By the time her older brother was capable of getting into serious trouble as an independent-minded black man in the American South, they were shipped back to their mother, who was as ready as she would ever be. But the pivot of the book is her mother-first called lady, then mother and finally mom-who sent Angelou and her brother to live with their grandmother when Angelou was 3. And wickedness abounds, for Angelou had a knack for picking bad men. True to her style, the writing cuts to the chase with compression and simplicity, and there in the background is a calypso smoothness, flurries and showers of musicality between the moments of wickedness. Angelou ( Letters to My Daughter, 2008, etc.) has given us the opportunity to read much of her life, but here she unveils her relationship with her mother for the first time.
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