Memoirs are tricky, especially when the author isn't widely known.
But Janis Stout tackles the memoir with a new and inventive
approach-she organizes her memories around the houses she's lived
in. "Sometimes," she wrote, "I picture my life as a long row of
houses." Houses, she claims, are metaphors for the structures of
our lives, and Stout's houses twine their way through this memoir
along with reflections on work and retirement, marriages good and
bad, and quietness for engaging in the important last work of life.
She is, she says, a little different in each house-but each house
shaped who she became as she prepared to move into the last house,
the house of retirement. A college professor, mother of four sons,
and wife, she writes of her early life through the lens of the
houses she lived in at the time of events. There was the rock house
of her early childhood from which she escaped to a failed early
marriage that produced her sons. Other houses enfold her
determination to finish college and her PhD; her concern for a son
who is blind and brain-damaged; and, finally, a new, happy and
enduring marriage. Stout recounts the planning and building of the
dream house in the New Mexico mountains, where she and her husband,
Loren, would build new lives in retirement. And then their lives
take a sudden turn when health issues made the house impractical.
New Mexico wasn't, after all, the last house.
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