The memoir of an elderly Kentucky woman written by one of America's most overlooked authors is not something that would normally jump off the shelf at me. But what a gift this book is. Honest, beautifully written, and extremely moving in its depiction of love, jealously, war and the simple pains and pleasures of every day life.
"Sometimes I sit still in my chair late into the night, telling over this story to myself... I tell it with patience, going over it again and again in order to get it right... As I have told it over, the past visible again in the present, the dead living still in their absence, this dream of time seems to come to rest in eternity. My mind, I think, has started to become, it is close to being, the room of love where the absent are present, the dead are alive, time is eternal, and all the creatures are prosperous. The room of love is the love that holds us all, and it is not ours. It goes back before we were born. It goes all the way back. It is Heaven's. Or it is Heaven, and we are in it only by willingness..." Hannah Coulter