Guys, guys! I haven’t had enough sleep for three days and I’m buzzing on caterpillar cake (it’s someone’s birthday in the office today) so I can’t think of a smart or subtle way of saying this: I’ve got four copies of Love Like Salt to give away. ONE OF THEM COULD BE YOURS.
To refresh your memory: Love Like Salt is Helen Stevenson’s thoughtful, elegant memoir about her daughter’s illness, her mother’s death, and her family’s years in France. It encompasses music and poetry and the pain of parenthood (motherhood in particular). It’s uplifting and beautiful. It’s perfect for the week after Mother’s Day.
Here’s the first paragraph of my review:
On the day I finished this book, I tweeted about it: “#LoveLikeSalt is just. Oh. I mean. Pergolesi and Marot and France and chronic illness. It’s like it was written specifically for me.” I don’t often, if ever, feel that I’ve captured the essence of what a book means to me in my tweets, but there is always a first time, and that time is now. If I could walk away without writing a review of it, I would, and would point to that tweet as evidence that I have in fact fulfilled my brief, for what more can I say? Music that I know and love, a poet the translation of whose work is meaningful to both me and Stevenson, a country we have built our own fantastical versions of, the burden of ill health: it is all there, it is all expressed generously and artfully, and she broadens my perspective by writing not as a sufferer of chronic illness, but as the mother of a child who is. Reading it brought me closer to my own mother; what also helped in this regard was the interweaving of the story of Stevenson’s mother’s dementia and eventual death. It’s about generation and heredity, for sure, but it’s also about community, solidarity, belonging, and the sense of betrayal when a community you thought had accepted you demonstrates that, really, they don’t.
The rest of the review is here.
Post a comment below, and I’ll pick four names out of a hat at the end of the week. Go on!