I wanted to share this, a beautifully written post about women and writing and a review of Terry Tempest Williams’ book “When Women Were Birds.”
In keeping with the spirit of the blog and the pure pleasure expressed, please treat yourself to this amazingly beautiful video of starlings in flight, whose choreography is like the northern lights.
A shout-out, too, to Claire’s “Word by Word” blog, http://clairemca.wordpress.com/ that led me to the review and the video.
Originally posted on Books and Bowel Movements:
Dear God, if I never read this book, I would have been at a loss.
I am completely, utterly, every whimsical note of my body, indebted to Terry Tempest Williams for everything she put on that blank page while she wrote, When Women Were Birds. (In fact, I would love to see her out takes basket). This book is the landscape of writing, the geography of being a woman – how your body is indebted to fields, and seeds, and words unspoken, left mingling with the soft air puffed just before you open your mouth. I have never felt more myself, and more a woman than when reading this book. I know, I know, I have this affinity for birds and I metaphorically and literally believe women were probably once birds, but that has nothing to do with the hope, and power of the words that are voiced in this book.
I can’t even begin to type this blog. It took me twenty minutes to convince myself that I had to share this book regardless if I had the words, or not. The whole point of this book is to remind us that we’re women, and we have it, we’re made of it, we are IT. We are feathered, and skinned, and silent, and lionesses, and remarkable. If ever I wanted to know the mural of my own body, what the roundness of moles meant, and the sow of freckles, it was during this book. I mean you have to pinch yourself over and over while you read it.