I’ll admit it freely: I’m a Trevor Noah junkie. I watch him obsessively, pretty much the same way I watched John Stewart when he was at the helm of The Daily Show. They’re both so smart, funny, compassionate, incisive and hella cute.
So when I discovered that Trevor had published his autobiography, Born a Crime : Stories from a South African Childhood, I downloaded it so fast I bruised my clicky finger. Happily, I got the Audible version, so not only did I get to enjoy one of the best memoirs I have ever “read”, but I also got to hear my heart-throb Trevor read it to me! Win-win!
I’d be hard-pressed to describe how freaking good this book is. How richly textured and eloquent and evocative and heart-stopping. I’d read books set in South Africa’s apartheid era before, such as Life, and Times of Michael K by J. M. Coetzee, or The Grass is Singing, by Doris Lessing. Both are brilliant.
But maybe it’s because of my West Indian heritage that shares so much with his African one. Maybe it’s because Trevor is so young, so much closer to my era, that I was able to identify. With Trevor’s deeply religious but surprisingly feisty and defiant mother. With his stalwart grandmother, who wasn’t afraid to put a licking on any kid that gave her lip—except for Trevor, who was “so white” she was afraid he’d bruise.
I loved the family relationships, especially with his brother. I marvelled at the way his father was willing to conceive a baby in a relationship that could literally land him in jail. I recoiled at his stepfather’s brutality, and shifted uncomfortably at the descriptions of poverty and lack.
When I look at Trevor Noah now, on top of his game, ruling the world, I feel proud and relieved. Because to hear him tell it, his sketchy youth might have led him down an entirely different path, as it did so many of his peers.
Quite literally one of the best books I have ever read.
Pairing
I’d like to pair Born a Crime with The Eat-a-Bug Cookbook, Revised: 40 Ways to Cook Crickets, Grasshoppers, Ants, Water Bugs, Spiders, Centipedes, and Their Kin (which seriously exists) in honour of the years in which Trevor and his family had to survive on mopane worms and the like. Ugh.
Also, with this AlbergBest 21 megapixel camera, in recognition of Trevor’s brief life of crime, and the stolen camera, full of some other family’s vacation photos, which finally made him realise that his trade in stolen merchandise was hurting innocent strangers. Maybe it’s what helped turn his life around . . . if so, I’m grateful.
(Please note that as an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.)
Is there any memoir you love more? Or are you a Trevor Noah fan like me? I’d love to hear from you.
Interested in writing your own memoir? I can help. Contact me here.
