Every once and a while a book comes along that grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you in, the kind of book you think about when your nose isn’t buried in it; a story you don’t want to finish because finishing it means there’s no more to read.
The Sky Isn’t Visible from Here is that kind of book. Felicia Sullivan tells of life in Brooklyn with her cocaine-addicted mother, a life lived on the edge of uncertainty, rife with abuse and devoid of childhood innocence. In adulthood, Felicia creates a persona to hide her struggle with the same demons she watched her mother fight – high-end Project Manager by day, addict by night– feeding her own addictions with such fervor that, like her mother, it eventually takes over her life.
Coke was there all along. It held my hand, made me feel omnipotent. Sprinkled sweet powder everywhere I walked. I would never be alone.
For me, this was both a fantastic read and a hard read. It was fantastic because Felicia is a brilliant writer, a fact that’s proven at the Prologue and is maintained throughout the entire book:
In the spring of 1997, a few weeks before my college graduation, my mother disappeared. Over the years, I had grown used to her leaving: a four-day cocaine binge; a wedding at City Hall to which I was not invited; the month she locked herself behind her bedroom door and emerged only to buy cigarettes. I’d spent the greater part of my life feeling abandoned by my mother. Yet she’d always return – blazing into the kitchen to cook up a holiday feast for ten when the table was set for only three or creeping past me at dawn, red-eyed and sullen, back from her drug dealer on Brooklyn’s Ninth Avenue.
And because some of her words read like poetry:
A boy, fixated on blinding bees and secret passageways within trees, constructs a fortress with a candy-striped hula hoop. He used to be a drinker and a junkie. It’s safe in here, he says. Another boy rolls up his long blue sleeves, revealing stories written on his arms. So we run, we sprint; we lose our breath and catch it again. I think of my mother briefly, and the dreams I used to have about her and children who would follow her, running blindly through grass.
It’s a fantastic read because it’s a story of survival, of perseverance, of hope: growing up with a drug-addicted mother only to hit rock bottom later in life, losing everything that’s important – family, friends, a good job, a long-term relationship, a sense of self – and fighting to come out on top. It’s Felicia’s song and she sings emphatically, proudly, with nary a hint of shame or regret.
Yet The Sky Isn’t Visible from Here is a hard read. Felicia writes openly and honestly, recalling her memories and experiences so vividly at times I felt as though I were there:
She would fill the tub with Mr. Bubble powder from a white package with a smiling pink bubble man, which filled the tub with suds. One evening Eddie burst through the front door, shouted out her name in that voice I had grown to hate. Obedient, my mother ran to him, leaving the door slightly ajar. All I could recall was my mother begging, her wailing “No,” over and over. Dishes shattered against the walls. I heard her knees collapsing to the floor, heard her choking. I lost time then. Years later, my mother told me she had accidentally turned the hot water knob too far. The hot drops spat on my legs like sparks. My mother said she found me with my legs black and still. She said I was taken to a hospital, covered in white gauze, drugged. She said when the black faded, all that remained were white scars.
Her story is powerful; I was haunted by the young girl who saw her mother overdose one too many times, who was abused by strange, unfamiliar men, never knowing who her father was. I cringed for the woman she grew into, a woman who drank until blackout and came this close to selling her eggs for coke money. And at times I had to put the book down to close my eyes and let parts of it sink in, because many times throughout the course of this book I related with Felicia.
Though my mother wasn’t a cocaine addict, she was an alcoholic and my story shares many a similarity with Felicia’s. I went to hell and back with my mother more than once before she died two months shy of my twenty-fifth birthday; while reading this book I found myself in tears at spots, nodding my head vigorously, thinking Yes, I understand! I understand! When I finished The Sky Isn’t Visible from Here I felt an overwhelming sense of pride for Felicia, for the little girl who survived a terrible childhood and the woman who turned her life around in spite of it all, and I felt inspired – by her strength, her bravery and by her beautiful, unforgettable story – to consider penning my own.
This is a book you won’t soon forget; Felicia’s story will stay with you long after the last page is turned. Quite simply, The Sky Isn’t Visible from Here is a must-read.
Interested in getting yourself a free copy of Felicia’s riveting memoir? Head on over to The Parent Bloggers Network’s website and leave a comment on this post telling them why you want to read this book (because Mama Says, that’s why!). They’ll pick one lucky winner at the end of this book’s campaign at random.