Reviewed by: Mot: A Memoir by Sarah Einstein Greta McDonough (bio) Sarah Einstein. Mot: A Memoir. Athens, Ga.: University of Georgia Press, 2015. 168 pages. Hardcover. $24.95. The story of Mot and its author, Sarah Einstein, might be unbelievable as a work of fiction, which makes this memoir all the more remarkable in its telling. Serving the story of an improbable friendship are elements, both big and small, that lend veracity to the storytelling and create in Einstein a reliable narrator. From the memoir’s opening in a KOA campground in a hard-luck part of Amarillo, Texas, the reader is hooked immediately by the lush description and the delicate foreshadowing of an unlikely pair of friends. Mot is a homeless drifter in his mid-sixties, who is waiting—or we think he [End Page 113] is waiting—for Einstein’s visit. She has driven from West Virginia, alone, to spend a platonic week with him, sharing a cabin and seeing the sights, leaving behind her new husband and step-daughter, and a marriage still straining from its brevity and the negotiations of merging several lives into one. We know almost immediately that Mot is suffering from severe mental illness—the voices, the paranoia, and at times the word-salad of the truly disturbed—and that Einstein knows him as a former client from her stint at the Friendship Room, a drop-in day facility for the homeless and mentally ill. We are not sure what to make of Einstein, a woman on the verge of middle age, and Mot, who is in possession of voices and delusions and “The Big Guys Upstairs.” Anyone with a passing understanding of mental health issues will see warnings and red flags, and from time to time the reader may feel a pang or two of discomfort. We wonder about the propriety of such a friendship, all the boundary business that is the cornerstone of working with vulnerable clients, and this wondering is echoed in the descriptions of a relationship that Einstein’s husband has with his own client, Rita. But as the story unfolds, the narrator provides space for our questions while laying her story brick-by-brick in a subtle, elegant way. We are not sure, early on, what motivates the narrator to pursue her friendship with Mot, who has left West Virginia. Einstein has vacated her position at the day center after a traumatic event. She packs up and leaves her husband for a week, something he supports in light of his own enmeshed relationship with a mentally ill client. We can’t imagine how a friendship with Mot can be sustained or sustaining. But they are friends, enjoying each other’s company, cooking together, swimming, and talking, although awkwardly at times, about all sorts of things. She likes his company. He fusses over the health of her car. Their excursions include many trips to [End Page 114] Pep Boys and AutoZone so he can keep her Toyota in prime condition. We think, in this small gesture, that he worries about her, cares for her. That he is her friend. She enjoys her time with him, but wonders, too, about this “fragile faith” she has in him. Is he safe? With her? Around children? Is this foolish, her effort with this man? By the end of this enlightening and engaging read, many of the reader’s questions are answered. Through an economic and tightly structured book, we begin to understand mental illness in a new, more human way—not a clinical discussion, but the day-to-day reality of it, told from a loving and practical point of view. Mot gives the reader a glimpse into the world of the truly disenfranchised, especially the invisible world of the homeless. With an economy of language but sharp detail, Einstein shows us the reality of living “off the grid.” She describes Mot sleeping behind abandoned buildings and in Walmart parking lots after he buys a beat-up car. She gives the reader a glimpse of the homeless person’s day, showing us how Mot, upon rising each morning, gathers his meager belongings and hides them somewhere safe to be retrieved later. He...
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