A searing and deeply personal memoir that explores the institutions—family, society, country—that defined a Puerto Rican woman and what she unlearned to rediscover herself
Growing up in the Midwest, raised by a Puerto Rican mother who was abandoned by her family, Jamie Figueroa and her sisters were estranged from their culture, consumed by the whiteness that surrounded them. In Mother Island, Figueroa traces her search for identity as shaped by and against a mother who settled into the safety of assimilation. In lyrical, blistering prose, Figueroa recalls a childhood in Ohio in which she was relegated to the background of her mother’s string of failed marriages; her own marriage in her early twenties to a man twice her age; how her work as a licensed massage therapist helped her heal her body trauma; and how becoming a mother has reshaped her relationship to her family and herself. Only as an adult in New Mexico was Figueroa able to forge her own path, using writing to recast her origin story. In a journey that takes her to Puerto Rico and back, Figueroa looks to her ancestors to reimagine her relationship to the past and to her mother’s native island, reaching beyond her own mother into a greater experience of mothering and claiming herself.
In stunning prose that draws from Puerto Rican folklore and mythology, a literary lineage of women writers of color, and narratives of identity, Figueroa presents a cultural coming-of-age story. Candid and raw, Mother Island gets to the heart of the Who do we become when we are no longer trying to be someone else?
Jamie Figueroa is the author of the critically acclaimed novel Brother, Sister, Mother, Explorer (Catapult 2021), which was shortlisted for the Reading the West Book Award and long-listed for the Center for Fiction First Novel Prize, was an Indie Next pick, a Good Morning America must-read book of the month, and was named a most anticipated debut of the year by Bustle, Electric Literature, The Millions, and Rumpus. A member of the faculty in the MFA Creative Writing program at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Figueroa has published writing in American Short Fiction, Emergence Magazine, Elle, McSweeney’s, Agni, The New York Times, and the Boston Review, among other publications. A Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation (VONA) alum, she received a Truman Capote Award and was a Bread Loaf Rona Jaffe Scholar. Boricua (Afro-Taíno) by way of Ohio, Figueroa is a longtime resident of northern New Mexico.
I’ll start by saying that memoir is not my favorite genre. I was interested to learn more about Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture, but most of the story takes place in Ohio, cut off from the author and her mother’s Puerto Rican heritage. I now see that the book is more about the Mother than the Island. That for the author’s identity forming childhood, she was stranded on the island of her mother’s traumas, whims, abandonment, whitewashed identity, and an endless sea of men her mother temporarily put in front of her daughters’ needs.
In this book, the author paints a picture of how these experiences and trauma made her who she is and also unsure of who she is, subjugated to her mom’s needs, her hardship and her healing. Which had a little bit to do with Puerto Rico and more to do with her own inner journey.
Thanks to NetGalley for an advanced reader copy (ARC).
This is a beautiful memoir about family, motherhood and identity. Jamie Figueroa shares her upbringing with a stunning mother who carries a lifetime of trauma as she navigates romantic relationships and raising her three daughters. It is so empowering to read Jamie's journey, as she navigates childhood, her own marriage, returning to her mother's homeland and parenting her son. Many readers from the Caribbean will identify with Figueroa's journey of identity, colorism and trying to navigate white spaces. What a powerful read!
This is such a powerful story. I was amazed at how raw and real Jamie's writing was. I appreciated the chance to read her words. Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC. I feel this is a book I'd like to revisit and share with a book buddy. Five stars.
This is a book in which the author narrates her own life story, describing the challenges she faced while trying to find her place in a society dominated by white people. Throughout the book, the author uses a mix of storytelling, poetry, and personal experiences to convey her message. However, her frequent rants about patriarchy, white imperialism, and supremacy can become repetitive and lose their impact over time. As a result, readers may become indifferent to her struggles.
A dense, lyrical exploration of generational trauma and how it impacted the authors relationship with her mother, her culture, and herself. I took off one star because I listened to it as an audio and think I would have preferred reading it in text. The reading was very...careful, for lack of a better word. It was not careful in the sense of emotion, but it did feel like the narration was being read very carefully so they wouldn't have to redo. While granted, it is important when narrating an audio book to be accurate, the narration did not convy a sense of ease with the text.
maybe 3.5. i did like this book, but i definitely went into it expecting to learn more about PR history and i wish it dove deeper in that regard (but that boils down to the assumptions i had and may be unfair to rate it lower bc of my own expectations)
This memoir is a poignant exploration of identity, belonging, and the intricate bonds of mother-daughter relationships. The author provides a rich narrative of her experiences as an Afro-Indigenous person from the Caribbean. The memoir delves into the foundational aspect of touch and belonging, exploring the intergenerational impacts of trauma and silence and how these elements shape personal and cultural identity.
The author's reflections on her mother's influence within a cultural context are very personal and relatable. Her honesty and vulnerability invite readers into a space of healing and connection, making "Mother Island" a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring quest for understanding and belonging.
Thank you to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor, Pantheon via Netgalley for providing me with this ARC! This memoir was a beautiful, elaborate, and rich depiction of the multifaceted concept of motherhood. Through her prose, it’s clear the connection the author has with her intergenerational legacy, both the strength she draws from it and the burdens of ingrained colonization and misogyny. This book reminded me why I love reading memoirs so much. I hope that eventually the audiobook will be released with the author reading, because I think the power of her words would be especially compelling. Recommending to all my friends who enjoy memoirs, especially those looking for more Afro-Latine authors!
With incisive and heartfelt writing that examines her complex relationship with her white-passing mother and the subsequent severance of her Puerto Rican heritage, Figueroa embarks on a self-(re)discovery to reconnect with her mother, motherland, and mother tongue. Figueroa covers plenty of ground, from how mother figures are used to perpetuate white supremacy, redefining ourselves without the confines of whiteness, to writing as an act of healing. I highlighted so many passages that resonated deeply with me. MI is a new fav read about complex mother-daughter relationships that deserves more hype! This book pairs well with UNDISCOVERED (Gabriela Wiener).
I love reading authentic stories and Mother Island is such a book. Jaime Figueroa takes us through her journey to reconnect with her ties to Puerto Rico after being raised in the mainland United States. Her childhood, family ties and her move back to the island are all topics that are explored.
As a first-generation American, I could identify with the struggle that Figueroa goes through with trying to reconnect with our roots. I appreciate the chance to read this book from Netgalley.
"It was one thing to subscribe to Ms magazine and write political letters of protest. It was another thing, as a young, brown, working-poor woman in small-town Ohio, to deal with the generations of colonized lives in my DNA. When facing my own childhood trauma and lack of parenting, what I was desperate for was someone to love me, only me, and to not disappear. It was my inner four-year-old or seven-year-old or ten-year-old who dictated what I needed, decided my fate. And in that way, my mother and I behaved in exactly the same way.
It would be years before I would understand how to translate feminism-the value of myself, the value of women as equal-into language that held my own context as African Indigenous, as Boricua.
Understand what it means to see myself as the ultimate authority in my own life, trust myself, cultivate a relationship with the Divine Feminine.
See myself and treat myself as sacred."
"These Black authors, creatives, thinkers, social commentators speak to being seen as integral to being considered fully human. The primary relationship with the act of seeing is how they see themselves. The secondary relationship with the act of seeing is how they see others. The tertiary relationship with the act of seeing is how they are seen. There is the promise of clarity and confidence in this order. It is set up for self-possession even in the face of domination-systematic, institutionalized, often violent forces of the overt culture's habituation toward white body supremacy as it is articulated through our social and political structures, through patriarchy, imperialism/ongoing colonization, racism, and capitalism."
"I wish it were as simple as seeing myself with my own eyes, but there are many lenses, and they change. Which lens am I looking through? The Caribbean lens? The Puerto Rican lens? The Spanish lens? The Afro lens? The Taíno lens? The U.S. white lens? The U.S. Black lens? The U.S. Native lens? The BIPOC lens at large? The mixed-race lens? And what about the angle, and the light, and the time of day, and the time of year, and the focus —what part of myself am I looking at, exactly? Because I've been conditioned to be a thing of parts. Not wholly this or that but parceled.
My training tells me that my own lens should depend on that of those around me. That I cannot accurately see myself on my own. Coming of age in Ohio, there were moments I tried to assert my own perception of myself, but then I waited for it to be affirmed by others, waited to be told whether I was correct or incorrect. At seventeen, I remember filling out college applications. I checked multiple boxes: "Hispanic, "Black, African American," and "Native American." The admissions office at one of the colleges I'd applied to called and asked for clarity. Only one box could be checked. My eldest sister, considering her own appearance and identity and reception in the world, nothing at all like my own, checked the "Hispanic" box. It was 1994. Thirty years later, there are many times I still feel as though I'm made to choose one part of my identity over another. That not all can be simultaneously included. That all the parts of me I try to make a cohesive whole are separated again by the limitations of the seer and the projections they make, which for so long I've used to undermine my own experience of myself.
It has been a constant labor. Seeing.
Seeing myself is a complicated task given my composition, given not living on the island, given being raised in Ohio—an intolerant place that championed whiteness. Seeing myself is more something I do through sensing, through feeling."
I listened to the audio while following along in my physical copy ...
This book was raw, real, and relatable ... because I went through the challenges the author went through.
Reading this has brought forth my own challenges with identity, family trauma, and other issues that were far too much for a child to deal with.
Although I loved being able to see myself in the author's story ... some of her ranting about "white people" took me away from the story. I felt like the author was solely blaming this group of people for her mother's decisions ... like when the mother chose to be with white men.
Although I can agree that people have identity issues, repeatedly saying your mother was with white men because she suffered from low self-esteem and therefore settled for "basically" less, was in my opinion, degrading to her mother.
The author brought light to amazing facts and information in this book ... and am glad that I had the honor to read it.
A poetic and unconventional memoir focused on the relationship between the author and her mother. I’d recommend it to fans of In the Dream House, which is one of many literary works that Jamie Figueroa mentions. Memoirs aren’t my favorite, but I do love creative, thoughtful books packed with cultural references. In a passage I had to go back and find to reread immediately, she describes her distaste for the term “magical realism” and offers the phrase “liminal fiction” instead. This isn’t fiction but it definitely fits her description of writing that “denotes the subconscious and the unseen as necessary and valuable counterparts to the conscious and seen.”
I won this in a goodreads giveaway and likely wouldn’t have picked it up otherwise, and I’m very glad to have read it! I hate rating things - this was slow and dense, so not for everyone, but I’m rounding up to 5 because the overall ratings are quite low right now.
Uncomfortable for its trauma, multi-multi-generational and recognizable and so brutal. Uncomfortable also because there’s this problem I have with some memoirs: the people being written about aren’t there to defend themselves nor even present their versions of stories. Figueroa acknowledges trauma and systemic racism and patterns of abuse and toxic masculinity on one hand, while on the other demonstrating (IMO) little compassion toward the people in her life who are products of those. She comes off as a lost soul, desperately grasping for meaning and relevance; this does not always end well.
Unrated. I didn’t especially enjoy reading this, and am not likely to recommend it to friends, but I wish Figueroa success with this book. My sincere hope is that she found the writing cathartic and healing, and can use it to break the chain of abuse.
A deeply spiritual take of a woman who feels a connection and a seperation to PuertoRico. A memoir about love, family, racism, language, religion, marriage and abuse. The complicated feelings related to loving/longing for an island with generational trauma, colonization, and stories of slavery. An island that is still a colony of the United States of America. An island that is poor and supposedly "dirty" in the eyes of off-island Americans. And not just that, but a story of a mother who Jaime loves but felt disappointed and ashamed by as a consequence of colorism.
I picked this book up because I will be in Jaime's VONA class this summer and I wanted to get to know her and style a little better to prepare for the week. I am so excited!
This is a solid and powerful memoir,full of incredible imagery, reclamation and many powerful meta-level explorations of memory, identity, and memoir.
The 4 rather than 5 is for two reasons - 1. I missed a lot of the vivid imagery from the first half in the second half. When it happens - about twenty pages from the end - I realized how much is been missing it. 2. The beginning section is highly chaotic time-wise, with very little context, and while at first I felt that made sense for the chaotic situations, the rest of the book is nearly linear. I can 100% abide chaos, especially when it’s consistent with the narrative, but it felt incongruous to the rest of the book.
Figueroa's memoir is a gorgeous exploration of identity, memory, and the intimacy of estrangement. The language is lyrical and unforgettable, especially as she describes a lifelong disconnect from self, ancestry, and culture. The effects of trauma--both collective and individual--are examined through the author's experience as a Puerto Rican daughter living on the mainland, longing to reconnect to an island and history she had been cut off from by her orphaned mother. Wounds run deep in this story, but so does hope.
I received a copy of this book for free in a giveaway.
This book was really beautifully written, and a good story dealing with a mother/daughter relationship and inter generational trauma. This might just be a me problem right now in not picking this up when I was in the right mood for it (memoirs are always a little tricky for me to get through unless it’s an audiobook), but I didn’t love it like I thought I would. Maybe someday I’ll revisit it and feel differently, but right now, it just hasn’t “stuck” with me much after reading it.
I really enjoy reading memoirs, and it seems right now, that a lot of racial identity memoirs are being published. Mother Island has a lot of similarities to other memoirs of this genre, but I still enjoyed learning more about Puerto Rico
Booksellers, this would be a great hand sell with books like American Negra: A Memoir
This finished copy was provided by the publisher in exchange for a fair and honest review. Huge thanks to Pantheon for my finished copy!
Memoirs aren't my favorite genre but Figueroa's writing was clear and raw. It's also a bit crazy that I currently live in the area where she grew up--I know exactly where the apartment she lived in and had her hair relaxed is located. It is still pretty white but the city has grown and become much more multicultural. So there are those of us who work tirelessly to help first-generation immigrants to connect those roots from their home country and language to this one. So no one feels as lost as Figueroa did for so many years.
A memoir tracing a Puerto Rican woman who grew up in Ohio and had to come to grasp her own identities when she realizes her skin is darker than everyone around her. Figueroa explores her own relationship with the island and grapples with the complexity of racism, classism, and oppression and how they operate differently but similarly in the US and Puerto Rico. A raw remembering of her past, her history, and a deeply personal and vulnerable look into the multiverse of white supremacy.
Content warnings: racism; abuse; generational trauma; abandonment; and more
Quick review: I loved that this memoir was essentially all over the place by topic instead of chronological. Jamie's story is full of generational trauma, experienced trauma, and healing. I loved how she weaved all of this together.
In this brilliantly layered memoir, the author doesn't hold back and we don't want her to. Figueroa unearths her life and the reality of racism, colonialism, and discovery that are her life and her journey to date. One of the best books I've read in a very long time.