Educated Kindle Edition
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|Length: 342 pages||Word Wise: Enabled||Enhanced Typesetting: Enabled|
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I’m standing on the red railway car that sits abandoned next to the barn. The wind soars, whipping my hair across my face and pushing a chill down the open neck of my shirt. The gales are strong this close to the mountain, as if the peak itself is exhaling. Down below, the valley is peaceful, undisturbed. Meanwhile our farm dances: the heavy conifer trees sway slowly, while the sagebrush and thistles quiver, bowing before every puff and pocket of air. Behind me a gentle hill slopes upward and stitches itself to the mountain base. If I look up, I can see the dark form of the Indian Princess.
The hill is paved with wild wheat. If the conifers and sagebrush are soloists, the wheat field is a corps de ballet, each stem following all the rest in bursts of movement, a million ballerinas bending, one after the other, as great gales dent their golden heads. The shape of that dent lasts only a moment, and is as close as anyone gets to seeing wind.
Turning toward our house on the hillside, I see movements of a different kind, tall shadows stiffly pushing through the currents. My brothers are awake, testing the weather. I imagine my mother at the stove, hovering over bran pancakes. I picture my father hunched by the back door, lacing his steel-toed boots and threading his callused hands into welding gloves. On the highway below, the school bus rolls past without stopping.
I am only seven, but I understand that it is this fact, more than any other, that makes my family different: we don’t go to school.
Dad worries that the Government will force us to go but it can’t, because it doesn’t know about us. Four of my parents’ seven children don’t have birth certificates. We have no medical records because we were born at home and have never seen a doctor or nurse.* We have no school records because we’ve never set foot in a classroom. When I am nine, I will be issued a Delayed Certificate of Birth, but at this moment, according to the state of Idaho and the federal government, I do not exist.
Of course I did exist. I had grown up preparing for the Days of Abomination, watching for the sun to darken, for the moon to drip as if with blood. I spent my summers bottling peaches and my winters rotating supplies. When the World of Men failed, my family would continue on, unaffected.
I had been educated in the rhythms of the mountain, rhythms in which change was never fundamental, only cyclical. The same sun appeared each morning, swept over the valley and dropped behind the peak. The snows that fell in winter always melted in the spring. Our lives were a cycle—the cycle of the day, the cycle of the seasons—circles of perpetual change that, when complete, meant nothing had changed at all. I believed my family was a part of this immortal pattern, that we were, in some sense, eternal. But eternity belonged only to the mountain.
There’s a story my father used to tell about the peak. She was a grand old thing, a cathedral of a mountain. The range had other mountains, taller, more imposing, but Buck’s Peak was the most finely crafted. Its base spanned a mile, its dark form swelling out of the earth and rising into a flawless spire. From a distance, you could see the impression of a woman’s body on the mountain face: her legs formed of huge ravines, her hair a spray of pines fanning over the northern ridge. Her stance was commanding, one leg thrust forward in a powerful movement, more stride than step.
My father called her the Indian Princess. She emerged each year when the snows began to melt, facing south, watching the buffalo return to the valley. Dad said the nomadic Indians had watched for her appearance as a sign of spring, a signal the mountain was thawing, winter was over, and it was time to come home.
All my father’s stories were about our mountain, our valley, our jagged little patch of Idaho. He never told me what to do if I left the mountain, if I crossed oceans and continents and found myself in strange terrain, where I could no longer search the horizon for the Princess. He never told me how I’d know when it was time to come home.
*Except for my sister Audrey, who broke both an arm and a leg when she was young. She was taken to get a cast.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
- Publication Date : February 20, 2018
- File Size : 1059 KB
- Lending : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print Length : 342 pages
- Publisher : HarperCollins Publishers (February 20, 2018)
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Enhanced Typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Language: : English
- ASIN : B071RQXBH2
- Best Sellers Rank: #250,334 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
Top reviews from the United States
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1. Tara Westover grew up in the 1990s (not the 1890s) and much of this memoir covers that time period. Although her family had a television, telephone and computer, she describes her family in this TV-folksy way as if took place around the time of "Little House on the Prairie." Her father's dialogue alone: He refers to school as "book learning" and at one point asks to know "about them classes." She calls her mother "Mother" yet in a quoted email toward the end of the book she calls her "Mom," which is a lot more likely for someone born in 1986 (not 1886.) Her father says Tara is getting "uppity" when she decides she wants some of that thar book learnin'.
2. Tara is playing the lead in the town's musicals as a young teen and taking dance and piano classes yet she is so naive about clothes and has so few that we are treated to the following scene, a la Laura Ingalls, when "Mother" takes her to Aunt Angie's house to get a dress:
"Angie... laid out an armful of dresses, each so fine, with such intricate lace patterns and delicately tied bows, that at first I was afraid to touch them.... "You should take this one," Angie said, passing me a navy dress with white braided cords arranged across the bodice. I took the dress, along with another made of red velvet collared with white lace, and Mother and I drove home."
What, no butter churn?
Remember, Tara is not isolated "off the grid." She's in town playing the LEAD in "Annie" as a kid, around other kids who presumably weren't so "isolated." Yet at 15 she's saying she thought Europe was a continent and didn't know where France was. Then again she's careful to say her father only watched "The Honeymooners" reruns on TV -- even though her father, who is in his mid to late 50s, was not even born when "The Honeymooners" originally played on TV.
Tara Westover grew up in the same era as Vanilla Ice, "Beverly Hills 90210," "Saved by the Bell" and MC Hammer but apparently none of those other "book learning" kids in town mentioned this. Pretty much the only pop culture references in the book involve Ralph and Alice Kramden.
3. Harrowing, near-fatal accidents appear in what to seem to be every other chapter. The injured family members hardly ever go to the hospital, emerging from unconsciousness, brain injuries, bloody limbs, or burns and more fairly unscathed a few months later each time.
Her mother is left apparently brain damaged after one terrible car accident. She never sees a doctor despite weeks of migraines and a lot of time spent in the darkened basement. She recovers, of course, enough to run a lucrative, essential oils business, Butterfly Quality Essential Oils, that employs many in the Westover family. This business is rarely mentioned in the book and instead it seems as if the Westover made their living working in "the junkyard."
Abusive brother Shawn is in two horrendous accidents - he falls in the junkyard, is knocked unconscious and yet "lived through the night." Later he has a motorcycle accident and Tara can see his brain through a hole in his forehead. "His brain, I can see it!" she cries on the phone to Dad. Shawn winds up in the hospital but the hole in his brain? No biggie. He recovers.
Luke's arm is gashed through to the bone while working one of the family's junkyard machines. (Tara also gets a gash in her leg from a farm injury. There is a lot of bloody "gashes" in this book. The family German shepherd is apparently chopped to death by Shawn.) Another time Luke also gets badly burned in a fire and all they do is stick his leg in a garbage pail to cool it down. He recovers without a doctor of course.
Dad is horribly burned, or so Tara says, in yet another accident involving a fuel tank on their property which leaves his "insides charred." He "still had a forehead a nose... but below his nose, nothing was where it should be. Red, mangled, sagging, it looked like a plastic drama mask that had been held to close to a candle."
Tara sees her mother take a butter knife to "pry my father's ears from his skull." He never sees a doctor for these life-threatening burns but recovers well enough to return to work. He is also pictured on his wife's Facebook page in a 2009 photo (taken after the burn accident) and his face looks normal.
There's yet another bad car accident, in which Dad drives so fast their van crashes into the snowdrifts, upside down. Tara winds up unconscious but doesn't go to the hospital. Her mother calls in an energy healer. Tara recovers.
4. When she's about 15, uneducated, mainly unschooled Tara decides she wants to take the ACT. She drives (by herself) into town to buy an ACT study guide. She scans the first page and doesn't understand the symbols. "What's this?" she asks Mother. "Math," says Mother.
Yet within a few months, Tara goes from teaching herself the multiplication tables to mastering trigonometry - enough to ace the ACT test. The accidents that befall the Westover family and the abuse Tara suffers at the hands of her brother Shawn are described in depth; her "Education" is not.
She goes from a 15-year-old who can't identify math symbols to acceptance at Brigham Young University and then - poof - acceptance for study abroad at Cambridge at 17 where her smitten professor says her essay is the best he's ever read. From there it's on to Harvard with a lot of traveling to London, Paris, Rome and even a quick trip to the Middle Eastern desert.
Favorite quote from the book? She is at BYU in her dorm room, studying with roommates.
"France, I now understood, was a part of Europe."
Top reviews from other countries
self-pitying and self- absorbed. This one is not. The author gives a balanced picture of her troubled family,in which madness is combined with ingenuity, intelligence and grit, and of the wider Mormon community in which she grew up. It provides a fascinating insight into the complex effects of mental illness on family relationships and the individual. It is also a moving story of one individual's successful struggle to overcome those effects and live a satisfying life.
I read a review in a broadsheet that mentioned Westover’s author’s voice being distant and a little cold. I didn’t feel this at all. I felt it was all the more powerful for not being doused in flowery descriptions. It was clear and real and honest.
I like the references to how reliable a storyteller is, how our memories differ and how, in real life we have to find a way of weaving varying recollections to find a truth.
It’s an anthem to the power of education and knowledge. Fascinating and incredibly readable. The numerous accidents felt like the tense moments in an episode of Casualty. You know whenever there’s a scene with a tractor that something horrific is going to happen.
It's a 4 for now but more of a 4.5..
I admit I felt some degree of skepticism. There seemed to be contradictions and gaps which needed further explanation. At times I felt it was documenting a nasty family feud while her recollection of family dynamics and its surrounding radical religious fanaticism and paranoia altered in her thinking.
I believed this was a story of overcoming an upbringing in a family of survivalists and poverty.
From what I thought I knew about survivalism, people lived off the grid, but there was mention of TV, computer, phone, camera, etc. The parents chose to live in an atypical manner, driven by the eccentric father’s belief that Armageddon or Judgement Day was rapidly approaching. I could not classify the family as impoverished. There were vehicles, often wrecked in accidents which needed expensive repairs or replacement. They had expensive heavy duty machinery for construction and the junkyard business they owned.
There was also the fear that the feared government agents would invade the family property and weapons were stockpiled. The father persuaded his wife to concoct natural medicines from herbs to sell as remedies for various illnesses. No medical intervention or hospitals were permitted despite dreadful injuries occurring at the workplace. The mother also worked as a midwife. The family also spent time preserving countless jars of peaches for the ‘end time’.
The children lacked birth certificates and were not permitted to attend school, and forced to work under dangerous conditions in the junkyard and construction. Each youngster slept with a ‘run for the hills’ backpack in case of a standoff by government law enforcement. The author describes herself and the home as often dirty and smelly, and not having soap. In spite of her description of a strict home, she went out on dates, performed in musicals at a nearby theatre and occasionally worked outside the home. Three of the children have PHDs and the parents have become millionaires through their natural medicine business.
I felt detached from the author’s story thinking I was being forced to feel for her hard work and emotional upheavals, and there were parts missing in her recollections and information. We were only getting one side of the dysfunctional family story. There is no doubt that she was emotionally abused and injured by an older brother and the parents and in-laws could not be trusted to uphold her accusations.
Some credibility issues arose in her education. That she was able, with no schooling, to teach herself enough to obtain very high marks on tests and be admitted into prestigious Universities is astounding and admirable. Once at University she soon discovered her knowledge of recent history was woefully inadequate. She had never heard of the Holocaust or the Civil Rights movement. Funding was a mystery. Grants and Scholarships only cover so much, but she did not seem to be a typical impoverished student as there were many return overseas flights from Cambridge University to home, and also vacations in Rome and Paris.
I finished the book feeling disconnected from her, and wanted to know how her life is like now, whether she is completely estranged from her family, and what her goals are for the future.