Brian Doyle's "Joyas Voladoras" is a beautiful essay that is equal parts poetry. Much of his writing is lyrical in that way, but it's really an exquisite example.
Your point about religious freedom reminds me of a passage in Steinbeck's East of Eden, where there is much discussion of Cain's fate in Genesis. The KJV language implies a prescriptive fate for Cain (thou shalt), the American standard translates the phrase as a command (do thou...), but the original Hebrew describes a choice (thou mayest). This distinction is belabored at some length by Adam Trask, Samuel Hamilton and Lee, the Chinese servant who learned all of this from his family elders, who ostensibly took it up on themselves to learn the original Hebrew.
I was listening to the audiobook version while painting bedrooms this weekend, which is not quite the reading rapture I prefer, but is one of the forms we engage with literature now. There is a curious synaesthetic quality to audiobooks. I likely could not read "The Virginian" now without seeing myself mowing the lawn, since that's how I listened to the book. "East of Eden" conjures long bike rides and now my painting project. I can't quite tell if this palimpsest of associations enriches the text or sullies it.
1. Memoria del fuego (Memory of Fire Trilogy) by Eduardo Galeano. It's an intoxicating mix of legend and history in lyrical prose and made me fall in love with a whole continent.
2. Not yet! And I'm really scared that I'll get my lines mixed up.
3. The Catholics who were closest to me in my life never seemed to take much notice of authority.
I can’t do one. Sorry, but sometimes rules are meant to be broken. These books portray dignity seized, not given, earned through sweat and blood.
1. Educated, by Tara Westover. Sometimes some of us soar beyond what any of us thought possible.
2. Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. “From Lost to Found,” salvation one footstep at a time.
3. Fi, by Alexandra Fuller. Bottomless grief versus indomitable spirit.
4. The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in War, by Svetlana Alexievitch, Nobel Prize recipient. Soviet women telling their stories of their experiences in World War II that evoke shock, smiles, pain, sweetness, tears, joy, and profound admiration. Sheroes, all.
“A Country Road Song” by Andre Dubus, a breathtaking essay from his collection Meditations from a Movable Chair. I must have read it dozens of times, drawn by the gorgeous precision of his language and author’s hard-won insight on the seasons of a fragile human life. Any writer can learn from the structure of this essay. One of my own most-shared essays here is a quiet homage to this cathedral of words. Only the final paragraph can be found online but it’s worth buying the book to have this talisman.
_Tinkers_ by Paul Harding. You won't believe how elegant and moving this novel is until you read it. A stirring elegiac novel that abandons linear narration for the purpose of revealing the nature of existence, the love that binds us in the face of life’s betrayals. The award of the Pulitzer in 2010 is a tribute to the fact that literature published by a small press can find voice and then be heard by readers in search of transformational art.
Great example! Does a culture of sales and surfaces dissipate our dignity? Does our dignity rise and fall with our actions? With others’ perception of us? Thanks for bringing that play back to mind. It’s been awhile since I last reread it.
Brian Doyle's "Joyas Voladoras" is a beautiful essay that is equal parts poetry. Much of his writing is lyrical in that way, but it's really an exquisite example.
https://theamericanscholar.org/joyas-volardores/
Your point about religious freedom reminds me of a passage in Steinbeck's East of Eden, where there is much discussion of Cain's fate in Genesis. The KJV language implies a prescriptive fate for Cain (thou shalt), the American standard translates the phrase as a command (do thou...), but the original Hebrew describes a choice (thou mayest). This distinction is belabored at some length by Adam Trask, Samuel Hamilton and Lee, the Chinese servant who learned all of this from his family elders, who ostensibly took it up on themselves to learn the original Hebrew.
I was listening to the audiobook version while painting bedrooms this weekend, which is not quite the reading rapture I prefer, but is one of the forms we engage with literature now. There is a curious synaesthetic quality to audiobooks. I likely could not read "The Virginian" now without seeing myself mowing the lawn, since that's how I listened to the book. "East of Eden" conjures long bike rides and now my painting project. I can't quite tell if this palimpsest of associations enriches the text or sullies it.
Great post, Tara! To answer your questions:
1. Memoria del fuego (Memory of Fire Trilogy) by Eduardo Galeano. It's an intoxicating mix of legend and history in lyrical prose and made me fall in love with a whole continent.
2. Not yet! And I'm really scared that I'll get my lines mixed up.
3. The Catholics who were closest to me in my life never seemed to take much notice of authority.
I can’t do one. Sorry, but sometimes rules are meant to be broken. These books portray dignity seized, not given, earned through sweat and blood.
1. Educated, by Tara Westover. Sometimes some of us soar beyond what any of us thought possible.
2. Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. “From Lost to Found,” salvation one footstep at a time.
3. Fi, by Alexandra Fuller. Bottomless grief versus indomitable spirit.
4. The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in War, by Svetlana Alexievitch, Nobel Prize recipient. Soviet women telling their stories of their experiences in World War II that evoke shock, smiles, pain, sweetness, tears, joy, and profound admiration. Sheroes, all.
“A Country Road Song” by Andre Dubus, a breathtaking essay from his collection Meditations from a Movable Chair. I must have read it dozens of times, drawn by the gorgeous precision of his language and author’s hard-won insight on the seasons of a fragile human life. Any writer can learn from the structure of this essay. One of my own most-shared essays here is a quiet homage to this cathedral of words. Only the final paragraph can be found online but it’s worth buying the book to have this talisman.
I haven't read that essay, so I'm glad for your recommendation. It sounds like a feast!
_Tinkers_ by Paul Harding. You won't believe how elegant and moving this novel is until you read it. A stirring elegiac novel that abandons linear narration for the purpose of revealing the nature of existence, the love that binds us in the face of life’s betrayals. The award of the Pulitzer in 2010 is a tribute to the fact that literature published by a small press can find voice and then be heard by readers in search of transformational art.
Wonderful! I'm glad you thought of a book from a small press. That adds yet another layer to appreciate beyond the author's work.
"Death of a Salesman" comes first to mind. Willy's funeral. The fragility and pathos of a salesman who has lost his fastball.
"He’s a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine."
Great example! Does a culture of sales and surfaces dissipate our dignity? Does our dignity rise and fall with our actions? With others’ perception of us? Thanks for bringing that play back to mind. It’s been awhile since I last reread it.