Amazon.com Review
Unlike some Christian writers, Frederick Buechner has never claimed to have a ringside seat to the truth. "I have seen with the eyes of the heart the great hope to which he has called us," he writes, "but out of shyness ... I rarely speak of it, and in my books I have tended to write about it for the most part only obliquely." This very reticence, however, is one of the qualities that most endears this writer to his fans: we trust him all the more because he does not deny his own doubts. A novelist, preacher, and essayist beloved by the thoughtful (and the doubtful), this new memoir follows the quiet and yet probing style of the three that precede it (
Now and Then,
Telling Secrets, and
The Sacred Journey). Here, as he moves into his 70s, Buechner explores more deeply and with greater personal poignancy his familiar subjects of loss, death, and faith, acknowledging that these three issues still revolve around his own father's suicide when Buechner was 9. Including delightful and honest reminiscences of his childhood friend, the great poet
James Merrill, along with rich and loving memories of family members and books, Buechner writes the way many of us feel--with moments of glory that shoot through the grayness. Those who know his earlier work will not be disappointed by this continuation of the journey; those new to him will find a suitable entry point to the path right here.
--Doug Thorpe
From Publishers Weekly
Its cloying title aside, this fourth memoir by the Pulitzer Prize-nominated author (Godric) is elegant, understated and elegiac. As the reader is guided through the author's libraryAhis "Magic Kingdom"Avarious books, manuscripts and mementos become the stimulus for meditations about Christian faith and about the people who have touched his life. We read at length about the folly of writing a novel about Jesus; to do so, the ordained minister writes, "would be to cheapen and somehow dishonor the bond between us." We see the author's fatherAwho committed suicide at the age of 38Anot only as a distant figure, alcoholic and adulterous ("the empty place at [the] center" of Buechner's childhood), but as a charismatic Princeton alumnus who once seemed so full of promise. The memoir's penultimate chapter is a tribute to the author's beloved brother, Jamie, who died as Buechner was finishing the bookAhe had called and said he had "incurable cancer of virtually everything and didn't intend to be around for more than two weeks if he could possibly help it." Such a momentAa pitch-perfect blend of tenderness and sardonic lyricismAtypifies the poetic intensity of the memoir. Also of note is the second chapter, about Buechner's friend, the late poet James Merrill, who appears in the author's dreams: "and it is always goodbye that we are saying again as if to make up for never having had the chance to say it properly." Acknowledging at once the intensity of their bond and the married minister's puzzlement at the alien pleasures of an unapologetically homosexual man, this chapter exemplifies the memoir's adroit equipoise, unsparing and loving at once. (Dec.)
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