*spoilers ahead*


A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is a coming-of-age novel that poignantly captures the interior lives of the Nolan family as they navigate hardships such as poverty, failing relationships, and a declining reputation. There’s Johnny, a charming dancer and singer, and his wife Katie, who works tirelessly as a janitress to support their children: Francie, their firstborn, and Neeley, just a year younger.

The story is composed of vignettes—often melancholy and occasionally uplifting—that provide context into the intricate Nolan family dynamic; most of them are scaffolded by Johnny’s actions and their rippling effects. Handsome and outspoken, he is liked enough by those he encounters, but his alcoholism and poor work ethic prevent others from respecting him, and by extension, his family. Katie endures the shame of his addiction by taking more jobs to make ends meet; she grows sharper to make up for his failures as a husband. Neeley is too young to know how to care. The only person who consistently loves and admires Johnny despite his faults is Francie.


“Maybe the pigeon wanted to get away from his relatives. If he doesn’t like the new coop, he’ll fly back to the old one when he gets out again.”


There is a moment at the end of Book 2 where Francie and Johnny peer out at the Williamsburg Bridge as they stand together on the roof of their new apartment. Francie, floored with the knowledge that Johnny has crossed over the bridge, is captivated by the impossible beauty of Brooklyn’s landscape, while Johnny regards this same landscape with the despair of lost dreams, grappling with the fact that he’s already been married for seven years and has amounted to very little in his career. Here, two different stages of youth are depicted: Francie’s wide-eyed innocence, and Johnny’s grief over having lost so much of his twenties.

An integral question that this novel seems to ask is what defines youth—when does the transition to adulthood occur? When do mistakes become unforgivable, and under what circumstances, is one eligible for redemption? Johnny often lies and ignores his responsibilities. He refuses to succumb to the reality of his life, a characteristic that paints him with childlike immaturity. But to Francie, her father’s idealism makes him a hero; he has the power to console her in a way that Katie cannot. Even after his death, the effects of his actions are felt: McGarrity’s fondness for him leads him to hire Francie and Neeley to work at his saloon, alleviating some financial burdens for the grieving Nolans. Despite the rumors that haunt him throughout his life, he is honored at his funeral by countless people in the communities he drifted in and out of. Therefore, rather than suggesting the existence of dichotomies such as childhood versus adulthood, or good versus bad, the novel seeks to challenge the notion of labels as a whole by presenting characters with a choice—to lend kindness to others, or to not—such that one’s judgment of others becomes a direct reflection of oneself, as opposed to a reflection of the one being judged.

While the novel is about growing up, it is also about holding on to memories. Toward the end of the novel, Francie describes that much of her life has thus far felt like a dream. She often feels that she will forget many things even though she desperately wants to remember everything. In one scene, where she discovers at the Bureau that war has been declared, she determines that if she can recall every detail of that moment, then it will be preserved forever. However, by the time Book 5 begins, and she is packing her belongings, a subtle yet unspoken implication reveals that memories are often obscure in the way that one recalls them. Sometimes, life honors them beautifully and unexpectedly, like how Francie is momentarily transported back in time when Neeley, dressed up in a suit that resembles his father’s, calls her “Prima Donna” the way Johnny used to. In this way, the unpredictability of memories mirrors the unpredictability of life.


“But she didn't want to recall things. She wanted to live things—or as a compromise, re-live rather than reminisce.”


Every scene in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn feels integral to the overall construction of the story. It is a grand tapestry of resilience and grief, of love and family. Though incredibly honest in its depiction of struggle, the story delicately unfolds with perseverance and hope. It captures the precise essence of what makes a great American novel: the showcase of ambitious dreams and the courage it takes to pursue them. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn made me feel everything.


“‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let me be something   every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry… have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere—be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something   every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.’”


And so, in the end, the Nolans experience a great triumph. Katie remarries. The family moves to a bigger house. Francie becomes the first in her family to go to college. She tells Neeley that things will be different when she returns; neither she nor Brooklyn will be the same. But this is what it means to live.