By Annie Dillard
A ebook that immediately captured the hearts of readers around the state, An American Childhood is Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Annie Dillard's poignant, brilliant memoir of becoming up in Pittsburgh within the Nineteen Fifties.
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Extra info for An American Childhood
You sure? Okay. ” With a little flounce, she turned over on her side. From the way she went about adjusting her pillow, plumping and re-plumping it, I could sense her acceptance of our situation, her growing contentment with it, and this only made me feel more wretched. Amazingly, while I was growing up, my hippie mother had gone through an Eastern religion phase, during which she’d compelled us all to practice Transcendental Meditation and listen to a guru named Baba Ram Dass. “Be here now,” he’d instructed.
People with their vacation photos. ” Claire looked at me sympathetically. Suddenly she clamped her hands over her mouth. ” I said. She shook her head back and forth like a horse breaking free of its bridle. Then she started laughing. “Oh, my God. ‘Let’s go to Bali. Let’s go to Philadelphia. ’ Suze, would you listen to us? What kind of wusses are we? ” Claire said. “Jet lag. And culture shock. The two of us are so exhausted and disoriented, we’re practically psychotic. So we’re getting freaked out.
When she wasn’t berating her housekeeper—whom she degradingly called “the domestic”—she’d sit back in a crushed velvet armchair with an enormous gin and tonic and speak glowingly of Trotsky. “You’re not a Communist, Ma,” my father would say with irritation. “You’re an alcoholic. ” Real Communists didn’t have country houses and tennis club memberships, he pointed out. Real Communists didn’t play the stock market. Luckily for me, though, my grandmother did. For a Bolshevik, she was somehow the only person in our family with any disposable income.
An American Childhood by Annie Dillard