This is the first book of Ruefle‘s I‘ve read, and I think what I wasn‘t prepared for—though I probably should have been—is how funny parts of this book would be. While other parts inspired existential panic? Really enjoyed it, overall.
This is the first book of Ruefle‘s I‘ve read, and I think what I wasn‘t prepared for—though I probably should have been—is how funny parts of this book would be. While other parts inspired existential panic? Really enjoyed it, overall.
Shade(s) of various colours and their poetic essays as seen in Ruefle‘s collection. This one here resonated with me.
Read the entire book today upon the insistence of my psychologist mentor who has now retired in Tunisia. She claims that Ruefle has parallels with Mary Oliver, only better. I disagree. Ruefle is a bit more cerebral, with decided attempts at profundity stabbing at light and darkness. I especially loved her shades of sadness more than the other essays found in this collection. Will still try to read her other titles which may resonate more with me.
Completely taken by these words. You‘d be remiss to not make it to the acknowledgments, where Mary Ruefle makes a distinct observation about the difference between happiness and sadness.
My Favorite Books of 2016
No. 5: My Private Property by Mary Ruefle. Everything she does is perfect, unperfectly so. Poems, no, essays, no—all of life.
Is this my favorite book of the year? Maybe. It's up there.
Every new Mary Ruefle book is a cause for celebration and something completely other. The form is new. The ideas are new. These aren't poems. These aren't essays. These are observations, small things about the bigness of being human.