Review: A Journey Through the Realities of Incarceration in Orange Is the New Black
When I first picked up Orange Is the New Black by Piper Kerman, I was intrigued not only by the title but also by the insatiable buzz around it—especially after its transformation into a hit Netflix series. However, what immediately captivated me was the premise: a white, upper-middle-class woman recounting her year spent in a women’s prison for a drug offense from her past. This, I thought, was bound to be a gritty, eye-opening exploration of life behind bars, and Kerman did not disappoint.
Kerman’s memoir takes us on a journey through her unexpected descent into the criminal justice system. She begins with her reckless twenties—a whirlwind of sun-soaked adventures and naïve choices that culminate in her entanglement with Nora, a woman involved in drug smuggling. The way Kerman sets up this backstory is both amusing and alarming, as she reflects with a blend of humor and honesty on her youthful indiscretions. One passage that struck me was her reflection on living a life of “relentless tension” while feeling “disconnected from the world.” It resonated deeply with me, evoking a sense of empathy for a woman who, despite her privilege, found herself so far removed from her true self.
As she finds herself in Danbury, Connecticut’s women’s prison, Kerman’s insights into prison life reveal nuances seldom explored. I found her observations about how inmates band together in “tribes” fascinating—reflecting a raw, if unsettling, social structure shaped by race and survival. The idea that her previous experience living in a college dorm prepared her for the social dynamics in prison genuinely made me chuckle, highlighting her capacity for lightness amid dark circumstances.
Kerman’s writing style is refreshingly candid. It flows like a conversation with a trusted friend, filled with introspective moments and sharp observations. One powerful statement that lingers with me is her assertion that “it is hard to conceive of any relationship between two adults in America being less equal than that of prisoner and prison guard.” This truth clears the fog around the often romanticized notion of justice and rebellion; instead, it’s steeped in systemic flaws that Kerman unpacks with deft clarity.
As she navigates her monotonous yet complex daily routine, I couldn’t help but root for Kerman as she regained control through running and yoga—small acts of agency that provided reprieve. But it was her frustration at being called to testify against an unfamiliar drug dealer that truly brought the weight of her reality home; even within her struggle to maintain her humanity, she was subjected to yet another arbitrary twist in her life.
I wholeheartedly recommend Orange Is the New Black to anyone interested in the intricacies of the U.S. criminal justice system, or plenty of insightful memoirs documenting personal growth amid adversity. Kerman’s work is not merely a recounting of events but a thought-provoking commentary on the societal structures we often overlook.
By the end of the memoir, I felt a mix of relief for Kerman’s release and dismay as she pointed out the lack of support systems for people leaving prison. In reading her story, I gained not just a glimpse into her experience, but also a better understanding of the systemic issues that plague the justice system. This memoir left me reflecting on privilege, accountability, and redemption long after turning the final page, and I believe it will resonate with many readers searching for more than just entertainment in memoirs.