From Publishers Weekly
With light, humorous prose and attractive drawings, Beckerman deftly recounts her journey down the winding path between watching a film clip of the royal wedding of Elizabeth II in 1947 and becoming the mother of a modern American bride in the 1990s. Her daughter's announcement of her engagement, accompanied by "a ring you wouldn't be afraid to wear on a subway," initiated 12 months of decisions and crises involving flowers, cakes, champagne, hors d'oeuvres, dresses, music and an all-knowing, ever-present, unflappable and impeccably dressed wedding consultant named Deirdre. With an enticing mix of wry sophistication and loving na?vet?, Beckerman succinctly expresses motherhood's enduring push-and-pull: "All the parenting books say, 'Don't rush in with advice,' but who else is going to tell a daughter she needs a slip under that dress?" Her well-selected memories illustrate the joys and headaches of mothering a daughter--the aspirations, worries and wishes that buoyed and buffeted her from the time of her pregnancy through her daughter's adolescence and early adulthood, culminating in a year of wedding preparations. As Beckerman tells it, "childbirth was easier than being the mother of the bride." Beckerman (What We Do for Love; Love, Loss, and What I Wore), who started her writing career at the age of 60, breathes fresh vitality into this familiar rite of passage, in an account that is sweetly sentimental and brutally honest, touching and witty--in short, a true gem. 50,000 first printing; Book-of-the-Month Club selection; 25-city tour. (Apr.)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Beliefnet
As much as every mother wants her daughters to get married,says Ilene Beckerman, no mother is prepared to be a Mother Of The Bride. Beckerman's daughter wanted a grand, traditional fete, no skimping. Every detail--from the type of stamps used on the invitations to the shade of the flowers--was crucial. The details were too much for even a supermom like Beckerman to handle, so she hired a wedding consultant. Still, Mom--not the consultant--had to accompany the bride as she shopped for a wedding gown. Beckerman was unprepared: "I thought peau de soie was something Julia Child made.... That Alencon lace was a cheese people with bad cholesterol could eat. My daughter tried on a dress made from 50 yards of Thai silk. I couldn't find her." But this is no mere humor book. Amid the drolleries are the poignant reflections of a mother who is not just gaining a son-in-law. She is also, in a way, losing a daughter. (Beliefnet, June 2000)
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