When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice by
Terry Tempest Williams
My rating:
3 of 5 stars
I love her name: Tempest. It evokes wild nature, and that is her love, as a naturalist, teacher, poet and essayist. When I checked this book out, the librarian gasped. She told me she is from Utah, as is Williams, and she'd participated in a writing workshop Williams led. TTW inspired her deeply. We wanted to go on talking, but a line was waiting. This was the first time in a while that I'd talked books with a passionate librarian.
Williams is from a Mormon family and a (distant?) cousin of Mitt Romney, but her sensibility couldn't be more different. In these 54 poetic reflections, Williams sometimes gets too gushy for me, but just as I'd start to close the book, I'd read an arresting thought or phrase. Like her, I have a bird and wing fixation. Maybe it is deep in every woman. (I once wrote a poem about a daughter Noah left behind so there'd be more room on the Ark. As the boat pulled away, Noah turned to see his daughter rise on wings.)
And like Williams, I chafe at my family religion. I am going to read more of her work.
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