Many years ago I read Jo Ann Beard's collection of essays, The Boys of My Youth (I still remember, because I related to these life experiences, her descriptions of Sunday evenings watching Bonanza with Lorne Greene, and also her description of her doll named Hal). So when I saw this new collection, I checked it out of the library. The first two essays in the collection are excellent, but make devastating reading. The first relates to the decision she had to make to put down her beloved dog. The second essay also related to the death of a dear pet, in this case a cat, and it involved a dire situation relating to having to jump from a burning building with your cat in your arms. After reading these two essays, I was almost afraid to go on. But I did.
There were some other good essays in the collection (and apparently at least one fictional piece), but there were also several duds that I really didn't connect with. The other essay that really stuck with me was a long piece about a woman named Cheri as she contemplates and seeks out Dr. Kevorkian's assistance when she decides to stop fighting a terminal disease.

This was a spotty, but decent read. I probably wouldn't have remembered the author's name for 15 or 20 years if this had been the first book of hers I read, rather than The Boys of My Youth.

3 stars ( )

I have been thinking for several hours about what I can say about this collection. The only thing I can seem to come up with is "wow." Not very helpful, is it? Still, it covers my thoughts pretty well. Beard was early to the conceit of blending fiction with non, and she does it so well. Truly, I often don't generally feel great about this blurring. Often this device seems lazy, but not in Beard's works. She takes truth as far as it can go, moving to fiction when straight reporting cannot tell the true story. For my friends who feel visceral delight when they read great prose, this is indeed an ecstatic experience. ( )