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Invisible Child: Poverty, Survival & Hope in an American City (Pulitzer Prize Winner)
PULITZER PRIZE WINNER • A "vivid and devastating" (The New York Times) portrait of an indomitable girl-from acclaimed journalist Andrea Elliott
"From its first indelible pages to its rich and startling conclusion, Invisible Child had me, by turns, stricken, inspired, outraged, illuminated, in tears, and hungering for reimmersion in its Dickensian depths."-Ayad Akhtar, author of Homeland Elegies
ONE OF THE TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: The New York Times • ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: The Atlantic, The New York Times Book Review, Time, NPR, Library Journal
In Invisible Child, Pulitzer Prize winner Andrea Elliott follows eight dramatic years in the life of Dasani, a girl whose imagination is as soaring as the skyscrapers near her Brooklyn shelter. In this sweeping narrative, Elliott weaves the story of Dasani's childhood with the history of her ancestors, tracing their passage from slavery to the Great Migration north. As Dasani comes of age, New York City's homeless crisis has exploded, deepening the chasm between rich and poor. She must guide her siblings through a world riddled by hunger, violence, racism, drug addiction, and the threat of foster care. Out on the street, Dasani becomes a fierce fighter "to protect those who I love." When she finally escapes city life to enroll in a boarding school, she faces an impossible question: What if leaving poverty means abandoning your family, and yourself?
A work of luminous and riveting prose, Elliott's Invisible Child reads like a page-turning novel. It is an astonishing story about the power of resilience, the importance of family and the cost of inequality-told through the crucible of one remarkable girl.
Winner of the J. Anthony Lukas Book Prize • Finalist for the Bernstein Award and the PEN/John Kenneth Galbraith Award
"From its first indelible pages to its rich and startling conclusion, Invisible Child had me, by turns, stricken, inspired, outraged, illuminated, in tears, and hungering for reimmersion in its Dickensian depths."-Ayad Akhtar, author of Homeland Elegies
ONE OF THE TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: The New York Times • ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: The Atlantic, The New York Times Book Review, Time, NPR, Library Journal
In Invisible Child, Pulitzer Prize winner Andrea Elliott follows eight dramatic years in the life of Dasani, a girl whose imagination is as soaring as the skyscrapers near her Brooklyn shelter. In this sweeping narrative, Elliott weaves the story of Dasani's childhood with the history of her ancestors, tracing their passage from slavery to the Great Migration north. As Dasani comes of age, New York City's homeless crisis has exploded, deepening the chasm between rich and poor. She must guide her siblings through a world riddled by hunger, violence, racism, drug addiction, and the threat of foster care. Out on the street, Dasani becomes a fierce fighter "to protect those who I love." When she finally escapes city life to enroll in a boarding school, she faces an impossible question: What if leaving poverty means abandoning your family, and yourself?
A work of luminous and riveting prose, Elliott's Invisible Child reads like a page-turning novel. It is an astonishing story about the power of resilience, the importance of family and the cost of inequality-told through the crucible of one remarkable girl.
Winner of the J. Anthony Lukas Book Prize • Finalist for the Bernstein Award and the PEN/John Kenneth Galbraith Award
Editorial Reviews
"A vivid and devastating story of American inequality."-The New York Times
"A classic to rank with Orwell."-The Sunday Times
"From its first indelible pages to its rich and startling conclusion, Invisible Child had me, by turns, stricken, inspired, outraged, illuminated, in tears, and hungering for reimmersion in its Dickensian depths. This book is so many things: a staggering feat of reporting, an act of profound civic love, an extraordinarily moving tale about the fierceness of family love, and above all, a future American classic."-Ayad Akhtar, author of Homeland Elegies
"A wonderful and important book."-Tracy Kidder, author of Strength in What Remains and Mountains Beyond Mountains
"Andrea Elliott's Invisible Child swept me away. Filled with unexpected twists and turns, Dasani's journey kept me up nights reading. Elliott spins out a deeply moving story about Dasani and her family, whose struggles underscore the stresses of growing up poor and Black in an American city, and the utter failure of institutions to extend a helping hand. Invisible Child is a triumph."-Alex Kotlowitz, bestselling author of There Are No Children Here
"Elliott's book is a triumph of in-depth reporting and storytelling. It is a visceral blow-by-blow depiction of what ‘structural racism' has meant in the lives of generations of one family. But above all else it is a celebration of a little girl-an unforgettable heroine whose frustration, elation, exhaustion, and intelligence will haunt your heart."-Ariel Levy, author of The Rules Do Not Apply
"With her Invisible Child, Andrea Elliott has achieved a towering feat of reporting that paints, layer by layer, an extraordinary portrait of a child, a family, a city, and the nation that produced them. From start to finish, she sustains an insatiably curious and deeply empathetic focus on worlds that so many peop...
"A classic to rank with Orwell."-The Sunday Times
"From its first indelible pages to its rich and startling conclusion, Invisible Child had me, by turns, stricken, inspired, outraged, illuminated, in tears, and hungering for reimmersion in its Dickensian depths. This book is so many things: a staggering feat of reporting, an act of profound civic love, an extraordinarily moving tale about the fierceness of family love, and above all, a future American classic."-Ayad Akhtar, author of Homeland Elegies
"A wonderful and important book."-Tracy Kidder, author of Strength in What Remains and Mountains Beyond Mountains
"Andrea Elliott's Invisible Child swept me away. Filled with unexpected twists and turns, Dasani's journey kept me up nights reading. Elliott spins out a deeply moving story about Dasani and her family, whose struggles underscore the stresses of growing up poor and Black in an American city, and the utter failure of institutions to extend a helping hand. Invisible Child is a triumph."-Alex Kotlowitz, bestselling author of There Are No Children Here
"Elliott's book is a triumph of in-depth reporting and storytelling. It is a visceral blow-by-blow depiction of what ‘structural racism' has meant in the lives of generations of one family. But above all else it is a celebration of a little girl-an unforgettable heroine whose frustration, elation, exhaustion, and intelligence will haunt your heart."-Ariel Levy, author of The Rules Do Not Apply
"With her Invisible Child, Andrea Elliott has achieved a towering feat of reporting that paints, layer by layer, an extraordinary portrait of a child, a family, a city, and the nation that produced them. From start to finish, she sustains an insatiably curious and deeply empathetic focus on worlds that so many peop...
Readers Top Reviews
HLMr. W. NicolKin
Don’t be put off by the length - this is an absorbing read and one which has you cheering and shouting in equal measures as you watch both ‘the system’ and Dasani’s family shape her future in varying measures at different times. It is heartbreaking that this story is so current and whilst the author obviously has her views, I feel that the writing was sensitive and balanced. I urge you to buy it.
WeagleHLMr. W. Ni
Elliot’s unfiltered account of life in the underclass is an extraordinary achievement in investigative and immersive journalism. She’s like a war correspondent embedded with a combat unit, but in this case the unit is a troubled family and the battleground is drugs, homelessness, the courts, foster programs, schools, and city welfare agencies. Unfortunately, there are some pathologies you might find in a struggling, impoverished family; self-destructive behavior, missed opportunities, ramifications of poor decisions. But also, at the heart is a family in crisis trying to maintain a semblance of stability in their damaged world. Along the way, bureaucratic and legal decisions tear at the family sending it into a downward spiral despite the efforts of dedicated public servants, especially the selfless and underappreciated teachers and principals who try to shephard at-risk children through a minefield of poverty, poor parenting, and behavioral cries for help. If nothing else, this book should make readers reconsider the efficacy of programs and agencies charged with trying to help troubled families succeed. Are there better ways to support families and help them get on their feet? Are punitive measures against adults likely to destroy their children’s future? These are complicated questions, but as one of the children says as she considers a career working with children of trauma, “Why should other kids have to start way behind in the race of life because of things they couldn’t control or never learned how to control?” Exactly.
Francis S SmithWe
Ms. Elliott writes with the feel of an embedded journalist, the kind of narrative we normally see from war correspondents. To paraphrase T.S. Elliot, she seems to care and not care in the way she chronicles Dasani’s journey through homelessness. She doesn’t try to be artificially balanced as many journalists do. She included relevant historical facts to undergird her story. I have seen criticism that the book is too long. That criticism seems to me to reflect the tendency to avoid the pain of others and minimize the failure of the constructs of the dominant culture. The brutality of the work reflects the brutality of the life this family led, and that requires detail. Indeed, I would have like more information about Dasani’s experience at Hershey.
Jill S.Francis S
Amazing read. This book should be required reading for everyone in America. Dasani's story sheds new light on a world I should have learned about years ago. Fantastic book.
Mark OresicJill S
This book review is for; ‘Invisible Child: Poverty, Survival and Hope in an American City’; by Andrea Elliott. // Its publication or release date was October 5, 2021; and it showed up on my doorstep on the same day, having pre-ordered it from Amazon; and while I’ve written book reviews before on Amazon, this review is a first of its kind in that I’m submitting this review prior to completing the book. // I was highly motivated to buy the hardcover of this book, and two others, all of which share a somewhat similar theme about ‘Critical Race Theory’ and ‘Systemic Racism’. Two things in particular, motivated me; 1) since both of these culturally sensitive topics are currently being hotly contested, specifically in relation to their validity or the lack thereof, I’ve decided to do my own research on these topics, in order to purposely cut out all the static, noise, and vitriol, from those adamantly against these two topics getting a fair hearing by all those like myself who care and want to educate themselves on these crucial issues, especially during these turbulent times when so called ‘American Patriots’ honestly think that loyally serving their country equals getting involved in an ‘Insurrection’ and/or ‘Domestic Terrorism’; or who hold so called sincere sympathies with those who were involved in the highly questionable behavior in and around the U.S. Capital on January 6, 2021; and, 2) the second motivation to purchase this book was found within just one paragraph within a recent (9-28/10-1-2021) New York Times article, titled: ‘When Dasani Left Home’, which was written by this book’s author (Andrea Elliott), which singular paragraph in its entirety is quoted as follows: “Dasani’s roots in Fort Greene (Brooklyn, N.Y.) reached back four generations, to her great-grandfather Wesley Sykes, who left North Carolina to fight in Italy with the Army’s segregated all-Black regiment, the Buffalo Soldiers. After returning home in 1945 as a triple Bronze Service Star veteran, Sykes married and migrated north to Brooklyn, where it was nearly impossible for a Black family to get a mortgage. While the G.I. Bill lifted millions of white veterans into the middle class – helping them go to college, start businesses and become homeowners – Black veterans were largely excluded. Sykes, who was trained in the Army as a mechanic, wound up mopping floors and pouring concrete in Brooklyn, working more than 30 low-wage jobs. He and his wife, Margaret, settled for a rent-subsidized apartment in Fort Greene Houses, the complex Dasani would come to know as ‘the projects’.” // Having finished this quoted paragraph, I ask the reader of this review to carefully read the above quoted paragraph a second time to purposely try to discover all the myriad ways in which Systemic Racism is being exposed and described therein. // My simple proposition is as follows: If racism is indeed ...
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
She wakes to the sound of breathing.
The smaller children lie tangled under coats and wool blankets, their chests rising and falling in the dark. They have yet to stir. Their sister is always first.
She looks around the room, seeing only silhouettes-the faint trace of a chin or brow, lit from the street below. Mice scurry across the floor. Roaches crawl to the ceiling. A little sink drips and drips, sprouting mold from a rusted pipe.
A few feet away is the yellow mop bucket they use as a toilet, and the mattress where the mother and father sleep, clutched. Radiating out from them in all directions are the eight children they share: two boys and five girls whose beds zigzag around the baby, her crib warmed by a hair dryer perched on a milk crate.
They have learned to sleep through anything. They snore with the pull of asthma near a gash in the wall spewing sawdust. They cough or sometimes mutter in the throes of a dream. Only their sister Dasani is awake.
She is tiny for an eleven-year-old and quick to startle. She has a delicate oval face and luminous eyes that watch everything, owl-like. Her expression veers from mischief to wonder. People often remark on her beauty-the high cheekbones and chestnut skin-but their comments never seem to register. What she knows is that she has been blessed with perfect teeth. When braces are the stuff of fantasy, straight teeth are a lottery win.
Slipping out from her covers, Dasani goes to the window. On mornings like this, she can see all the way past Brooklyn, over the rooftops and the projects and the shimmering East River. Her eyes can travel into Manhattan, to the top of the Empire State Building, the first New York skyscraper to reach a hundred floors. This is the type of fact that she recites in a singsong, look-what-I-know way. She fixes her gaze on that distant temple, its tip pointed celestially, its facade lit with promise.
"It makes me feel like there's something going on out there," she says. "I have a lot of possibility. I do, though. I have a lot of things to say."
One of the first things Dasani will say is that she was running before she walked. She loves being first-the first to be born, the first to go to school, the first to win a fight, the first to make the honor roll. She is a child of New York City.
Even Dasani's name speaks of a certain reach. The bottled water had come to Brooklyn's bodegas just before she was born, catching the fancy of her mother, who could not afford such indulgences. Who paid for water in a bottle? Just the sound of it-Dasani-conjured another life. It signaled the presence of a new people, at the turn of a new century, whose discovery of Brooklyn had just begun.
By the time Dasani came into the world, on May 26, 2001, the old Brooklyn was vanishing. Entire neighborhoods would be remade, their families displaced, their businesses shuttered, their histories erased by a gentrification so vast and meteoric that no brand of bottled water could have signaled it. And as prosperity rose for one group of people, poverty deepened for another, leaving Dasani to grow up-true to her name-in a novel kind of place.
Her skyline is filled with luxury towers, the beacons of a new Gilded Age. The city's wealth has flowed to its outer edges, bringing pour-over coffee and artisanal doughnuts to places once considered gritty. Among them is Dasani's birthplace, Fort Greene, Brooklyn, where renovated townhouses come with landscaped gardens and heated marble floors. Just steps away are two housing projects and, tucked among them, a city-run homeless shelter where the heat is off and the food is spoiled.
It is on the fourth floor of that shelter, at a window facing north, that Dasani now sits looking out. Nearly a quarter of her childhood has unfolded at the Auburn Family Residence, where Dasani's family-a total of ten people-live in one room. Beyond the shelter's walls, in the fall of 2012, Dasani belongs to an invisible tribe of more than twenty-two thousand homeless children-the highest number ever recorded, in the most unequal metropolis in America. Almost half of New York's 8.3 million residents are living near or below the poverty line.
Dasani can get lost looking out her window, until the sounds of Auburn interrupt. Different noises mean different things. She sorts them like laundry. The light noises bring no harm-the colicky cries of an infant down the hall, the hungry barks of the Puerto Rican lady's Chihuahuas, the addicts who wander the projects, hitting some crazy high. They can screech like alley cats, but no one is listening.
The sound that matters has a different pitch. It comes loud and fast, with a staccato rhythm. The popping of gu...
She wakes to the sound of breathing.
The smaller children lie tangled under coats and wool blankets, their chests rising and falling in the dark. They have yet to stir. Their sister is always first.
She looks around the room, seeing only silhouettes-the faint trace of a chin or brow, lit from the street below. Mice scurry across the floor. Roaches crawl to the ceiling. A little sink drips and drips, sprouting mold from a rusted pipe.
A few feet away is the yellow mop bucket they use as a toilet, and the mattress where the mother and father sleep, clutched. Radiating out from them in all directions are the eight children they share: two boys and five girls whose beds zigzag around the baby, her crib warmed by a hair dryer perched on a milk crate.
They have learned to sleep through anything. They snore with the pull of asthma near a gash in the wall spewing sawdust. They cough or sometimes mutter in the throes of a dream. Only their sister Dasani is awake.
She is tiny for an eleven-year-old and quick to startle. She has a delicate oval face and luminous eyes that watch everything, owl-like. Her expression veers from mischief to wonder. People often remark on her beauty-the high cheekbones and chestnut skin-but their comments never seem to register. What she knows is that she has been blessed with perfect teeth. When braces are the stuff of fantasy, straight teeth are a lottery win.
Slipping out from her covers, Dasani goes to the window. On mornings like this, she can see all the way past Brooklyn, over the rooftops and the projects and the shimmering East River. Her eyes can travel into Manhattan, to the top of the Empire State Building, the first New York skyscraper to reach a hundred floors. This is the type of fact that she recites in a singsong, look-what-I-know way. She fixes her gaze on that distant temple, its tip pointed celestially, its facade lit with promise.
"It makes me feel like there's something going on out there," she says. "I have a lot of possibility. I do, though. I have a lot of things to say."
One of the first things Dasani will say is that she was running before she walked. She loves being first-the first to be born, the first to go to school, the first to win a fight, the first to make the honor roll. She is a child of New York City.
Even Dasani's name speaks of a certain reach. The bottled water had come to Brooklyn's bodegas just before she was born, catching the fancy of her mother, who could not afford such indulgences. Who paid for water in a bottle? Just the sound of it-Dasani-conjured another life. It signaled the presence of a new people, at the turn of a new century, whose discovery of Brooklyn had just begun.
By the time Dasani came into the world, on May 26, 2001, the old Brooklyn was vanishing. Entire neighborhoods would be remade, their families displaced, their businesses shuttered, their histories erased by a gentrification so vast and meteoric that no brand of bottled water could have signaled it. And as prosperity rose for one group of people, poverty deepened for another, leaving Dasani to grow up-true to her name-in a novel kind of place.
Her skyline is filled with luxury towers, the beacons of a new Gilded Age. The city's wealth has flowed to its outer edges, bringing pour-over coffee and artisanal doughnuts to places once considered gritty. Among them is Dasani's birthplace, Fort Greene, Brooklyn, where renovated townhouses come with landscaped gardens and heated marble floors. Just steps away are two housing projects and, tucked among them, a city-run homeless shelter where the heat is off and the food is spoiled.
It is on the fourth floor of that shelter, at a window facing north, that Dasani now sits looking out. Nearly a quarter of her childhood has unfolded at the Auburn Family Residence, where Dasani's family-a total of ten people-live in one room. Beyond the shelter's walls, in the fall of 2012, Dasani belongs to an invisible tribe of more than twenty-two thousand homeless children-the highest number ever recorded, in the most unequal metropolis in America. Almost half of New York's 8.3 million residents are living near or below the poverty line.
Dasani can get lost looking out her window, until the sounds of Auburn interrupt. Different noises mean different things. She sorts them like laundry. The light noises bring no harm-the colicky cries of an infant down the hall, the hungry barks of the Puerto Rican lady's Chihuahuas, the addicts who wander the projects, hitting some crazy high. They can screech like alley cats, but no one is listening.
The sound that matters has a different pitch. It comes loud and fast, with a staccato rhythm. The popping of gu...
