Review by Kathy Briccetti
San Francisco Chronicle Book Section on August 10, 2003 
 
 
“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, 
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do; 
She gave them some broth without any bread; 
She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.” 
 
In Bay Area author Marie Etienne’s compelling memoir, the old woman in the shoe is her
socialite mother whose alcoholism turns her into a monster, stealing into her children’s rooms
for middle of the night beatings. “Storkbites” is the story of a wealthy, southern family trapped
in cycles of alcoholism and abuse and one daughter’s attempt to escape its violent legacy.
Reminiscent of Mary Karr’s “The Liar’s Club,” Etienne tells her bleak story without self-pity,
melding an innocent child’s perceptions with a survivor’s wisdom. 
 
The seventh of nine children in a Louisiana family, Etienne grows up in the 1970s amidst the
trappings of wealth—maids, gardeners, and the country club, cotillion classes and Mardi Gras
balls. But behind the family’s carefully constructed facade hide the heartbreaking traumas of
schizophrenia, murder, and suicide.  
 
Etienne’s mother, with her depression, shock therapy, and several rounds of “drying out,” is
well drawn. By day she is sober and generous, but at night she becomes an unpredictable
tyrant who beats her children and once kicks a puppy to death. As her mother rages,
Etienne’s father sits drinking in a leather armchair in his private study (the rooms in the house
are connected by phones) ignoring the screams of his children. He calls his girls pet names and
lavishes kisses and objects on them, and he has favorites who are protected from the
beatings. The young Etienne is not one of them. 
 
Etienne’s parents show their love through what they give their children, turning their offspring
into greedy connivers, desperate for Christmas checks, inheritances, and their parent’s
possessions. “Because despite knowing we were more fortunate than many,” Etienne writes,
“we were all hungry and wanted more, as if another…car would fill our voids.”  
Even as young adults, when the siblings suffer their own mental illness, alcoholism and acting
out, no one discloses family secrets without risking punishment—their parents’ withholding of
attention, love, and money. The family comes close to opening up when Etienne’s brother
enters rehab, but after a round of therapy the family’s shell snaps shut, and they are trapped
inside again. Etienne and her siblings are taught to hide their feelings behind the ol’ southern
way of “just make nice.” 

We follow Etienne’s childhood and young adulthood as she struggles to extricate herself from
her family’s madness and start a life as far away as she can get—San Francisco. Two
juxtaposed timelines merge near the end of the book as her childhood catches up with her and
she must acknowledge and control her own rage. After Etienne gives birth to her children, she
finds herself on the brink of repeating her mother’s violence. With gut-wrenching honesty,
Etienne admits her own weakness, seeks help from a therapist, and begins the work of truly
breaking free.

Despite the painful subject, Etienne’s writing is fresh; she ties vivid, dramatic scenes together
with moments of self-reflection in just the right mix. While the large cast of siblings is
occasionally difficult to differentiate, Etienne does an estimable job of giving life to all of them,
showing their quirks and the effects of the family’s dysfunction on each. Although the book’s
emotional pull is strong, the narrative slows in the middle where Etienne spends a bit too much
time on her teenage experimentation with sex, alcohol and drugs. However, an attachment to
the characters and a desire to witness the narrator’s transformation keeps the reader engaged.
Etienne’s epiphany is clear, her ending powerful and satisfying. She will not subject her
children to a replay of her mother’s reign of terror. She knows what she wants to pass on to
her children. “Fear or love, that’s the choice,” she writes. 
 
Etienne likens “storkbites,” the clusters of capillaries erupting just under the surface of a
newborn’s skin, to the invisible clusters of bruises lying beneath her skin. “Undoubtedly they
covered my entire body, never having been given a chance to heal or fade. I had grown
accustomed to the pain just like I had become accustomed to the chaos in my life.”   
She’s not making excuses. She accepts responsibility for her actions and fights hard against
entrenched family patterns. Etienne’s self-criticism is honest and her raw frankness sometimes
shocking. She is critical of her parents and siblings, but doesn’t spare herself, particularly as
she shares the blame for the end of her marriage and admits her own potential for violence.
Etienne today has come far, but she must still sleep on her back facing the door, ever vigilant
for that nighttime monster.

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