JANUARY 2020 - AudioFile
Mitch Albom and his wife didn't raise kids of their own, but when he talks about having become guardian to a Haitian girl named Chika, his voice takes on a father's tone. The couple brought Chika from their orphanage in Haiti to the U.S. to have a brain tumor treated. The story is framed as an imaginary conversation with the girl, who died at age 7 after beating the odds for nearly two years. Albom gives Chika a childlike bossy, insistent voice for their exchanges. Everything is told in short bursts, with her actual voice occasionally woven into the audiobook. Albom is mostly upbeat, only taking a tearful tone at the end as he recalls the effect Chika had on his life. J.A.S. © AudioFile 2020, Portland, Maine
Publishers Weekly
★ 09/30/2019
Albom’s powerful second memoir (after Tuesdays with Morrie) is a tribute to Chika, an orphaned Haitian girl whom Albom and his wife, Janine, cared for from age five to age seven, when she died from a brain tumor. After the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, Albom took over the management of an orphanage there. In 2013, fun-loving Chika became a resident and, two years later, was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor. Doctors in Haiti didn’t have the means to treat Chika, so Albom and his wife—who never had kids—brought her home to Michigan to help save her. Albom conveys the heartbreak of watching her suffer (Chika endured surgeries, and lost teeth and hair), while capturing Chika’s sweet spirit and youthful resilience. He speaks candidly about being too career-focused and putting off having kids until it was too late, and shares how Chika allowed him and his wife to experience the glory of parenthood decades into their marriage. Albom addresses Chika directly: “You never have to worry about us forgetting you... we’d lose every memory we ever had before we would let go of yours.” Both painfully sad and beautiful, this is an absolute tearjerker. (Nov.)
From the Publisher
Albom conveys the heartbreak of watching her suffer (Chika endured surgeries, and lost teeth and hair), while capturing Chika’s sweet spirit and youthful resilience. He speaks candidly about being too career-focused and putting off having kids until it was too late, and shares how Chika allowed him and his wife to experience the glory of parenthood decades into their marriage. Albom addresses Chika directly: “You never have to worry about us forgetting you... we’d lose every memory we ever had before we would let go of yours.” Both painfully sad and beautiful, this is an absolute tearjerker. — Publishers Weekly (starred review)
The takeaway from this simple, moving memoir is that love has no boundaries and should not be hindered by ethnicity, religion, education, or money.A highly expressive, tender story about how “families are like pieces of art, they can be made from many materials. — Kirkus Reviews
“This is a story of such heart-wrenching beauty that you think it would take a Mitch Albom to compose it. But Albom is more than the author, for it was his own heart that was broken open by the surprising arrival and excruciating departure of a dazzling little Haitian girl named Chika—who became, in every way that matters, his and his wife’s precious daughter — and it is his own life he seeks to patch back together in the telling.” — Melissa Fay Greene, two-time Nation a l Book Award finalist and author of There Is No Me Without You
“Mitch Albom has done it again with this moving memoir of love and loss. You can’t help but fall for Chika. A page-turner that will no doubt become a classic.” — Mary Karr, author of The Liars’ Club and The Art of Memoir
Albom’s memoir is a lens into his grief but also a celebration of Chika’s spirit and lessons gleaned from their time together as a family. The heartbreaking but uplifting story is a testament to the bravery and resilience of children and the power of love. — Library Journal
Melissa Fay Greene
This is a story of such heart-wrenching beauty that you think it would take a Mitch Albom to compose it. But Albom is more than the author, for it was his own heart that was broken open by the surprising arrival and excruciating departure of a dazzling little Haitian girl named Chika—who became, in every way that matters, his and his wife’s precious daughter — and it is his own life he seeks to patch back together in the telling.
Mary Karr
Mitch Albom has done it again with this moving memoir of love and loss. You can’t help but fall for Chika. A page-turner that will no doubt become a classic.
JANUARY 2020 - AudioFile
Mitch Albom and his wife didn't raise kids of their own, but when he talks about having become guardian to a Haitian girl named Chika, his voice takes on a father's tone. The couple brought Chika from their orphanage in Haiti to the U.S. to have a brain tumor treated. The story is framed as an imaginary conversation with the girl, who died at age 7 after beating the odds for nearly two years. Albom gives Chika a childlike bossy, insistent voice for their exchanges. Everything is told in short bursts, with her actual voice occasionally woven into the audiobook. Albom is mostly upbeat, only taking a tearful tone at the end as he recalls the effect Chika had on his life. J.A.S. © AudioFile 2020, Portland, Maine
Kirkus Reviews
2019-09-11
A young Haitian girl opens the door to unconditional love for an American couple.
When Albom (The Next Person You Meet in Heaven, 2018, etc.) became director of the Have Faith Haiti Orphanage in Port-au-Prince, he knew the children would make an impact on his life, but one toddler in particular, Chika, stole his heart. She was born just three days before the earthquake that destroyed Haiti in 2010. "It was tragedy on an island where tragedy is no stranger," writes the author. When Chika arrived at the orphanage, she was only 3, but she quickly became a leader among the children. When she was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor, a condition the neurologist in Haiti said could not be treated there, Albom and his wife brought Chika into their Michigan home and sought out the best treatment they could find. When those treatments failed, they traveled for two years to other countries for experimental procedures, anything that would prolong Chika's life. In addition to his own viewpoint, the author narrates the story by imagining what Chika was thinking and feeling. As Albom makes clear from the start, Chika did not survive her condition (she died in 2017 at age 7); his writing about this journey is unadorned, heartwarming, and rarely maudlin. He shares his joy at becoming a father to this vivacious child, his fears as he reintroduced Chika to her biological father, and the pain and sorrow he felt when she died. He marvels at the relationship Chika had with his wife and shares his amazement that Chika so readily connected with other adults. The takeaway from this simple, moving memoir is that love has no boundaries and should not be hindered by ethnicity, religion, education, or money.
A highly expressive, tender story about how "families are like pieces of art, they can be made from many materials."
