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A review by bv94
When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice by Terry Tempest Williams
3.0
3.5 stars
I loved the beginning of the book. The authors mother leaves her journals to her daughter but they are all blank. A lot of lovely chapters about birds, her lovely childhood about her grandmother’s impact on her life, her parents etc. However after that the book got a bit confusing and didn’t have focus; random thoughts floating around. Maybe that was intent of the book but I lost interest
When women were birds, we knew otherwise. We knew our greatest freedom was in taking flight at night, when we could steal the heavenly darkness for ourselves, navigating through the intelligence of stars and the constellations of our own making in the delight and terror of our uncertainty
Mother had one quilt square made by a friend of hers framed, and hung it in her bathroom, where she saw it first thing in the morning. When I asked her why this mattered, she said, “It represents how women piece together their lives from the scraps left over for them.”
The Roman goddess of silence, Angerona, held her finger to her lips as she stood in the posture of both pain and peace. My mother knew herself, and she kept her silence as a possession
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”
Lodgepole pinecones may remain unopened for years and burst open only during a forest fire,”
There are two important days in a woman’s life: the day she is born and the day she finds out why
I loved the beginning of the book. The authors mother leaves her journals to her daughter but they are all blank. A lot of lovely chapters about birds, her lovely childhood about her grandmother’s impact on her life, her parents etc. However after that the book got a bit confusing and didn’t have focus; random thoughts floating around. Maybe that was intent of the book but I lost interest
When women were birds, we knew otherwise. We knew our greatest freedom was in taking flight at night, when we could steal the heavenly darkness for ourselves, navigating through the intelligence of stars and the constellations of our own making in the delight and terror of our uncertainty
Mother had one quilt square made by a friend of hers framed, and hung it in her bathroom, where she saw it first thing in the morning. When I asked her why this mattered, she said, “It represents how women piece together their lives from the scraps left over for them.”
The Roman goddess of silence, Angerona, held her finger to her lips as she stood in the posture of both pain and peace. My mother knew herself, and she kept her silence as a possession
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”
Lodgepole pinecones may remain unopened for years and burst open only during a forest fire,”
There are two important days in a woman’s life: the day she is born and the day she finds out why