Summary
A Michael L. Printz Award Honor Book
Part memoir, part speculative fiction, this novel explores the often surreal experience of growing up as a mixed-Black transracial adoptee.
Dream Country author Shannon Gibney returns with a new book woven from her true story of growing up as the adopted Black daughter of white parents and the fictional story of Erin Powers, the name Shannon was given at birth by the white woman who gave her up for adoption.
At its core, the novel is a tale of two girls on two different timelines occasionally bridged by a mysterious portal and their shared search for a complete picture of their origins. Gibney surrounds that story with reproductions of her own adoption documents, letters, family photographs, interviews, medical records, and brief essays on the surreal absurdities of the adoptee experience.
The end result is a remarkable portrait of an American experience rarely depicted in any form.
Author Notes
Shannon Gibney is an author and university professor. Her novel See No Color, drawn from her life as a transracial adoptee, was hailed by Kirkus as "an exceptionally accomplished debut" and by Publishers Weekly as "an unflinching look at the complexities of racial identity." Her sophomore novel, Dream Country, received five starred reviews and earned her a second Minnesota Book Award. The Girl I Am, Was, and Never Will Be earned a Michael L. Printz Honor. She lives with her two Liberian-American children in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Publisher's Weekly Review
Gibney strikes an intriguing balance between memoir and fantasy in this kaleidoscopic portrait that chronicles both her real-life childhood as Shannon Gibney and an alternate imagined life as Erin Powers, her birth name. After she's born in January 1975, the biracial protagonist is, in reality, immediately relinquished by her white birth mother and adopted seven months later by white parents Jim and Susan Gibney. But elsewhere--in another dimension that the first-person narrator initially glimpsed through a wormhole in her mirror when she was 10--Erin lives, instead, with her birth mom and maintains close, if at times contentious, relationships with her extended family. What follows is an exploration of the subject's identity as a transracial adoptee as examined through the protagonists' differing--and sometimes eerily similar--lives across a nonlinear timeline. Collected letters and photographs from Gibney's real life feature alongside recursive imaginings of who she might be if Gibney had grown up with her biological family. Asking the question, "Who was that girl, and who is she now?" this richly textured telling fills in the blanks "with scraps of speculation" where personal histories remain unknown. The result is a fantastical, transcendent memory collage that shirks convention in search of what is real and true about familial bonds. Ages 14--up. (Jan.)
Excerpts
The literature of adoption is a fictional genre in itself. Adoptees know it to be generally as fantastical as any space opera--and just as entertaining to the masses. Every story must begin with the vulnerable but good-hearted poor birth mother who loves her baby very much but cannot take care of it (the birth father is always conspicuously absent in these narratives). There is a kindly, upper-middle-class, usually white couple who desperately wants a child, and have pursued all avenues in order to get one (if the couple is adopting internationally, they are in a rich country in the Global North, and have spent years on various lists, waiting for an available child, many times spending thousands of dollars). They fight, despite all odds, to build their family through adoption, in the process creating a healthy, happy, thriving child who eventually grows into a healthy, happy, thriving adult who has bonded perfectly with their new colorblind family. All this miraculous transformation from a poor, brown, cast-off orphan. Love conquers all. Once the birth mother has given up the child, she is no longer part of the story. Once the child is adopted, there is no talk of loss of first family, culture, language, or community. The adoption is simply a bureaucratic event that happened, and then is over. Since the birth father was not part of the story from the beginning, he is not part of the adoptee's story as it progresses. And if you ask about any of the particularities of this literature of adoption: who is adopting whom, from where to where, what are the racial dynamics of the transaction, the role that money plays, corruption, the trauma of removal, the burden of assimilation, you are branded an angry and maladjusted adoptee. When most of the literature written about a marginalized group of people comes from white adoptive parents who are psychologists, sociologists, creative writers, and professors who don't identify themselves as adoptive parents in their "objective" work, what other possible outcome could there be? This is how I came to understand epistemological violence. In my body. Excerpted from The Girl I Am, Was, and Never Will Be: A Speculative Memoir of Transracial Adoption by Shannon Gibney All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
