Darling Days opens with a brief letter from iO Tillett Wright to his mother, offering forgiveness and love. It's well-placed in the story, because reading about Wright's childhood, and the abuse and neglect he suffered at the hands of both parents, can leave a reader feeling angry and vengeful. Wright's story is often grim, but it points toward reconciliation and a measure of peace beyond the turmoil.

A genderqueer photographer, writer, MTV host and activist, Wright had an unorthodox upbringing. His mother, Rhonna, was a "glamazon," who exercised obsessively and was always in motion, often with the aid of pharmaceuticals. Moving between apartments in the projects, she and Wright's father split up not long after his birth, and neither was well-equipped to raise a child. Frequently going hungry and struggling in school, Wright couldn't even catch a break on the playground. When some kids refused to let Wright join a football game as a girl, he resolved on the spot to live as a boy named Ricky and did so for the next decade.

When his mother's inexplicable rages became unbearable, Wright summoned the courage to ask for help. Moving from the streets of New York's roughest neighborhoods to Europe with his dad and finding stability in an English boarding school, he learned that his father, too, was fighting demons that prevented him from being a suitable guardian.

Darling Days is a story of unfortunate self-reliance, but Wright tells it vividly. The thrills and temptations of the art world, and the people that busy whirl leaves behind, are also convincingly captured here.

 

This article was originally published in the October 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

More than 2.3 million people have viewed artist/activist Wright's TED Talk, "Fifty Shades of Gay," and then there's her artwork, articles, and MTV show, Suspect. Here she revisits an Eighties childhood shaped by the heroin-laced punk/art scene of New York's Lower East Side.

At times, this memoir feels disjointed and frenetic, but that is mainly because Wright's life has been disjointed and frenetic. Brought up by a single mother in early 1990s New York, Wright learned to deal with a bohemian lifestyle early on. This is a story of the author's loving but frustrating relationship with a mother who marches to the beat of her own drum; it is also about the harmful effects of gentrification and drug addiction. At one point, the family is forced out of their apartment by a housing management agency, and the ensuing drama demonstrates what it's like to be displaced for the sake of higher rents. In the midst of all this, Wright struggles with gender identity, dressing as a boy called Ricky, and later, grappling with sexuality when a first crush blossoms. Bouncing from home to home, school to school, and later, parent to parent, the author eventually understands the importance of taking charge of one's own life and even more importantly, of being true to oneself. VERDICT Readers interested in studies of gender identity, seeing a different side of New York City, and memoirs about surviving difficult situations will enjoy. [See Prepub Alert, 3/28/16.]—Caitlin Kenney, Niagara Falls P.L, NY

Genderqueer activist and writer Wright (Lose My Number) aims to create the next great New York City memoir, but stumbles along the way. Wright's tale of growing up in Manhattan in the late 1980s and '90s, is in broad strokes a tale of love and loss—both referring to her mother Rhonna, a force of nature whose fierce, unconditional love for her child morphs over years to become an abusive, substance-addicted relationship. That chaos bleeds into all theaters (sometimes literally—both Wright and Rhonna are performers) of Wright's life. The book's most vital aspect is its exploration of growing up gender-variant, and Wright's passionate descriptions of her fear of gendered bathrooms and locker rooms, self-baffling relationship with sex and sexuality, and attempts to "pass" as a boy from the age of six have never been more timely. The prose is beautiful and aches with emotion. However, Wright may put off her transgender readers with her casual use of transmisogynist slurs. Cisgender readers will derive a great deal of insight into the developing mind of a trans child. (Sept.)