Annie John
Annie John is a short and sweet novel that reminds us to grieve the loss of childhood. The delicacies of growing up, like independence, maturity, and boobs, distract us from what’s being left behind until it’s out of reach. Suddenly, you can’t remember the last time your parents tucked you into bed or held your hand to cross the street.
Annie John is a memorable story because Kincaid suspends time, and through her characters, we remember our childhoods. This act of remembering is nostalgic and sentimental, and for me, it is a chance to reminisce on all the things that have made me. I relished reading about Annie and her mom’s dress-shopping dates, shared meals, and schedules. How wonderful to consider (because remembering is too hard) that there was a time when you saw your mother’s body as an extension of yours.
I also identified with Annie’s teenage rebellion: the lies about playing marbles, the secrecy surrounding her school crushes, and the confusion about her developing body. Annie John and I grew up in different parts of the world, yet I recognize that as women, we are much more similar than different. Kincaid never marketed it as so, but Annie John is a vessel of communion.
My heart swelled with a great gladness as the words “I shall never see this again” spilled out inside me. But then, just as quickly, my heart shriveled up and the words “I shall never see this again” stabbed at me (145)
The quote above poignantly underscores the duality of growth. I am happy to move on; I am devastated to move on. I loved this scene on page 145 where Annie emphasizes the ‘lasts’: her last time waking up in that bed, walking down her childhood street, and seeing friends and family. It doesn’t mean you won’t ever see those things again, but they’ll never hold the weight they did initially, and that loss is worth grieving.
I’m sure there was a version of this novel where we glimpse Annie John’s life in England. However, this novel decidedly ends with Annie boarding the boat. This is arguably the exact moment when the door to her childhood ends and the door to adulthood opens. It made me wonder, at what exact moment in my life was I no longer a child? At what moment did I get on the boat?
Keeping the novel in Annie John’s youth is an intentional ode to childhood. Kincaid doesn’t let us get caught up in the excitement of what’s next; she forces us to remain in what was. This inevitably leads to a delicate self-questioning: Who was your first childhood crush? When was the first time you lied? What were the things you couldn’t live without? Answering these questions is therapeutic but leads to the scariest question of all: Am I everything I thought I would be?
I turned 24 this month, and it’s felt unsettling. Although I’ve legally been an adult for a few years, this is the first year I’m not in school. The structure I’ve relied on and looked forward to is now suddenly complete. I dodged the post-undergraduate blues by heading straight to graduate school, but now that that chapter is over, life feels infinite and overwhelming.
Like Annie John, my heart swells at never having to take a test, sit through a boring lecture, or stay up all night studying again. But I, too, feel a stabbing pain that I will never get to pick a new set of classes, fall into a two-hour discussion on Kafka, or have so much free time during my day. The question of what’s next is daunting, and like Annie John, in moments of great despair, I call my mother.
The mother-daughter relationship in this novel is stunningly accurate. The push and pull and the love and hate between Annie and her mom prove how the mother-daughter relationship is one of the most challenging love stories. As the daughter, you’re desperate to run away from your mother but also begging for her to bring you back. Annie is ready to leave her home, community, and family, but she’s also heartbroken at saying goodbye. I was teary-eyed at the novel’s last scene: “From the deck, I could not see my father, but I could see my mother facing the ship, her eyes searching to pick me out … Recognizing me immediately, she waved back just as wildly” (147). This quote sums up the special bond the two share: no matter their tribulations, they search for (and find) each other among the masses.
Annie John is a deceptively simple novel. Though it follows one girl’s life, it represents young womanhood's universal ups and downs in a way that does not seek attention or validation. Kincaid’s narrative style is clean and enchanting, a perfect backdrop to a story about growth. She reminds us to remember the younger version of ourselves and address whatever emotions rise with it. In short, think of how far you’ve come.
