The Chronology of Water: A Memoir
This is not your mother's memoir. In The Chronology of Water, Lidia Yuknavitch expertly moves the reader through issues of gender, sexuality, violence, and the family from the point of view of a lifelong swimmer turned artist. In writing that explores the nature of memoir itself, her story traces the effect of extreme grief on a young woman's developing sexuality that some define as untraditional because of her attraction to both men and women. Her emergence as a writer evolves at the same time and takes the narrator on a journey of addiction, self-destruction, and ultimately survival that finally comes in the shape of love and motherhood.
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Community Reviews
(2nd reading)
This book is even better the second time reading it.
Her words make my words more possible.
Raw, brutal, devastating, inspiring, and so so intimately familiar. My fucking hero.
**
(1st reading)
In a nonfiction writing workshop in college I learned to rip myself open and let myself bleed words and wounds onto paper. It isn't pretty. It's an attempt to create cohesion, A Story you can live with. How do you take your experiences and impose language on them? How do you make a narrative out of fragments and pieces of nightmares? (you don't. you make a mosaic.) My professor recommended this book to me: "THIS is what you're writing, this is what you're trying to make. See how this author did it."
And - wow. Words in a review will never do this book justice. You don't read this book, you FEEL this work of art, with its broken pieces and sharp edges, and it becomes part of you. Experiencing her words is an intimate experience. Absolute perfection.
This book is even better the second time reading it.
Her words make my words more possible.
Raw, brutal, devastating, inspiring, and so so intimately familiar. My fucking hero.
**
(1st reading)
In a nonfiction writing workshop in college I learned to rip myself open and let myself bleed words and wounds onto paper. It isn't pretty. It's an attempt to create cohesion, A Story you can live with. How do you take your experiences and impose language on them? How do you make a narrative out of fragments and pieces of nightmares? (you don't. you make a mosaic.) My professor recommended this book to me: "THIS is what you're writing, this is what you're trying to make. See how this author did it."
And - wow. Words in a review will never do this book justice. You don't read this book, you FEEL this work of art, with its broken pieces and sharp edges, and it becomes part of you. Experiencing her words is an intimate experience. Absolute perfection.
I've now read this remarkable book twice, and even as I finish it I want to start again. It's a memoir, yes, but it doesn't feel like that, and yet it does. It is heartfelt but illuminating, makes you want to cry but I also laughed out loud at some of the descriptions. It tells of the many traumas and joys of Lydia's life, and yes it can feel shocking because she's suffered abuse in different genres, but it makes you feel, truly feel, as a woman and a human body. It is also like it's title, moving like water, not linear, and I loved that, thoughts flowing and sometimes gently, sometimes like tidal waves, it's how I recall. Can't wait to see the adapted movie. And to read again.
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