In 2018, while teaching her kids to swim and working on urban river restoration projects, Hannah S. Palmer began a journal of social encounters with water. As she found herself dangling her feet in a seemingly all-white swimming pool, she started to worry about how her young sons would learn to swim. Would they grow up accustomed to the stubbornly segregated pools of Atlanta? Was it safe for them to wade in creeks laced with urban runoff or dive into the ever-warming, man-made swimming holes of the South? Should they just join the Y?
But these weren’t just parenting questions. In the South, how we swim—and whether we have access to water at all—is tied up in race and class. As she took her sons pool-hopping across Atlanta, Palmer found an intimate lens through which to view the city’s neighborhoods. In The Pool Is Closed, she documents the creeks behind fences, the springs in the sewers, the lakes that had all but vanished since her own parents learned to swim. In the process, she uncovers complex stories about environmental history, water policy, and the racial politics of public spaces.
Nothing prepared Palmer for the contamination, sewage, and bodies that appear when you look at water too long. Her search for water became compulsive, a way to make sense of the world. The Pool Is Closed is a book about where it flows and where it floods, who owns it, and what it costs. It’s also a story about embracing parenthood in a time of environmental catastrophe and political anxiety, of dwindling public space and natural resources. It chronicles a year-long quest to find a place to swim and finding, instead, what makes shared water so threatening and wild.
It's rare to get to read about a project taking place practically in your own neighborhood - this was probably the coolest aspect of reading Palmer's book. I had heard of so many places in Atlanta she named, but I definitely hadn't learned about the history behind them until reading this. I also realized shortly after finishing the book that Palmer wrote an article I had read (and loved) about the city's lack of public bathrooms. Nice to know that someone is writing so extensively on the city - would also love to read a history of Atlanta's transportation system and lack of efficient public transit!
I loved Flight Path, and I wanted to love this, but I just didn’t. I agree with the reviews that say this book is feminine and authentic. It feels like a conversation I could be having with some of my other white women friends, especially as a resident of SW Atlanta since 2020. It takes place in my own backyard. There were some really revealing moments in this book for me as a white person in a predominantly black neighborhood. My toddler splashed around in the splash pad a Rev. James Orange Park all summer, where we’d walk from our house. It’s strange to read about how different it looked just a couple years before we moved here, and helpful to be reminded that it only takes a few people with means to fix broken playground equipment.
Palmer notices people and asks good questions. Unfortunately, she really lost me at “Denver Envy� when contrasting Denver’s choice to use state lotto money to fund parks vs. Georgia’s lotto funding free pre-k and college scholarships: “it’s hard to imagine a single Coloradan who doesn’t directly benefit from these public amenities, either by improved health and quality of life or property values�
As if parks do not inequitably benefit those in denser (more expensive) areas, homeowners, and those with adequate transportation and ability. Palmer seems to only be considering the urban poor here, and missing the oft overlooked rural poor.
That and the returning to the racist beach house really soured this one for me, but I do mostly appreciate Palmer’s perspective and her earnestness.
I loved this book!! The Pool Is Closed is a dip into the history of Atlanta pools that reads as effortlessly as fiction (as someone who rarely picks up non-fiction). Palmer takes you and her kids along on her curious journey to visit every public pool in Atlanta. Palmer effortlessly flows between historical narrative, personal anecdotes, and witty humor. She shows her vulnerability as she grapples with why some pools are nicer than others, and why some neighborhoods don’t have pools at all. I highly recommend this book to folks inside and outside of Atlanta. It also sheds light on the institutional racism that shapes our cities through a topic everyone (or, not everyone?) can relate to: swimming pools.
I loved Flight Path and have recommended it to lots of people. It seemed so familiar. What happened in my home town, East Point, was repeated in Forest Park a couple of decades later.
This book touches my growing up years. Raised in East Point in the �50s and �60s. Swam in the Spring Avenue pool. “Laid out� at Lake Spivey. Visited friends in the early �70s in their Riverbend apartments. Rafted on the Chattahoochee. Made trips to Callaway Gardens� Robin Lake Beach.
It was interesting to read Hannah’s next-generation take on the world I grew up in.
I was fascinated by Hannah’s research and her bravery to pursue and write about her “quest.�
Hannah Palmer's writing always feels to me like we are hanging out in the kitchen or on a long road trip, and she's just telling me this incredible story. This book in particular feels even more intimate since it's told in the form of journal entries. I am someone who loves the idea of non-fiction but doesn't always love reading it, but I honestly loved this book. I think you will, too.
Truly phenomenal storytelling—feminine, humble, self-aware, and deeply authentic. Hannah Palmer's intelligence shines through every page, crafting a narrative that feels both intimate and universally relatable. Her ability to articulate complex emotions and experiences is masterful, and hearing her speak on these topics only enhances her work! Can’t wait to go to her next talk!