Bright Precious Thing

1

Cambridge, 2015

My Samoyed is looking out the glass storm door to the street when I see her ears go back with pleasure. Tyler walks in and crouches down to nuzzle the dog, who outweighs her by about fifteen pounds, and then announces herself with the usual certainty, as though she s on a tight schedule and has been gone only a few minutes. We had early release, she tells me, so I was able to get here on time. Tyler is five, and lives two doors away, and passes my house on her way to the neighborhood park. She has the countenance of a small superhero. When she was three she became enamored with Tula, a fluffy white creature who shares her affection, and now we are an essential stop on the trail of Tyler s day. I make it a point to stock up on the dark chocolate wafers she likes. When she leaves town for a week on family vacation, my house feels as quiet as a cinder block. Then the door flies open one morning and I hear her shout: I m back!

Today we re lying on the back porch and planning what to do if we are marooned on a desert island what we will choose to take. We can each have three items. Tyler decides that she will take a rope, a boat (which is broken, or why would she be there?), and a knife. For food she will take two Popsicles, an ice cream bar, and Jell-O.

Ignoring the fact that she has doubled her allotment, I suggest that she toss in a roast chicken and some milk. She agrees, knowing the milk, as she tells me, will make her strong until her mother arrives. Her rope will be blue, will be 250,000-plus-infinity miles long. That way, if her mother is late, the rope can be thrown wide, and reach land on the other side of the ocean.

I marvel that she has any idea what infinity is, though this is a mutual learning society: She reminds me of the innocence of forward motion, and I try to give her a palette for all that hope. I tell her a story about a surfer girl, lost at sea, who was hungry and alone. Then she remembered her mother

Gail Caldwell is the former chief book critic for The Boston Globe, where she was a staff writer for more than twenty years. In 2001, she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Distinguished Criticism. She is the author of three previous memoirs and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Reading Caldwell is like sitting down over tea and cookies with a close friend, only to realize several hours later that together you've devoured the whole plateful and dinnertime has come and gone. NPR

Caldwell is a charming and affable writer, proud yet self-deprecating, thoughtful and witty. Her story, while often painful, is never didactic, preachy or judgmental. . . . God willing, she will write to us again. Star Tribune

Deeply affecting. Goop

She s just a great memoirist and storyteller. The Boston Globe

Caldwell s writing, as always, is lush and lyrical, her honesty both captivating and refreshing, qualities that shine anew with a fierce and vibrant luminescence. Booklist (starred review)

A glistening reflection on how the women s movement profoundly influenced the Pulitzer Prize winner s life . . . Caldwell s fourth memoir sings. It s a song for the ages, but it sounds especially resonant in the #MeToo era. Kirkus Reviews (starred review)