Ivy Lodge

April 23, 2022

After the death of her elderly parents, multi-linguist/writer Marshall (translation editor for the Los Angeles Review) and her siblings return to clean out Ivy Lodge, the Tudor-style former manor home where she spent her childhood in Kirkwood, Missouri. Room by room, Marshall conjures up memories from her childhood. For example, the foyer is where her mother received news that her brother Sam was shot in Vietnam. Marshall describes the experience of cleaning out the home with her siblings and divvying up possessions. She stands her ground over keeping her father's brush because it reminds her of brushing her mother's hair when she was in the hospital. Marshall's memories are personal, vivid, and often painful. Her parents were stoic--she only saw her mother cry once--and she holds onto hope that she will uncover something that explains her mother's icy demeanor. By walking readers through the childhood home she calls a "house divided," Marshall explores the strained relationship she had with her late parents and the distance between herself and her siblings. VERDICT Marshall's reflections on coming of age during the 1960s will appeal to some readers, as will her experience being raised by cold and distant parents.--Erin Shea Dummeyer

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Starred review from May 15, 2022
Following the deaths of her parents, a translator returned to her family home to sort through their possessions in this debut memoir. In 1959, when Marshall was 9 years old, she and her siblings were taken by their parents to visit Ivy Lodge. Erected in the 1860s and rebuilt in 1939, this Tudor-style manor in Kirkwood, Missouri, would soon become their home. Forty years later, the author, a translator working in over a dozen languages, was tasked with returning to the house to sift through its contents prior to its sale. Marshall's parents did not believe in throwing things out, and she found herself confronted by a "mausoleum of memories." Many of the objects reminded her of the difficult relationship she had with her parents. She discovered a peanut jar used by her mother to shame the children about the number of calories they consumed. The brass knuckles owned by her father, who worked for the FBI during World War II, left her with a sense of foreboding about his unknown past. Employing her skills as a translator, Marshall started to reinterpret the objects to glean a deeper understanding of herself and her family. The author's imaginative, elegant prose beguiles from the outset: "The home had been dropped on top of our...personal Rubik's puzzle--our family--shattering it in the process." Marshall takes a curatorial approach, examining many objects in detail and then allowing their histories to unfold. Regarding an unfinished piece of embroidery, the author writes: "Loose, unknotted threads extend off the top of the piece--perhaps intended to be a bookmark--as though it had been left behind when its owner departed in a hurry." Marshall has a great eye for fine details, and even seemingly insignificant items are loaded with meanings that are waiting to be unlocked. Some readers may misconceive the premise of the memoir as cloyingly sentimental. The author sidesteps this pitfall with her often brutal honesty: "I'm...searching this home for anything that is evidence of my parents' love for me." Thoughtfully conceived, this deeply personal, acutely observed recollection is a captivating voyage to the past. Readers who are mourning parents will particularly relate to the story. A moving, courageously frank, and sharply intuitive account about a manor filled with memories.

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