A family recipe, a childhood memory, a Depression-era handout
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After reading Barbara Ehrenreich’s book excerpt in The Sun [“Cleaned Out,” January 2003], I thought I’d purchase a copy of her book to see what I could learn. I was truly disappointed.
I admire Ehrenreich’s courage to try to make ends meet working as a low-wage employee in different parts of the country. I know it must have been challenging for a privileged Caucasian woman with a Ph.D. to work side by side with those “under” her. What I couldn’t understand was her rage and discontent with her circumstances, considering they were temporary.
She had resources people living in dire circumstances don’t have: She could escape to her cultured world any time she pleased. She had extra cash, just in case. And she was living alone without a house full of roommates or kids to support.
I did learn a thing or two for which I am grateful, but I have to admit I have never felt so much anger at an author. Her writing is filled with hypocrisy, snobbery, and self-pity, and lacks empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than her.