Mouthwatering recipes, gorgeous photography and enlightening social context make Our South, Breaking Bao and more cookbooks worthy of a spot on your kitchen shelf.
Mouthwatering recipes, gorgeous photography and enlightening social context make Our South, Breaking Bao and more cookbooks worthy of a spot on your kitchen shelf.
In her plucky, intimate memoir, Glory Edim, the creator of the Well-Read Black Girl book club, tethers the books and authors she has found and loved to her own rocky journey of self-discovery—it’s reader catnip.
In her plucky, intimate memoir, Glory Edim, the creator of the Well-Read Black Girl book club, tethers the books and authors she has found and loved to her own rocky journey of self-discovery—it’s reader catnip.
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In Drug Use for Grown-Ups: Chasing Liberty in the Land of Fear, Dr. Carl L. Hart makes a thoughtful and persuasive (if controversial) case that everything we’ve been taught about drug use is wrong and that it’s high time we legalize all drugs and consider a more humane way forward.

Interview by

For Anna Malaika Tubbs, finding the inspiration to write her first book was a numbers game. After watching Hidden Figures, the 2016 biographical drama about Black women who worked as mathematicians at NASA during the space race, Tubbs left the movie theater feeling both enraged and inspired. “I wanted to do something where I helped this issue of uncovering more ‘hidden figures,’ ” she says from her home in Stockton, California. She wanted to write about women who “were there right in front of us that we just weren’t paying more attention to, or who were intentionally being kept from us.”

With a background in sociology and gender studies, Tubbs was well positioned for the task. But she also knew that, in order to entice readers, she would need more than her sharp research skills; she would need a hook. So she turned to Martin Luther King Jr., James Baldwin and Malcolm X, three of the most brilliant leaders of the 20th century. Then she looked at their mothers: Alberta King, Berdis Baldwin and Louise Little, respectively. 


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of The Three Mothers.


When Tubbs learned that these women had been born roughly six years apart (though some accounts of their birth years vary) and that their sons were born within five years of one another, she knew she had uncovered an important connective thread. She followed it, and the result is The Three Mothers, a book that maps how misogynoir (the unique intersection of racism and misogyny experienced by Black women) shaped the lives of three young civil rights activists long before they raised sons who would become leaders in the movement. The Three Mothers discusses Louise’s work with Marcus Garvey’s Universal Negro Improvement Association, Alberta’s family history of faith-based activism and Berdis’ early years as a poet and spoken-word artist. As such, the book is part biography, part history and part running social commentary on the events of the past century. People might pick it up because they are interested in these iconic men, but what they will discover is an extensive and rewarding history of 20th-­century Black women.

Tubbs intentionally wrote The Three Mothers in language that is counterintuitive to her academic training. After countless days in special collections archives, poring over newspaper clippings, letters and interviews, Tubbs wanted to create something accessible to those outside the ivory tower, where emerging scholars are often encouraged to make their work “as elitist and complicated and boring as possible,” as she puts it. Because the activism of King, Baldwin, Malcolm X and their mothers was intended to benefit all people, Tubbs considered it unreasonable to write a text that was accessible to only a few. “I’m just not willing to play that part,” she says. 

In fact, The Three Mothers is the first step down what Tubbs calls the “public intellectual path” she has always wanted to take, sharing knowledge with people both within and outside the academy. With its conversational style and anecdotal imaginings of moments for which firsthand information is scarce, The Three Mothers tells a captivating story of women traumatized by the nation they and their sons would ultimately help transform.

In addition to shedding light on the lives of Alberta, Berdis and Louise, Tubbs also illuminates Black motherhood in general. Tubbs, who became a mother herself while writing the book, intimately understands what an undervalued vocation motherhood can be. Tubbs is the partner of Stockton’s first Black mayor, Michael Tubbs, and people often congratulate her high-­profile husband on the birth of “his” son while saying little to acknowledge the roles that she or her mother-in-law have played in the mayor’s personal and political success. Tubbs suspects this is because many people still assume that Black motherhood is neither an intellectually rigorous nor actively anti-racist endeavor, but she hopes her book can change that. “Black motherhood is about creation, liberation and thinking about the possibilities of the world that we can be a part of,” she says. “So many times our kids are painted as not human, and of course we see them as the most incredible humans in the world. Therefore, we have to change the world to see it the way we do.”

"Black women hold the truth and the key to the future."

This is illustrated time and time again in The Three Mothers as Tubbs explores how each woman worked to make her son see himself differently from the world’s harsh perceptions. For instance, Louise would reteach school lessons to Malcolm and his siblings to incorporate multiple languages and Afro-diasporic history. When a frightened young King and his father were harassed by white store clerks and policemen, Alberta would comfort her son but remind him that his father’s refusal to be treated like a second-class citizen was the right thing to do. And when a young Baldwin and his siblings were terrorized by his stepfather, Berdis stepped in, continually reminding her son that family solidarity and the fair treatment of others were important in spite of the abuse. In each of the book’s eight sections, Tubbs makes clear that, without these mothers’ instruction, none of the men born to them could have been the leaders they ultimately became.

Though Tubbs is both excited and anxious about this spring—she will defend her doctoral dissertation and launch her debut book within weeks of each other—she feels that now is the perfect time for her work to enter the world, and she has high hopes for The Three Mothers. “I want it to be that declaration that Black women hold the truth and the key to the future. People are quite open to that idea, maybe for the first time,” she says, citing the recent inauguration of the first Black woman U.S. vice president as proof that the conversation is ripe for change. 

There’s no doubt that The Three Mothers will be at the forefront of that changing conversation about Black womanhood, perhaps leaving readers as inspired and determined as Tubbs was when she walked out of the movie theater nearly five years ago.

 

Author photo credit, Anna Maliaka Tubbs

The Three Mothers maps how misogynoir shaped the lives of three young civil rights activists long before they raised sons who would become leaders in the movement.
Author Julia Cooke shares her thoughts on air travel, past and present, and offers some suggestions for making your own glamour when you take to the skies.

To celebrate Memoir March, we spoke to the authors of this spring’s most exciting memoirs about their research processes, writing roadblocks and biggest fears as they put their personal stories out into the world. Elizabeth Miki Brina shares some of the joys and difficulties behind her book, Speak, Okinawa, about whether love can heal a family traumatized by racism and colonization.


What do you love most about your book?
I love how my book aims to capture more than my life and my story—or rather, how my life and my story encompass so many other lives and stories, including my mother’s story, my father’s story, the history of the people of Okinawa. Through writing this book, I love how I was able to realize the connectedness of it all, to understand myself and my place in this world, the events that had to transpire, the hardships that had to be endured and overcome in order for me to exist.

What kind of reader do you think will most appreciate or enjoy your book?
Readers who are children of immigrants. Readers who are biracial or have multicultural heritage. Readers who were once estranged from their mothers or fathers and therefore from their origins. Readers who want to witness this experience.

What is one thing in your book that’s true that readers may have a hard time believing?
I hope readers don’t have a hard time believing anything—but what was hard for me to believe is how I really didn’t know myself for most of my life. I avoided and denied such important aspects of my identity for so long, and that took a huge toll on me and greatly hindered my ability to love and be loved. Still does. I grew up trying to believe that race, family history and cultural history were inconsequential. I’m glad I don’t believe that anymore.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Speak, Okinawa.


What resistance did you face while writing this book?
I got nothing but support and encouragement from others as I was writing this book. The resistance I faced was from myself: deciding what personal details to share or not share, deciding what was mine or not mine to tell, and knowing that these decisions would affect and alter the narrative as well as the reader’s perception of and attitude toward the people being portrayed. That is a great deal of responsibility I didn’t want to abuse. Kept me awake some nights.

Was there anything that surprised you as you wrote?
I was surprised by how much I remembered, and how much my perspective on memories shifted as I was writing, rewriting and revising. There were so many revelations I could only have reached by putting memories on paper, seeing them reflected back at me, trying to view them objectively and finding the precise words to describe them.

Is there anything in your book that you’re nervous for people to read?
I’m definitely nervous for my parents to read the book. I’m nervous for them to read their secrets. I hope they forgive me.

“In a memoir, I can be judged and evaluated and hopefully redeemed as me, a real person, not a fictional character.”

How do you feel now that you’ve put this story to the page?
I feel very scraped out but also fuller and more complete. I feel relief.

What’s one way that your book is better as a memoir than it would have been as a novel?
In a memoir, I can claim my experiences and observations as my own. I can be judged and evaluated and hopefully redeemed as me, a real person, not a fictional character.

Many people think writing memoir means you just write from memory and don’t have to do research, but obviously that’s not true. What is the most interesting thing you had to research in order to write this book?
Everything I researched was interesting to me. The history of Okinawa, which I hadn’t learned before writing the book and which helped me better understand myself and my mother. The life of my mother, which I hadn’t learned about before writing the book either. Our conservations, asking and answering questions, helped heal our relationship and brought us closer.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Discover more great memoirs this Memoir March.

 

Author photo credit: Thad Lee

Elizabeth Miki Brina shares some of the joys and difficulties behind her memoir, Speak, Okinawa, about whether love can heal a family traumatized by racism and colonization.
Courtney Zoffness shares some of the joys and difficulties behind her book, Spilt Milk, a collection of essays that plaits her life experiences with larger observations about society.

To celebrate Memoir March, we spoke to the authors of this spring’s most exciting memoirs about their research processes, writing roadblocks and biggest fears as they put their personal stories out into the world. Menachem Kaiser shares some of the joys and difficulties behind his book, Plunder, about his journey deep into the shadowy realm of Nazi treasure hunters.


What do you love most about your book?
How it embraces uncertainty. The story I recount in Plunder—namely, my quest to reclaim my grandfather's building and falling in with modern-day treasure hunters along the way—is not a straight-line story. Nothing went as planned. There were so many mishaps, misunderstandings, errors, and the book doesn't gloss these over, doesn’t smooth out the bumps. 

What kind of reader do you think will most appreciate or enjoy your book? 
Anyone who's confronted or wanted to confront their family story, especially with respect to World War II. So many of us don't know what our parents or grandparents or great-grandparents went through in the war, or know only fragments, bits and pieces. And I think sometimes we’re a little complacent, incurious, satisfied with undetailed family lore, because it’s always been there. It is so hugely rewarding to investigate, to step into your story. It is so much stranger, more complicated, more beautiful, more tragic than you thought.

What is one thing in your book that’s true that readers may have a hard time believing?
The way I first learned about my relative, Abraham Kajzer, the man so revered by the treasure hunters, does admittedly sound like a very unlikely story. I had initially sought out the treasure hunters only because I was curious. I had never heard of Abraham—in fact, I had no idea that my grandfather had any relatives who had survived the war. So here's what happened: I was sitting with the treasure hunters, having a beer, talking about Project Riese—the underground Nazi complex they had showed me that afternoon—and I overheard them saying, in Polish, my last name. I don’t speak Polish, I just caught my name, and I knew they weren’t talking about me. So I asked what was going on, who was this Kaiser? They explained they were talking about Abraham Kajzer, a Jewish enslaved laborer who, on account of the diary he had kept while working on Project Riese, has become an almost mythological figure among their community. 

My first thought was that it was a funny coincidence. But later that night, after pulling up some documents and translating the preface to Kajzer's diary, I was able to trace the family tree, and I realized that this was my grandfather's first cousin and his closest relative to have survived the war.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of Plunder.


What resistance did you face while writing this book?
It’s a touchy subject, reclamation. I encountered resistance on all sides. Some people, including many of my relatives, were disappointed and upset that I was being at all sympathetic to the Poles living in my grandfather’s old building, who were benefiting—even if unknowingly—from the murder of my grandfather’s family. And some people, particularly in Poland, accused me of being something like an evil landlord, trying to displace helpless tenants. I understand both sets of objections, even if I disagree.

Was there anything that surprised you as you wrote?
So, so many people, upon hearing about my book, would tell me their own story of lost family property in Eastern Europe and beyond: in Egypt, the Ivory Coast, South Africa. It wasn’t the dispossession that was so surprising—that part is horrifyingly ubiquitous—but how, even generations later, the descendants of those who were dispossessed still cling to a place they often have never even been to.

Is there anything in your book that you’re nervous for people to read?
One of the chapters details the relationship between Abraham and the German woman who hid him in the final weeks of the war, saving his life. They became lovers; after the war, Abraham stayed with her and her children. (Her husband, a soldier in the Wehrmacht, was killed on the front.) It’s a beautiful but challenging story—not exactly taboo but still not the sort of Jewish-German wartime narrative people are used to.

"The constraints of memoir can be frustrating but also allow you to turn inward, to be introspective, to not have answers, to question your own motivations."

How do you feel now that you’ve put this story to the page?
Really just grateful and kind of amazed that the book exists.

What's one way that your book is better as a memoir than it would have been as a novel?
I actually address this question directly in the book: I wonder aloud if I should have written it as a novel, because then the narrative could be neat, clean, linear, not plagued by false starts and misunderstandings. But that would have been the wrong move. Ultimately memoir was absolutely the appropriate genre for this story. The constraints—it has to be true, whether or not it makes sense, whether it helps or hinders the narrative—can be frustrating but also allow you to turn inward, to be introspective, to not have answers, to question your own motivations. 

Many people think writing memoir means you just write from memory and don’t have to do research, but obviously that’s not true. What is the most interesting thing you had to research in order to write this book?
There are some very out-there conspiracy theories rampant among the treasure hunters, particularly with respect to Nazi technology that’s been lost or covered up. I spent months researching Nazi UFOs, Nazi antigravity, Nazi time travel, Nazi space stations and on and on. Fascinating if occasionally horrifying stuff.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Discover more great memoirs this Memoir March.

 

Author photo credit: Beowolf Sheehan

Menachem Kaiser shares some of the joys and difficulties behind his book, Plunder, about his journey deep into the shadowy realm of Nazi treasure hunters.
Louis Chude-Sokei shares some of the joys and difficulties behind his memoir Floating in a Most Peculiar Way, about negotiating what it means to be African in Jamaica and the United States.

To celebrate Memoir March, we spoke to the authors of this spring’s most exciting memoirs about their research processes, writing roadblocks and biggest fears as they put their personal stories out into the world. Georgina Lawton shares some of the joys and difficulties behind her book, Raceless, about growing up in a family that fiercely insisted, despite all outward appearances, that she was white.


What do you love most about your book?
That I cover multiple themes and places, that it looks at identity in a way we don’t see very often, that it’s not boring! I write about love, grief, secrets and shame by working through my family lore. And the physical journey I undertook to learn more about race and community brings the reader from London to the U.S. to Cuba, Nicaragua, Vietnam and back again. Examining DNA testing, Afro-futurism, Black hair and my own past took me on a journey of self-actualization while helping me understand my parents’ choices, too. 

What kind of reader do you think will most appreciate or enjoy your book? 
Those who navigate personal identities in the spaces between, anyone who has wrestled with family secrets—and readers with impeccable taste, of course.

What is one thing in your book that’s true that readers may have a hard time believing?
Perhaps on first glance, readers will find it hard to understand how an educated woman who looks like me grew up believing she was related to her white family. Or that my parents really did not ever discuss our differing racial backgrounds unless I pressed. Or that boxes were checked that declared my ethnicity as “white.”


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Raceless.


What resistance did you face while writing this book?
The turmoil of writing about my father, our life together and the strength of his love, while also attempting to understand his silence around our racial differences and to work through issues with my mother, was incredibly tough to overcome. I’m proud of the chapter “My Lot,” which is all about my dad, but I detest rereading it because it still makes me cry. 

Was there anything that surprised you as you wrote?
No one prepares you for the emotional time travel that a memoir necessitates. Writing something traumatic from your past is hard enough, but constantly editing and reworking it means that internal wounds take longer to heal. I was surprised by how draining some of it was.

Is there anything in your book that you’re nervous for people to read?
I’ve done a lot of memoir-style writing about me and my family over the years and received lovely, compassionate emails from strangers online, as well as some predictable trolling. It’s actually the other parts of Raceless—the analysis of the subjectivity of race and transracial identities—that I really hope readers are open to understanding.

"I learned a lot about love and belonging and the corrosive power of community secrets."

How do you feel now that you’ve put this story to the page?
Like I still want to go back and rewrite bits! I’m very pleased with the final product, but if I hadn’t had actual deadlines, I’d probably still be tinkering away. I am a perfectionist.

What's one way that your book is better as a memoir than it would have been as a novel?
Raceless
is a hybrid of memoir and analytical writing. If I had just written it as a novel, I wouldn’t have been able to bring in other perspectives and studies. Situating my personal experiences within some sociological discourse added weight to my narrative and hopefully made it more persuasive. 

Many people think writing memoir means you just write from memory and don’t have to do research, but obviously that’s not true. What is the most interesting thing you had to research in order to write this book?
Mining the memories of my Irish mother and English family members for insight into how and why my race and parentage remained a hidden truth for years was quite the mission. But I learned a lot about love and belonging and the corrosive power of community secrets.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Discover more great memoirs this Memoir March.

 

Author photo credit: Jamie Simonds © Loftus Media

Georgina Lawton shares some of the joys and difficulties behind her book, Raceless, about growing up in a family that fiercely insisted, despite all outward appearances, that she was white.
Theo Padnos shares some of the joys and difficulties behind his book, Blindfold, about the two years he spent imprisoned by operatives of al-Qaida.
Interview by

Actor, activist and visionary Cicely Tyson’s memoir, Just as I Am, is as graceful as it is funny, as measured as it is charming. The audiobook features a number of treasures, including a foreword read by Viola Davis and an introduction from Tyson herself, but narrator Robin Miles carries the majority of Tyson’s life story, and she does so beautifully. Here Miles discusses the humbling and thrilling process of narrating this remarkable book.

Tell me a bit about transforming Just as I Am into an audiobook. How did you prepare, and what did you most enjoy about the preparation?
I Googled to find every interview [of Tyson] I could, and then watched them repeatedly. Not to copy her voice, but to hear and feel how she communicates, her energy and pace, her intellect and humor. And I wanted to feel her energy as a young actress, then again as a mature actress. I just loved how self-possessed she was in all of them.

Tell us about your personal connection to Tyson prior to narrating the audiobook, and did you work with her at all during the audiobook’s production?
Cicely Tyson was very special to me; she was a big reason why I wanted to be an actor and believed that it was possible for me, the Black girl with the buck teeth. I did get to speak with her during the process, and it was thrilling. Also humbling, because she asked me to take my time more in the reading. (Ironically, I had stepped up my pace, fearing that my original tempo might be too slow. She assured me that my instincts were right, and reminded me to always trust them. Sigh . . .)

Was there anything you felt strongly about getting “right” as you narrated her words?
Absolutely. I wanted the moments when she expressed a strong reaction or deep impression to be organic, natural and true. No pretense, no overplaying.

As you told Tyson’s story, what were you most surprised to learn about her? Was there any section that was particularly challenging to narrate?
I was surprised to learn that she came from the same neighborhoods of NYC that my Caribbean grandparents, aunties and uncles lived in. I keep thinking that one of my great aunts must have known her as a little girl. It was a six-degrees experience knowing that, and that my acting teacher at Yale Drama, Earl Gister, was a close colleague of her teacher, Lloyd Richards.

Do you have a favorite Cicely Tyson performance or memory?
Oh yes . . . Sounder. That film left an indelible impression on me. I think it was the quiet intensity, the way she portrayed perseverance, love and grounding with a soft femininity. It just shattered the stereotyped images of Black women we had been fed in entertainment up to that point.

How does the experience of narrating an audiobook differ from other kinds of performances?
With audiobooks, I conjure and project images in front of me the whole time (the place, the people, etc.), so I am reacting to something outside of myself that I must invest in, but that isn’t tangibly there. With theater, film, TV, there are so many levels of real images to use as a source; you endow them with meaning and let them do their work. The movie of the audiobook narrative happens solely in my head.

“It emotionally hurts to let that pain into my body, but it is necessary to make complex human dynamics recognizable.”

What’s the hardest part of limiting your acting toolbox to just your voice?
Good question. One thing is definitely the urge to move or gesture. I cannot tell you how often I’ve whacked a mic. The other is that you cannot hide; you have to release the thing you’re feeling and pursue the things you want or else you leave your listener squinting (i.e., left in a state of confusion about what’s happening between characters).

What do you believe are your greatest strengths as a narrator?
I would say a deep understanding of language, strong acting chops and a strong ear for music and rhythm, which helps with accents and emphasis. I was blessed to have exceptional speakers modeling the use of language in my family. I had a leg up in understanding complex sentences from my grandfather, who was a Shakespeare and Victorian poetry professor. It’s like the family legacy, so I cannot take credit for it. I also grew up in a neighborhood of immigrants from everywhere, and I absorbed their accents. Then, drama school added solid acting training to my arsenal. It turned out to be a perfect storm for audiobook narration.

What is the most rewarding or coolest thing you get to bring to this experience through your reading?
The most rewarding thing I’d have to say is offering up my emotional intelligence as a community service. When I express what characters feel and want from each other, what is happening beneath the words, I like to think I add to the emotional intelligence of the community. At least, I tell myself that when I freely allow a character’s pain to play through my body and voice. It emotionally hurts to let that pain into my body, but it is necessary to make complex human dynamics recognizable.

What’s one thing people might not expect about your role as narrator?
I think people believe that narrators read super fluidly and make very few mistakes. And that can be true for me with colloquially worded nonfiction books and some very fluidly written fiction. But we narrators misread or stop to redo a line every few sentences, particularly with fiction. Especially in the beginning of the book, before I have absorbed the feel of the author’s style and the individual characters. My students who accompany me to a session are always so surprised.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of the Just as I Am audiobook.

Narrator Robin Miles discusses the humbling and thrilling process of narrating Cicely Tyson's remarkable memoir, Just as I Am.
Judy Batalion tells the long-hidden stories of a number of idealistic, restless, brave young Jewish women who volunteered as couriers, informants and fighters in the struggle against the Nazis in Poland.

Anne Lamott’s latest book is a timely guide to restoring our hope and finding our faith as we wait for a new day to dawn. She shares some ideas for how to get by when the world seems especially dark.


What’s the story behind Dusk, Night, Dawn?
I started writing Dusk, Night, Dawn during the tour for my last book. Everywhere I went, the people in my audiences felt scared and overwhelmed by all the bad news—and this was before COVID-19. So I wanted to share my experiences of going through extremely scary, defeating times without losing my essential isness or my capacity for joy and curiosity.

You got married in 2019, and your attempts to deal with this new relationship dynamic underlie much of Dusk, Night, Dawn. Can you describe some of the ways your marriage affects your outlook on broken relationships and forgiveness?
My husband, Neal, and I have been in quarantine together since right before our one-year anniversary, so things have possibly been a little more insulated than we had been expecting. We’re both pretty easygoing, so that helps a lot, and we both hole up a lot to do our writing, so we have a lot of space apart. 

When you’re mostly stuck in a house together and the other person says or does something hurtful, there’s a lot of incentive to work through it. And Neal is (almost) always willing to talk things over. Both of us believe that Earth is Forgiveness School, so we practice on each other. Some days go better than others.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: If your faith has been challenged, these books will encourage hope, offer guidance and provide glimpses of light amid the shadows.


In one chapter, you use the image of Soul Windex. Can you describe Soul Windex and how we use it?
Our vision gets so smudged by all the endless and meaningless data that come at us, and by toxic obsessions, cravings, resentments, etc. So Soul Windex is a new way of paying attention to what is real and of real value, so that we are spritzed awake. Think of it as an energetic equivalent to the fluid you clean your windshield with. It’s usually found in nature or in being of service to those in need.

You write about the tricky concept of sin in this book. Can you define sin? How does your definition of sin differ from the traditional Christian definition?
The origin of the word sin is an archery term for missing the mark. So I don’t see sin so much as drug cartels and porn shops, but rather all the isms—racism, sexism, ageism and so forth. 

How do you describe forgiveness?
Forgiveness is when you decide not to hit back—when your heart softens ever so slightly toward someone who has harmed you or someone you love, or your country. It doesn’t mean you have to have lunch with the person, but it usually involves seeing them as having acted badly from a place of feeling damaged and empty, not from evil.

Do you feel hopeful about the future?
Yes, I have so much hope for the future! Our young people are so incredibly passionate about climate change and have access (because of us older people!) to the greatest scientific knowledge that could ever be. I never lose hope in science or in most people’s essential goodness. 

"Even though it gets darker and darker, the light will return in the morning. It always has, it always will."

How do we recover our faith in life?
Basically we start where we are; we start where our butts are. We do kind things for others, and we pay more attention to all the beauty and goodness that surround us. We make gratitude lists of everything that blesses us, that gives us feelings of safety and nurture, pleasure and relief. And on some level, I think we decide to keep the faith.

What will readers be surprised to learn about from Dusk, Night, Dawn?
How really hilarious so much of life can be, if you have a couple of best friends; how much of life still works, no matter what a disaster the Earth or a family is; and how much light can be found almost anywhere we look, no matter how dark and scary the world can be.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Anne Lamott narrates the audiobook for Dusk, Night, Dawn.


What’s the significance of the title Dusk, Night, Dawn?
I discovered that twilight means both dusk, the trippy light before evening, and dawn, that mystical light before morning breaks. And I have felt very strongly for the last few years that this is the darkest the world has ever been—but we have come through so much, with the little pilot light inside us still burning, and even though it gets darker and darker, the light will return in the morning. It always has, it always will.

 

Photo credit: Sam Lamott

Anne Lamott’s latest book is a timely guide to restoring our hope and finding our faith as we wait for a new day to dawn. She shares some ideas for how to get by when the world seems especially dark.

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