Ingmar Bergman once said that an artist should always have one work between himself and death. When renowned author Gail Godwin tripped and broke her neck while watering the dogwood tree in her garden at age eighty-five, a lifetime of writing and publishing behind her and a half-finished novel in tow, Bergman's idea quickly unfurled in front of her, forcing her to confront a creative life interrupted. In this book, Godwin shares what spoke to her while in a desperate place. Remembering those she has loved and survived, including a brother and father lost to suicide, and finding meaning in the encounters she has with other patients as she heals, she takes stock of a life toward the end of its long graceful arc, finding her path through the words she has written and the people she has loved.
I read this book, straight through. My neighbor Betty left it in my box Saturday evening with a note saying, "This starts out great but devolves — wandering and repetition." Before going to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I'd finished the book and put it back in Betty's box across the hall from me. I agree with Betty's assessment that it wanders. It's like she wrote it for herself, and I could not keep track of who's who. It's too bad, since Gail Godwin has been one of my favorite authors.
No comments:
Post a Comment