Traveling with Pomegranates
A Mother and Daughter Journey to the Sacred Places of Greece, Turkey, and France
(Sprache: Englisch)
Sue Monk Kidd has touched the hearts of millions of readers with her beloved novels and acclaimed nonfiction. Now, in this wise and engrossing dual memoir, she and her daughter, Ann, chronicle their travels together through Greece and France at a time when...
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Sue Monk Kidd has touched the hearts of millions of readers with her beloved novels and acclaimed nonfiction. Now, in this wise and engrossing dual memoir, she and her daughter, Ann, chronicle their travels together through Greece and France at a time when each was on a quest to redefine herself and rediscover each other.
As Sue struggles to enlarge a vision of swarming bees into a novel, and Ann ponders the classic question of what to do with her life, this modern-day Demeter and Persephone explore an array of inspiring figures and sacred sites. They also give voice to that most protean of human connections: the bond of mothers and daughters.
As Sue struggles to enlarge a vision of swarming bees into a novel, and Ann ponders the classic question of what to do with her life, this modern-day Demeter and Persephone explore an array of inspiring figures and sacred sites. They also give voice to that most protean of human connections: the bond of mothers and daughters.
Klappentext zu „Traveling with Pomegranates “
The New York Times bestselling memoir of pilgrimage and self-discovery by Sue Monk Kidd, the author of The Secret Life of Bees and The Book of Longings, and her daughter, Ann Kidd TaylorSue Monk Kidd has touched the hearts of millions of readers with her beloved novels and acclaimed nonfiction. Now, in this wise and engrossing dual memoir, she and her daughter, Ann, chronicle their travels together through Greece and France at a time when each was on a quest to redefine herself and rediscover each other.
As Sue struggles to enlarge a vision of swarming bees into a novel, and Ann ponders the classic question of what to do with her life, this modern-day Demeter and Persephone explore an array of inspiring figures and sacred sites. They also give voice to that most protean of human connections: the bond of mothers and daughters.
An absorbing book about spiritual growth and finding one's destiny, Traveling with Pomegranates is both a revealing self-portrait by a beloved author and her daughter, and a momentous story that will resonate with women everywhere.
Lese-Probe zu „Traveling with Pomegranates “
SueNational Archaeological Museum Athens
Sitting on a bench in the National Archaeological Museum inGreece, I watch my twenty-two-year-old daughter, Ann, angle hercamera before a marble bas- relief of Demeter and Persephoneunaware of the small ballet she s performing her slow, precisesteps forward, the tilt of her head, the way she dips to one knee asshe turns her torso, leaning into the sharp afternoon light. The scenereminds me of something, a memory maybe, but I can t recall what.I only know she looks beautiful and impossibly grown, and forreasons not clear to me I m possessed by an acute feeling of loss.
It s the summer of 1998, a few days before my fiftieth birthday.Ann and I have been in Athens a whole twenty- seven hours, agood portion of which I ve spent lying awake in a room in theHotel Grande Bretagne, waiting for blessed daylight. I tell myselfthe bereft feeling that washed over me means nothing I mjet- lagged, that s all. But that doesn t feel particularly convincing.
I close my eyes and even in the tumult of the museum, wherethere seem to be ten tourists per square inch, I know the feeling isactually everything. It is the undisclosed reason I ve come to theother side of the world with my daughter. Because in a way whichmakes no sense, she seems lost to me now. Because she is grownand a stranger. And I miss her almost violently.
Our trip to Greece began as a birthday present to myself and a collegegraduation gift to Ann. The extravagant idea popped into myhead six months earlier as the realization of turning fifty set in andI felt for the first time the overtures of an ending.
... mehr
Those were the days I stood before the bathroom mirror examiningnew lines and sags around my eyes and mouth like a seismologiststudying unstable tectonic plates. The days I dug throughphoto albums in search of images of my mother and grandmotherat fifty, scrutinizing their faces and comparing them to my own.
Surely I m above this sort of thing. I could not be one of thosewomen who clings to the façades of youth. I didn t understand whyI was responding to the prospect of aging with such shallownessand dread, only that there had to be more to it than the etchingsof time on my skin. Was I dabbling in the politics of vanity or didI obsess on my face to avoid my soul? Furthermore, whatever roomI happened to be in seemed unnaturally overheated. During thenights I wandered in long, sleepless corridors. At forty- nine mybody was engaged in vague, mutinous behaviors.
These weren t the only hints that I was about to emigrate to anew universe. At the same time I was observing the goings- on inthe mirror, I came down with an irrepressible need to leave my oldgeography a small town in upstate South Carolina where we dlived for twenty- two years and move to an unfamiliar landscape.I envisioned a place tucked away somewhere, quiet and untamed,near water, marsh grass, and tidal rhythms. In an act of boldnessor recklessness, or some perfect combination thereof, my husband,Sandy, and I put our house on the market and moved toCharleston, where we subsisted in a minuscule one- bedroom apartmentwhile searching for this magical and necessary place. I neversaid out loud that I thought it was mandatory for my soul and my creative life (how could I explain that?), but I assure you, I wasthinking it.
I felt like my writing had gone to seed. A strange fallowness hadset in. I could not seem to write in the same way. I felt I d come tosome conclusion in my creative life and now something new wantedto break through. I had crazy intimations about writing a novel,about which I knew more or less nothing. Frankly, the whole thingterrified me.
After being crammed in the tiny apartment for so long I beganto think we d lost our minds by tossing over our comfortable oldlife, I was
Those were the days I stood before the bathroom mirror examiningnew lines and sags around my eyes and mouth like a seismologiststudying unstable tectonic plates. The days I dug throughphoto albums in search of images of my mother and grandmotherat fifty, scrutinizing their faces and comparing them to my own.
Surely I m above this sort of thing. I could not be one of thosewomen who clings to the façades of youth. I didn t understand whyI was responding to the prospect of aging with such shallownessand dread, only that there had to be more to it than the etchingsof time on my skin. Was I dabbling in the politics of vanity or didI obsess on my face to avoid my soul? Furthermore, whatever roomI happened to be in seemed unnaturally overheated. During thenights I wandered in long, sleepless corridors. At forty- nine mybody was engaged in vague, mutinous behaviors.
These weren t the only hints that I was about to emigrate to anew universe. At the same time I was observing the goings- on inthe mirror, I came down with an irrepressible need to leave my oldgeography a small town in upstate South Carolina where we dlived for twenty- two years and move to an unfamiliar landscape.I envisioned a place tucked away somewhere, quiet and untamed,near water, marsh grass, and tidal rhythms. In an act of boldnessor recklessness, or some perfect combination thereof, my husband,Sandy, and I put our house on the market and moved toCharleston, where we subsisted in a minuscule one- bedroom apartmentwhile searching for this magical and necessary place. I neversaid out loud that I thought it was mandatory for my soul and my creative life (how could I explain that?), but I assure you, I wasthinking it.
I felt like my writing had gone to seed. A strange fallowness hadset in. I could not seem to write in the same way. I felt I d come tosome conclusion in my creative life and now something new wantedto break through. I had crazy intimations about writing a novel,about which I knew more or less nothing. Frankly, the whole thingterrified me.
After being crammed in the tiny apartment for so long I beganto think we d lost our minds by tossing over our comfortable oldlife, I was
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Sue Monk Kidd, Ann Kidd Taylor
SUE MONK KIDD is the author of the novels, The Secret Life of Bees and The Mermaid Chair, and the memoirs, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, When the Heart Waits, and Firstlight, a collection of early writings. The Secret Life of Bees has spent more than 125 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list and was adapted into an award-winning movie. The Mermaid Chair, a #1 New York Times bestseller, was adapted into a television movie. Each of her novels has been translated into more than 24 languages. The recipient of numerous literary awards, Sue lives in South Carolina with her husband.Ann Kidd Taylor is a graduate of Columbia College in South Carolina. She has published articles and essays in Skirt! magazine in Charleston, SC, where she worked for two years after college as an editorial assistant. She left to pursue a career in writing, working on a book about her travels, which evolved into Traveling with Pomegranates, a memoir she co-authored with her mother Sue Monk Kidd. It is her first book. Ann lives near Charleston with her husband and son.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autoren: Sue Monk Kidd , Ann Kidd Taylor
- 2010, Repr., 304 Seiten, Maße: 12,9 x 19,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Penguin US
- ISBN-10: 0143117971
- ISBN-13: 9780143117971
- Erscheinungsdatum: 21.01.2011
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Traveling with Pomegranates:Thoughtful, honest, and uplifting. The Los Angeles Times
Any mother or daughter would enjoy or relate to the touching struggle of developing a close relationship as adult women. The Associated Press
Read this one as a memoir, a travelogue and as a self-renewal book Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
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