as someone prone to
tangents, it was fun for me to make those invisible connections in my
mind as I read. There’s a definite logic to what she discusses when she
does, but it’s not always obvious how each story fits in.
Janzen’s
memoir is filled with colorful characters, none more so than her
mother, a nurse who is perpetually cheerful, practical and hard-working.
Some of her quirks, like her tendency to burst into snippets of old
hymns when she hears one of the words therein and her fondness for
discussing bodily functions at the dinner table, elicit chuckles, but
mostly, we’re left with the impression that this is a truly wonderful
woman who has made a powerful, positive impact upon her family and her
community.
Janzen’s mother feels very old-fashioned, as does her
father, who keeps more of a distance but has a habit of summoning his
family members to the computer to see the latest schmaltzy e-mail
forward he’s received. Most of Rhoda’s peers seem more in step with
modern society, so there’s a smattering of profanity and off-color talk
that isn’t limited to the portions of the memoir dealing with her life
outside this quiet town. There are times, during talks with her sister
or sister-in-law or childhood friends, when it feels a bit like Sex and the City: The Mennonite Edition.
What
attracted me most were the passages reminiscing about the ups and downs
of growing up in such a distinct way of life, as well as anything
involving her mother, who bubbles over with warmth and wholesome humor. I
learned a lot about Mennonites from Janzen’s wry observations. She even
devotes a chapter to Mennonite history and offers a semi-serious primer
on modern Mennonite beliefs and practices. Mostly, though, it comes
through more organically, and the sense I got was that while she
considers many of the traditions quaint, she also takes a certain pride
in them. And I definitely got the impression that she came to a deeper
respect for the people of this community when they welcomed her so
warmly after her largely loveless marriage ended. I could feel her
cynicism ebbing away. This is perhaps best expressed in the fifth
chapter, A Lingering Finish, which deals largely with the
contrasts between her marriage and her sister’s. Midway through the
chapter, she notes, “There was a time in my life – sadly, not so long
ago – when quickness of mind seemed more important than kindness.”
Janzen
is a writer who exhibits both of these qualities, balancing cleverness
with real appreciation for the traditions, experiences and especially
people who have shaped her life. Sometimes you can go home again. I’m
very glad she did.
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