Even So: Stories from an Overpopulated Farmhouse – a memoir by David D Coster

After working on it for a couple of decades, my book was finally released on May 1st of 2024. It is entitled Even So: Stories from an Overpopulated Farmhouse, published by Ice Cube Press. Here is the link to the press where you can purchase the book: https://icecubepress.com/2023/11/26/even-so-2/  It can also be ordered through Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

The book began originally as a collection of stories about growing up, stories that were intended for my sons, stories that were about a time gone by. I wanted my boys to have a sense of who I was before they came along, and why I was who I was. Life growing up on an Iowa farm was magical as a child and associated with a lot of hard physical work in late childhood and throughout my teen years. It was also complicated due to the special problems presented by such a large family and the social milieu of the Iowa farm and small-town life in the ’60s and ’70s. In addition to wonderful moments, we also had a lot of tragedies and difficulties.

I thought about making a book from the stories for a long time. Humorous stories had always been a coping mechanism for me for dealing with a difficult childhood. So, I began the book with the intention of writing an honest one, a book that exposed and acknowledged the pathologies and tragedies in our family. This was really difficult. How do you reveal enough without revealing so much that you risk oversharing? What if something is just too awful to write about? I wrote and I wrote. I added stories and removed stories. I reorganized them so that, although each story stood on its own, the compilation of the stories told another, bigger story – the story of what it was really like to grow up in the middle of nowhere with nine siblings in a house with one bathroom. I wrote about the struggles of my mom and dad’s marriage, about my siblings’ triumphs and tragedies, about the culture of the period and the culture of the farm. I wrote about the struggles of my grandparents, my mother, my father, my siblings, and myself. I wrote about unexpected tragic death and unexpected tragic life. I wrote about child labor and physical and emotional abuse. I wrote hilarious stories about the Evangelical church, stories that – without intending to – exposed its demonic side. I wrote about running machines, nearly being killed a few times, becoming a teenager, learning about sex, and on and on and on.

But it still wasn’t right. I handed it to a few friends to read, friends I could trust. “You DO know you were abused, don’t you?” was the first comment from one astute reader. “What?” I said. “You were abused. This entire book is about abuse and neglect. No matter how funny you’ve made many of these stories, at their core is something that is still going unsaid, something dark. Whatever it is, it should be exposed to the light of day.” Each friend said they couldn’t put the book down once they started it – it was riveting and made them laugh out loud at many points and burst into tears at others. But they all said, “There’s way more to this story yet than you’re telling – it’s between the lines. You should reach into whatever that is and write about it as well – don’t pull any punches.”

And then, for nearly ten years, I couldn’t write. I would look at what I had done periodically, start pecking away on the computer, and then stop in disgust. I didn’t know the end of the story! How could I write a memoir when I didn’t know how it ends? Year after year, I tried to construct an arc for the book, an arc that, in fact, could not be determined until I awoke one day to the realization that my sons had grown up successfully. I had broken the cycle of pathological familial relationships with which I had grown up. Now I could finish the book! I knew the ending!

But I didn’t know the ending – something was yet to happen that would prevent me from finishing the book for nearly ten more years – something that was the most devastating thing ever.

So, here it is, finally, the gritty memoir I needed to write. Did I tell every story I could have? No. There’s so much more, but this book makes the point I wanted to make. We carry our traumas and difficulties with us. They shape us, but they shouldn’t define us. Looking at life through the lens of victimhood is not a good thing – we have to find another way. Through the telling of stories, we have the option of reframing dramatic events in our lives, gradually smoothing out the rough patches until, as an older person, we can see it all in perspective. A life is a life; we each have a unique one, and thus have a story to tell, a story that is rich with the thrill and shit of living a life. Life is lovely and awful all at the same time. That’s how it is. Accepting that can help us face it all with some dignity.

At the end of the day, I think this book can help young and older people who are struggling with a difficult present or past, and that is why I wrote it. It is both hilarious and sad and is a cultural commentary on how we live our lives as families. Its lessons apply to our present day as well as to decades past, and it provides a framework for self-healing.

If you read it, don’t hesitate to let me know how it impacts you – just message me on Facebook.

David D Coster MD – Author

Links to Author Book Reviews: 1. https://www.exactingclam.com/issues/no-14-autumn-2024/david-d-costers-even-so/