13 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The piece on Sacraments is alone worth the price of the book, August 12, 1999
To enter the world of another mind is to discover we are all of one mind. Andre Dubus makes this possible by minding the business of living. Each grief, loss, and puzzlement he experiences is faced full on, letting us see how the prosaic details speak larger meanings when veiwed from the perspective of faith: life has meaning when I accept as a gift what I don't understand.
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16 of 17 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
I loved the man who was full of grace, March 4, 1999
By A Customer
Although he always wrote pencil to paper, I do not think he would object to a tribute on the net.
Andre Dubus was my friend. I attended his wake, funeral and "time" this past weekend. We were buddies that shared a common living space...the campus of Bradford College. He lived in a townhouse out back, I was the dorm director for Academy Hall.. We went to the Red Sox together, we walked down the placid evening summer street to Ronnie D's on more than one occasion...oh, the tranquil nights, the botanical paradise where we stopped to sniff the lucious bushes and trees and shrubs that Dick Broadhurst had taught us to appreciate...
My heart is broken, I cannot imagine Andre not walking this planet, I cannot do without the wisdom and grace that made ME important because he was my friend.
The funeral, a simple Catholic mass, was missing the most important ingredient...I remember the many occasions when Andre was elected to be the speaker, to put our grief into eloquent words... Carolina Arria, the beautiful flower of Argentina was remembered as a cara mia...Jim Valhouli, the man who emphasized Andre's grace was his treaure...Tony DeLuca the frog sandwich...no one escaped his discerning eye.
I sit here and weep at 5"00 a.m. not knowing how to put this behind me. As a member of alcoholics anonimous Iam taught to let go and let god... why is it so difficult for me and the hundreds of people at that church who wept as Rebecca Paris sang "The Lush Life" to let go?
We are all a product of his munificence...I will write a letter to the kids and his beautiful sisters that I know they will understand...I will contribute to the Homeless Shelter for veterans because my husband is a Vietnam combat Marine who persuaded Andre to don his Combat Cover one wonderful night last November...
Andre, I miss deep sea fishing with you...the drive past Brown's (full of penanace)...the revolution and moratorium...the fish you brought over to Inge's house that night...we were little devils and then you reformed.
Hail Mary, full of Grace...now and at the hour of our death...
I wish this was not so spontaneous, you deserve a more fitting tribute.
Excelsior Andre! Love, Mary P.
P.S. I encourage the friends and admirers of Andre to write and comfort me, to share their thoughts and keep the church going. MJPCRP@aol.com
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11 of 12 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Andre Dubus's Daily Bread, July 7, 2000
Shortly after finishing "Meditations from a Moveable Chair," I learned that Andre Dubus recently had died. I was surprisingly startled, considering he was a man I never knew and with whose writing I was merely acquainted. My reaction to the news of his death speaks a great deal about the quality and affect of Dubus's austere and confessional prose. Dubus frequently ends essays in the volume by recalling the moment of the piece's composition, as if he is offering not only an artifice, but the origin, the spot of time and emotion and weather from which the artifice emerged. In some cases this device seems almost redundant because his clean prose seemed already imbued with the sense of being written; especially in the essays recounting manual labor, jogging, or taking churchyard laps in his wheelchair, I imagined a man (resembling the man with a pensive scowl on the book's jacket) hammering away at a typewriter. Despite being about many quotidian things, Dubus's writing reminds me of a few lines of "Song of Myself": "Not words of routine this song of mine, / But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring." Although at times I thought Dubus was simply repeating himself, well, simply, I found the essays to be touching, memorable, and a pleasure to read. "Meditations from a Moveable Chair" is markedly anti-stoic: beneath its equivocal title, the volume effuses the pleasures and pain of life after a literal "wreck of body," and offers itself to its reader as a sacrifice and another one of Dubus's sacraments.
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