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When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice
The beloved author of Refuge returns with a work that explodes and startles, illuminates and celebrates
Terry Tempest Williams’s mother told her: “I am leaving you all my journals, but you must promise me you won’t look at them until after I’m gone.”
Readers of Williams’s iconic and unconventional memoir, Refuge, well remember that mother. She was one of a large Mormon clan in northern Utah who developed cancer as a result of the nuclear testing in nearby Nevada. It was a shock to Williams to discover that her mother had kept journals. But not as much of a shock as what she found when the time came to read them.
“They were exactly where she said they would be: three shelves of beautiful cloth-bound books . . . I opened the first journal. It was empty. I opened the second journal. It was empty. I opened the third. It too was empty . . . Shelf after shelf after shelf, all of my mother’s journals were blank.” What did Williams’s mother mean by that? In fifty-four chapters that unfold like a series of yoga poses, each with its own logic and beauty, Williams creates a lyrical and caring meditation of the mystery of her mother's journals. When Women Were Birds is a kaleidoscope that keeps turning around the question “What does it mean to have a voice?”
Terry Tempest Williams’s mother told her: “I am leaving you all my journals, but you must promise me you won’t look at them until after I’m gone.”
Readers of Williams’s iconic and unconventional memoir, Refuge, well remember that mother. She was one of a large Mormon clan in northern Utah who developed cancer as a result of the nuclear testing in nearby Nevada. It was a shock to Williams to discover that her mother had kept journals. But not as much of a shock as what she found when the time came to read them.
“They were exactly where she said they would be: three shelves of beautiful cloth-bound books . . . I opened the first journal. It was empty. I opened the second journal. It was empty. I opened the third. It too was empty . . . Shelf after shelf after shelf, all of my mother’s journals were blank.” What did Williams’s mother mean by that? In fifty-four chapters that unfold like a series of yoga poses, each with its own logic and beauty, Williams creates a lyrical and caring meditation of the mystery of her mother's journals. When Women Were Birds is a kaleidoscope that keeps turning around the question “What does it mean to have a voice?”
208 pages, Hardcover
First published April 10, 2012
About the author
Terry Tempest Williams
92 books1,353 followersTerry Tempest Williams is an American author, conservationist and activist. Williams’ writing is rooted in the American West and has been significantly influenced by the arid landscape of her native Utah in which she was raised. Her work ranges from issues of ecology and wilderness preservation, to women's health, to exploring our relationship to culture and nature.
She has testified before Congress on women’s health, committed acts of civil disobedience in the years 1987 - 1992 in protest against nuclear testing in the Nevada Desert, and again, in March, 2003 in Washington, D.C., with Code Pink, against the Iraq War. She has been a guest at the White House, has camped in the remote regions of the Utah and Alaska wildernesses and worked as "a barefoot artist" in Rwanda.
Williams is the author of Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place; An Unspoken Hunger: Stories from the Field; Desert Quartet; Leap; Red: Patience and Passion in the Desert; and The Open Space of Democracy. Her book Finding Beauty in a Broken World was published in 2008 by Pantheon Books.
In 2006, Williams received the Robert Marshall Award from The Wilderness Society, their highest honor given to an American citizen. She also received the Distinguished Achievement Award from the Western American Literature Association and the Wallace Stegner Award given by The Center for the American West. She is the recipient of a Lannan Literary Award for Nonfictionand a John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship in creative nonfiction. Williams was featured in Ken Burns' PBS series The National Parks: America's Best Idea (2009). In 2011, she received the 18th International Peace Award given by the Community of Christ Church.
Williams is currently the Annie Clark Tanner Scholar in Environmental Humanities at the University of Utah and a columnist for the magazine The Progressive. She has been a Montgomery Fellow at Dartmouth College where she continues to teach. She divides her time between Wilson, Wyoming and Castle Valley, Utah, where her husband Brooke is field coordinator for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance.
She has testified before Congress on women’s health, committed acts of civil disobedience in the years 1987 - 1992 in protest against nuclear testing in the Nevada Desert, and again, in March, 2003 in Washington, D.C., with Code Pink, against the Iraq War. She has been a guest at the White House, has camped in the remote regions of the Utah and Alaska wildernesses and worked as "a barefoot artist" in Rwanda.
Williams is the author of Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place; An Unspoken Hunger: Stories from the Field; Desert Quartet; Leap; Red: Patience and Passion in the Desert; and The Open Space of Democracy. Her book Finding Beauty in a Broken World was published in 2008 by Pantheon Books.
In 2006, Williams received the Robert Marshall Award from The Wilderness Society, their highest honor given to an American citizen. She also received the Distinguished Achievement Award from the Western American Literature Association and the Wallace Stegner Award given by The Center for the American West. She is the recipient of a Lannan Literary Award for Nonfictionand a John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship in creative nonfiction. Williams was featured in Ken Burns' PBS series The National Parks: America's Best Idea (2009). In 2011, she received the 18th International Peace Award given by the Community of Christ Church.
Williams is currently the Annie Clark Tanner Scholar in Environmental Humanities at the University of Utah and a columnist for the magazine The Progressive. She has been a Montgomery Fellow at Dartmouth College where she continues to teach. She divides her time between Wilson, Wyoming and Castle Valley, Utah, where her husband Brooke is field coordinator for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,426 reviews
February 23, 2014
"Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated."
April 28, 2013
I have two years of class and seminar notes from a recent MFA in creative writing. This book comes up approximately twenty times in those notes, but for the first forty pages I really couldn't figure out why. It's a memoir, written in bits. Fifty-four bits. For the first forty pages I wasn't really impressed, or interested. By the last page I'd dog-eared over a dozen pages, copied down a full-page of quotes (in teeny tiny script) into my journal, and gone online to buy a copy for myself -- I read from the library, and buy only what has changed my life.
It's a memoir, a prose poem, an experimental narrative. Williams mother has passed, and she tells her own story, by way of her mother's journals -- two shelves of cloth bound books, neatly lined up on a shelves in the closet. Each one, completely blank. The blank journals tell the story of her relationship with her mother, life as a Mormon woman, her mother's relationship to the world, Williams "outside" religion - all things in nature, particularly birds, and the journey inward to discover who she is, who we are, how we find our way and our voice.
It's lovely. Absolutely lovely. Not linear. Not anything you've read before. But lovely.
It's a memoir, a prose poem, an experimental narrative. Williams mother has passed, and she tells her own story, by way of her mother's journals -- two shelves of cloth bound books, neatly lined up on a shelves in the closet. Each one, completely blank. The blank journals tell the story of her relationship with her mother, life as a Mormon woman, her mother's relationship to the world, Williams "outside" religion - all things in nature, particularly birds, and the journey inward to discover who she is, who we are, how we find our way and our voice.
It's lovely. Absolutely lovely. Not linear. Not anything you've read before. But lovely.
October 28, 2012
I have tried to get into this book; really, I have. But there is too much of a creative-writing-class "writing prompt" quality to it that prevents me from becoming engaged: "What would you write if you inherited a bunch of empty journals from your mother? Fill up the first ten pages for the next class."
The make-book style of writing is not my cup of tea. I can't help but imagine the author sticking index cards into Scrivener, writing a bit into each of them while multitasking the rest of her life, then spending a few hours shuffling the sequence before generating—voila!—a book. Alas, it's not the kind of book that encourages my attention, much less interest. Maybe that's just me.
I think another reviewer's suggestion to read other works by Terry Tempest Williams before reading this one is a good one. Coming into When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice already feeling a connection to author might make for a more significant reading experience.
The make-book style of writing is not my cup of tea. I can't help but imagine the author sticking index cards into Scrivener, writing a bit into each of them while multitasking the rest of her life, then spending a few hours shuffling the sequence before generating—voila!—a book. Alas, it's not the kind of book that encourages my attention, much less interest. Maybe that's just me.
I think another reviewer's suggestion to read other works by Terry Tempest Williams before reading this one is a good one. Coming into When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice already feeling a connection to author might make for a more significant reading experience.
August 5, 2024
Uno de esos libros que sacan un montón de pajaritos que llevamos dentro.
March 22, 2013
Graceful and wise meditation on womanhood, family, faith, grief, the natural world, and wonder. Quite lyrical and powerful and builds nicely.
February 7, 2017
I read some of this book during the 24in48 marathon, but quickly decided I wanted to read it more slowly and spread it out over about a week.
I first encountered Terry Tempest Williams in her (1991) essay, The Clan of One-Breasted Women, about all the women in her family struggling through cancer that is connected to testing in the desert. I know she also writes a lot about the national parks and the desert. But I kept hearing about this book, and finally ordered it with a giftcard from the holidays.
The impetus for the book is that Williams' mother died, and left her a lifetime of journals... but they were blank. She ruminates on her mother's life (as a Mormon, as a mother, as a wife, as a person with secrets) and also on her own life, her marriage, her art, and most interesting to me - silence.
I first encountered Terry Tempest Williams in her (1991) essay, The Clan of One-Breasted Women, about all the women in her family struggling through cancer that is connected to testing in the desert. I know she also writes a lot about the national parks and the desert. But I kept hearing about this book, and finally ordered it with a giftcard from the holidays.
The impetus for the book is that Williams' mother died, and left her a lifetime of journals... but they were blank. She ruminates on her mother's life (as a Mormon, as a mother, as a wife, as a person with secrets) and also on her own life, her marriage, her art, and most interesting to me - silence.
"I am afraid of silence. Silence creates a pathway to peace through pain, the pain of a distracted and frantic mind before it becomes still."I found the form of the book overly fragmented, and pretty repetitive particularly when it came to her mother's journals. Obviously this was a strange situation she wanted to sort out, but I'm not sure there are 54 clear "variations" here. Still, a lot of interesting thoughts, and insights into Williams' internal life. The fact that her family and community are largely Mormon is also an important element, and the reflections on what a woman's voice is are simultaneously from that worldview and struggling against it at times. And it was interesting to read this during and after the international women's marches and rallies that took place on January 21, 2017.
"In a voiced community, we all flourish."And finally, one more:
"My voice is born repeatedly in the fields of uncertainty."
February 10, 2021
Lo chingón es la traducción. Lo segundo chingón es su curaduría de citas. También es interesante cuando habla de su proceso (apropiación, ficcionalización, especulación).
December 6, 2014
The Hook - No spoilers here as every review I have read gives us this much of a summary.
The opening line in itself is enough of a hook.
“I am fifty-four years old, the age my mother was when she died.
Consider that it quickly goes on to explain the following:
Terry Tempest Williams mother leaves her a set of journals just before she dies with the instructions that they not be opened until after her death. Terry keeps this promise and when her mother dies a week later she waits for the right time to read them. On the night of the next full moon it’s time. "They were exactly where she said they would be: three shelves of beautiful clothbound books; some floral, some paisley, others in solid colors.” Terry picks one off the shelf and slowly opens it. It is blank. The next, blank. They are all blank, three shelves of blank journals.
In fifty-four variations on voice Ms. Williams explore the emptiness of these journals and so do we.
The Line – Blank – I’ll leave this blank so you may choose your own passage or segment to mull and hold in your heart.
The Sinker – Silence Voice Silence
This exquisite book is a cacophony of silence rising to a crescendo. Each reader will find his or her own interpretation of Terry Tempest Williams words. A book to savor, a book to cherish, a book to own, a book to give, a book to read again.
When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice was on my list but it wasn’t until I heard Rebecca Schinsky comments about it on Bookriot Holiday Recommendation Extravaganza Bonanza that I dropped everything and picked it up. I knew I had to read it immediately. I’m so glad I did.
The opening line in itself is enough of a hook.
“I am fifty-four years old, the age my mother was when she died.
Consider that it quickly goes on to explain the following:
Terry Tempest Williams mother leaves her a set of journals just before she dies with the instructions that they not be opened until after her death. Terry keeps this promise and when her mother dies a week later she waits for the right time to read them. On the night of the next full moon it’s time. "They were exactly where she said they would be: three shelves of beautiful clothbound books; some floral, some paisley, others in solid colors.” Terry picks one off the shelf and slowly opens it. It is blank. The next, blank. They are all blank, three shelves of blank journals.
In fifty-four variations on voice Ms. Williams explore the emptiness of these journals and so do we.
The Line – Blank – I’ll leave this blank so you may choose your own passage or segment to mull and hold in your heart.
The Sinker – Silence Voice Silence
This exquisite book is a cacophony of silence rising to a crescendo. Each reader will find his or her own interpretation of Terry Tempest Williams words. A book to savor, a book to cherish, a book to own, a book to give, a book to read again.
When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice was on my list but it wasn’t until I heard Rebecca Schinsky comments about it on Bookriot Holiday Recommendation Extravaganza Bonanza that I dropped everything and picked it up. I knew I had to read it immediately. I’m so glad I did.
February 14, 2022
Creo que es un _buen_ libro en el sentido estricto de la estructura, las citas, la propuesta de dónde parte la escritura y yap. Pero no es un libro para mí. No diría que me gustó. Tardé mucho en leerlo porque no sentía nada de conexión con la voz narradora. La sentía lejana, falsa o ajena. Por eso mi conclusión de que no está escrito para lectoras como yo. A veces hasta me pareció super blanco, je. Pero weno, malo no sé si lo sea.
February 10, 2012
This book is so beautiful it almost makes me want to cry to talk about it. This is absolutely required reading for any woman(or really any person) who has ever had to choose when to stay silent and when to speak.
August 17, 2016
"To withhold words is power. But to share our words with others, openly and honestly, is also power."
So says Terry Tempest Williams, whose mother withheld words by bequeathing her three shelves of beautiful clothbound books, all of which turn out to be blank. Are her mother's journals paper tombstones are they eloquent witnesses to who she was? And did Mother give her a voice by withholding hers, in life and in death?
Ms. Williams embarks on a journey to trace her own voice's evolution: connecting to the harmony of bird song, exploring the language of love with her husband Brooke, discovering her voice in her environmental passions. "I am writing the creation story of my own voice through the blank pages my mother has bequeathed to me," she states. Or, to put it another way, she is writing her own trajectory of life.
At the same time, Ms. Williams explores the opposite of voice - silence. "Silence introduced in a society that worships noise is like the moon exposing the night." The headmistress at an ultra-conservative school who pontificates that environmentalism is the Devil's work... the potential axe murderer during her fieldwork time who stunned her into silence...the tumor in the "eloquent" part of her brain...all have the ability to silence her voice.
Many times, Terry Tempest Williams' voice soars into lyricism, taking flight as she examines what her natural voice is as a woman, a Mormon, a member of the community and the human race. At other times, I felt as if the voice floundered as the book weaves into feminist ecological and political issues and just skirts becoming "new agey." Although I personally agree with the majority of her stands, the magic - one might say, the voice - seems temporarily off-key.
An interesting aside: Terry Tempest Williams' grandmother, Lettie Romney Dixon, was cousins with George Romney - the father of the Republican presumed contender. During this inauthentic time, it might be useful to heed Terry Tempest Williams' guidance: "When it comes to words, rather than use our own words authentic and unpracticed we steal someone else's to shield our fear."
So says Terry Tempest Williams, whose mother withheld words by bequeathing her three shelves of beautiful clothbound books, all of which turn out to be blank. Are her mother's journals paper tombstones are they eloquent witnesses to who she was? And did Mother give her a voice by withholding hers, in life and in death?
Ms. Williams embarks on a journey to trace her own voice's evolution: connecting to the harmony of bird song, exploring the language of love with her husband Brooke, discovering her voice in her environmental passions. "I am writing the creation story of my own voice through the blank pages my mother has bequeathed to me," she states. Or, to put it another way, she is writing her own trajectory of life.
At the same time, Ms. Williams explores the opposite of voice - silence. "Silence introduced in a society that worships noise is like the moon exposing the night." The headmistress at an ultra-conservative school who pontificates that environmentalism is the Devil's work... the potential axe murderer during her fieldwork time who stunned her into silence...the tumor in the "eloquent" part of her brain...all have the ability to silence her voice.
Many times, Terry Tempest Williams' voice soars into lyricism, taking flight as she examines what her natural voice is as a woman, a Mormon, a member of the community and the human race. At other times, I felt as if the voice floundered as the book weaves into feminist ecological and political issues and just skirts becoming "new agey." Although I personally agree with the majority of her stands, the magic - one might say, the voice - seems temporarily off-key.
An interesting aside: Terry Tempest Williams' grandmother, Lettie Romney Dixon, was cousins with George Romney - the father of the Republican presumed contender. During this inauthentic time, it might be useful to heed Terry Tempest Williams' guidance: "When it comes to words, rather than use our own words authentic and unpracticed we steal someone else's to shield our fear."
March 25, 2013
Before I even started reading the book I was struck by the physical beauty of it (Picador paperback version). The way it felt to hold it in my hands. I wanted to know which bird feather pattern was on the cover. Is it from an owl? A falcon? It's significance is one of the mysteries that still linger for me. Much like the blank pages in the back of the book are a reminder of her mother's journals and all they said by not saying anything. These are things you would miss on an e-reader.
Spoiler alert (this quote is from the last bit of the book)
"Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated."
There are so many layers to unpack here, I've accepted William's invitation to claim it as my own journal; signed, dog-eared, underlined and nearby long after the first read, it will be a collection of writing I go back to again and again.
January 4, 2022
Por qué nos interesamos tanto en lo que el otro tiene por decir, si no lo conocemos, no lo queremos, no compartimos raza, religión, edad, país?
Esto es lo que me preguntaba mientras volaba en sus páginas, aleteaba entre sus pájaros, y sus hojas en blanco, mientras leía sobre su madre, sus experiencias, su familia, el cáncer, la defensa de la naturaleza, el matrimonio…el amor, la soledad, la nada.
Empecé a subrayar y así a entender que mientras ella vivía su soledad, yo la contemplaba. Que su lápiz era varita mágica y arma poderosa. Que como ella, yo no quiero ser vista pero si leída.
Me gustó confirmar que vivimos con lo que recibimos pero construimos una vida con lo que damos.
Disfruté leer que al igual que ella, a mi también me hubiera servido saber que con lo único que podemos contar no es con la felicidad, sino con el cambio.
No nos salvarán los labios de un príncipe sino nuestros propios labios hablando.
Y así podría seguir citándola.
Recomiendo mejor leerla.
La editorial tan cuidada. La traducción también.
Es una belleza.
Esto es lo que me preguntaba mientras volaba en sus páginas, aleteaba entre sus pájaros, y sus hojas en blanco, mientras leía sobre su madre, sus experiencias, su familia, el cáncer, la defensa de la naturaleza, el matrimonio…el amor, la soledad, la nada.
Empecé a subrayar y así a entender que mientras ella vivía su soledad, yo la contemplaba. Que su lápiz era varita mágica y arma poderosa. Que como ella, yo no quiero ser vista pero si leída.
Me gustó confirmar que vivimos con lo que recibimos pero construimos una vida con lo que damos.
Disfruté leer que al igual que ella, a mi también me hubiera servido saber que con lo único que podemos contar no es con la felicidad, sino con el cambio.
No nos salvarán los labios de un príncipe sino nuestros propios labios hablando.
Y así podría seguir citándola.
Recomiendo mejor leerla.
La editorial tan cuidada. La traducción también.
Es una belleza.
June 25, 2012
Some of her writing was insightful and beautiful, and some just left me utterly confused. Or maybe I'm obtuse. I thought the book was disjointed. There were parts I would definitely have liked to see expanded because there was the potential for some fascinating information, and parts that seemed wholly unrelated. Or, I repeat, maybe I'm obtuse.
May 31, 2021
Nunca he sido mucho de leer memorias, pero este libro es una preciosidad. 'Cuando las Mujeres Fueron Pájaros' no se encasilla en ningún género: contiene poesía, acotaciones, dibujos, notas históricas y citas; transiciona de una a otra sin previo aviso. Aunque con cantora provocación.
Cada breve sección recalca que lo importante no es trazar la cronología de la vida de la autora (pues pocas veces se mencionan años o se describen los eventos, sino lo que sintió en el aftermath de ellos), sino identificar cada exploración de voz como una celebración a la vida.
La conexión con las mujeres de su familia, especialmente su madre, Diane, y su abuela, Mimi, se explora desde la infancia hasta la muerte con tanta melancolía como objetividad. Williams hablará de la religión, la política, la apreciación de la majestuosidad de la naturaleza y el esfuerzo por conservarla; remarcará que incluso un pequeño libro puede hacer la diferencia. El sexo, el amor, la soledad, la religión: todo se canta con elegancia e infinita ternura. Pero sobre todo, entendí los espacios en blanco entre nuestra voz y las de aquellos que vinieron antes. Y vendrán después.
Quise terminar de leer este libro en el cumpleaños de mi mamá.
CITAS:
"La creación de mitos es el trabajo evolutivo de traducir verdades."
"Cuando se trata de las palabras, en lugar de usar nuestra voz, auténtica pero inexperta, nos robamos la de alguien más para protegernos del miedo. En el caso de mi madre, me dejó llenar los espacios en blanco. Ésa es mi herencia.
Soy mi madre, pero no lo soy.
Soy mi abuela, pero no lo soy.
Soy mi bisabuela, pero no lo soy."
" Y aquí, seguramente, fue que me enamoré del agua, al reconocer su poder sublime, cuando aprendí a confiar en que lo que amo puede matarme, derribarme y amenazar con ahogarme en una ola inesperada. "
"Hay consuelo en mantener lo sagrado dentro de nosotros, no como un secreto, sino como una plegaria."
"Hace mucho tiempo, cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros, existía el sencillo entendimiento de que cantar en la madrugada o cantar al atardecer era curar al mundo a través de la dicha. Los pájaros aún recuerdan lo que nosotras hemos olvidado, que el mundo está hecho para ser celebrado."
Cada breve sección recalca que lo importante no es trazar la cronología de la vida de la autora (pues pocas veces se mencionan años o se describen los eventos, sino lo que sintió en el aftermath de ellos), sino identificar cada exploración de voz como una celebración a la vida.
La conexión con las mujeres de su familia, especialmente su madre, Diane, y su abuela, Mimi, se explora desde la infancia hasta la muerte con tanta melancolía como objetividad. Williams hablará de la religión, la política, la apreciación de la majestuosidad de la naturaleza y el esfuerzo por conservarla; remarcará que incluso un pequeño libro puede hacer la diferencia. El sexo, el amor, la soledad, la religión: todo se canta con elegancia e infinita ternura. Pero sobre todo, entendí los espacios en blanco entre nuestra voz y las de aquellos que vinieron antes. Y vendrán después.
Quise terminar de leer este libro en el cumpleaños de mi mamá.
CITAS:
"La creación de mitos es el trabajo evolutivo de traducir verdades."
"Cuando se trata de las palabras, en lugar de usar nuestra voz, auténtica pero inexperta, nos robamos la de alguien más para protegernos del miedo. En el caso de mi madre, me dejó llenar los espacios en blanco. Ésa es mi herencia.
Soy mi madre, pero no lo soy.
Soy mi abuela, pero no lo soy.
Soy mi bisabuela, pero no lo soy."
" Y aquí, seguramente, fue que me enamoré del agua, al reconocer su poder sublime, cuando aprendí a confiar en que lo que amo puede matarme, derribarme y amenazar con ahogarme en una ola inesperada. "
"Hay consuelo en mantener lo sagrado dentro de nosotros, no como un secreto, sino como una plegaria."
"Hace mucho tiempo, cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros, existía el sencillo entendimiento de que cantar en la madrugada o cantar al atardecer era curar al mundo a través de la dicha. Los pájaros aún recuerdan lo que nosotras hemos olvidado, que el mundo está hecho para ser celebrado."
June 26, 2012
My four days with this book began with a reading by the author. Hearing Terry Tempest Williams' words and the story of her mother's journals in her voice was moving and memorable. Her elegant, warm cadence echoed as I opened the book the morning after her talk to read and reread her insights on voice, women, relationships, loss and love.
I have been estranged from my mother for twenty years; to be nurtured in the vast love and faith of a mother like Williams' is not beyond my comprehension, but it is beyond my experience. Yet I rejoiced for her and the beautiful bond she shared with her mother, and continues to share with her father, John. John Tempest was present at the reading and he shared his thoughts on the mystery of Diane Tempest's journals.
The two days that followed, as I continued to read these "variations on voice", were days of joyous discovery and exploration of my voice as a writer. The final day was one of dreaded and terrible loss as a woman. "When Women Were Birds" provided inspiration and comfort and will remain a point of reference as I explore the meaning of these days of late June 2012.
Not every chapter speaks to me - the essays describing her battles over conservation issues - as vital as these are to the essence of Terry Tempest Williams - feel as if they belong to another time and place; they don't feel central to this book's theme, which is far more intimate. Or perhaps these memories aren't central to MY present theme. Perhaps a different time and state of mind will open my ears to these voices the author is seeking to reveal.
This slim, meditative and beautifully presented volume will forever mark a beginning and an end to the truth of my life.
I have been estranged from my mother for twenty years; to be nurtured in the vast love and faith of a mother like Williams' is not beyond my comprehension, but it is beyond my experience. Yet I rejoiced for her and the beautiful bond she shared with her mother, and continues to share with her father, John. John Tempest was present at the reading and he shared his thoughts on the mystery of Diane Tempest's journals.
The two days that followed, as I continued to read these "variations on voice", were days of joyous discovery and exploration of my voice as a writer. The final day was one of dreaded and terrible loss as a woman. "When Women Were Birds" provided inspiration and comfort and will remain a point of reference as I explore the meaning of these days of late June 2012.
Not every chapter speaks to me - the essays describing her battles over conservation issues - as vital as these are to the essence of Terry Tempest Williams - feel as if they belong to another time and place; they don't feel central to this book's theme, which is far more intimate. Or perhaps these memories aren't central to MY present theme. Perhaps a different time and state of mind will open my ears to these voices the author is seeking to reveal.
This slim, meditative and beautifully presented volume will forever mark a beginning and an end to the truth of my life.
January 4, 2013
This was my favorite book from 2012. My breath was taken away in the earliest pages - which to me were nothing short of prayer - and now much of the book has pages folded over for future reference and sentences, underlined, to put in my own quote collections.
Through Terry Tempest Williams' variations on voice from the gift of her mother's journals, I find my own variations on my own voice as I believe you will find for yours as well.
It is a must read for any writer considering memoir and indeed may also be enjoyed - and used as a reference - by novel writers or any creative non-fiction writers. I visited Utah after reading this book and my entire experience was transformed and existed on a higher level than it would have been had I not read it.
I have suggested to my very busy friends this is a book to be read, slowly. A short chapter a day, I recommend, or even a chapter a week and then living the meditation of that particular chapter.
I may take this advice for myself in 2013 when I re-read this book!
Through Terry Tempest Williams' variations on voice from the gift of her mother's journals, I find my own variations on my own voice as I believe you will find for yours as well.
It is a must read for any writer considering memoir and indeed may also be enjoyed - and used as a reference - by novel writers or any creative non-fiction writers. I visited Utah after reading this book and my entire experience was transformed and existed on a higher level than it would have been had I not read it.
I have suggested to my very busy friends this is a book to be read, slowly. A short chapter a day, I recommend, or even a chapter a week and then living the meditation of that particular chapter.
I may take this advice for myself in 2013 when I re-read this book!
June 27, 2020
Terry's beautiful writing shines again..short notes so i was missing the narrative structure of Refuge but I wanted to eke out my reading relationship with Terry a little longer!
September 25, 2013
In recent years, Terry Tempest Williams has written about patriotism and democracy in America, Italian mosaics, the Sundance Film Festival, Rwandan genocide and Hieronymus Bosch's fifteenth-century Flemish masterpiece, The Garden of Delights. Not bad for a so-called “nature writer.”
In her latest book When Women Were Birds: Fifty-Four Variations on Voice, the author returns to some of the themes found in Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place, her highly-regarded 1991 environmental memoir that intertwines reflections on family, mortality and the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge near her home in Salt Lake City.
The opening pages depict Williams’ mother, dying of ovarian cancer, passing on to her writerly daughter her lifetime collection of personal journals. The mother makes Williams promise not to read them until after she is gone. When that time comes to pass, Williams finds a plethora of colorful, clothbound journals:
The spines of each were perfectly aligned against the lip of the shelves. I opened the first journal. It was empty. I opened the second journal. It was empty. I opened the third. It, too, was empty, as was the fourth, the fifth, the sixth – shelf after shelf after shelf, all my mother's journals were blank.
When Women Were Birds then is an investigation in to the mystery of all those white, untrammeled pages. As the story unfurls from this startling prelude, Williams explores the power of silence, Mormon culture, marriage, feminism, a supernatural history of birds, relationships between mothers and daughters and grandmothers and granddaughters and the central question, “What does it mean to have a voice?”
The narrative toggles between short, distinct stories from Williams’ life – how her Mormon ancestors came to settle in Utah, learning bird songs as a young girl with her grandmother, meeting her husband Brooke, studying natural history in the Grand Tetons – and more emotive meditations that aren��t bound by conventional logic.
Anyone who has read Williams mesmerizing literature before knows to expect a wide-ranging, unconventional and empathic journey. This one touches upon experimental composer John Cage, the extinct Chinese language Nushu, writer Wallace Stegner, Navajo mythology, a battle for wilderness legislation in the US Congress, Richard Strauss’ operas and her beloved Southern Utah red rock wilderness. In a holistic feat similar to Annie Dillard’s For the Time Being, the author successfully makes comprehensive and connected what the reader may have previously imagined disparate. This is the kind of book that changes the ways in which we see the world.
Still, beneath Williams’ intriguing meanderings, the presence of the blank journals haunt the reader.
My mother’s journals are a love story. Love and power. What she gave and what she withheld were hers to choose. Love is power. Power is not love. Both can be brutal. Both dance with control. Both can be intoxicating, leaving us out of control. But in the end it is love, not power, that endures and shows us the consequences of our choices. My mother chose me as the recipient of her pages, empty pages. She left me her “Cartographies of Silence.” I will never know her story. I will never know what she was trying to tell me by telling me nothing.
But I can imagine.
It is an enjoyable feat to behold the nimble mind of Williams dancing across time and terrain, flitting from topic to topic like a bird from branch to branch, her graceful and poetic prose the airborne track of her compassionate inquiry.
In her latest book When Women Were Birds: Fifty-Four Variations on Voice, the author returns to some of the themes found in Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place, her highly-regarded 1991 environmental memoir that intertwines reflections on family, mortality and the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge near her home in Salt Lake City.
The opening pages depict Williams’ mother, dying of ovarian cancer, passing on to her writerly daughter her lifetime collection of personal journals. The mother makes Williams promise not to read them until after she is gone. When that time comes to pass, Williams finds a plethora of colorful, clothbound journals:
The spines of each were perfectly aligned against the lip of the shelves. I opened the first journal. It was empty. I opened the second journal. It was empty. I opened the third. It, too, was empty, as was the fourth, the fifth, the sixth – shelf after shelf after shelf, all my mother's journals were blank.
When Women Were Birds then is an investigation in to the mystery of all those white, untrammeled pages. As the story unfurls from this startling prelude, Williams explores the power of silence, Mormon culture, marriage, feminism, a supernatural history of birds, relationships between mothers and daughters and grandmothers and granddaughters and the central question, “What does it mean to have a voice?”
The narrative toggles between short, distinct stories from Williams’ life – how her Mormon ancestors came to settle in Utah, learning bird songs as a young girl with her grandmother, meeting her husband Brooke, studying natural history in the Grand Tetons – and more emotive meditations that aren��t bound by conventional logic.
Anyone who has read Williams mesmerizing literature before knows to expect a wide-ranging, unconventional and empathic journey. This one touches upon experimental composer John Cage, the extinct Chinese language Nushu, writer Wallace Stegner, Navajo mythology, a battle for wilderness legislation in the US Congress, Richard Strauss’ operas and her beloved Southern Utah red rock wilderness. In a holistic feat similar to Annie Dillard’s For the Time Being, the author successfully makes comprehensive and connected what the reader may have previously imagined disparate. This is the kind of book that changes the ways in which we see the world.
Still, beneath Williams’ intriguing meanderings, the presence of the blank journals haunt the reader.
My mother’s journals are a love story. Love and power. What she gave and what she withheld were hers to choose. Love is power. Power is not love. Both can be brutal. Both dance with control. Both can be intoxicating, leaving us out of control. But in the end it is love, not power, that endures and shows us the consequences of our choices. My mother chose me as the recipient of her pages, empty pages. She left me her “Cartographies of Silence.” I will never know her story. I will never know what she was trying to tell me by telling me nothing.
But I can imagine.
It is an enjoyable feat to behold the nimble mind of Williams dancing across time and terrain, flitting from topic to topic like a bird from branch to branch, her graceful and poetic prose the airborne track of her compassionate inquiry.
February 4, 2024
Leer a otras mujeres es divino, y leer sus historias de vida es maravilloso. Terry nos habla con una voz cercana, nos comparte un montón de anécdotas y aunque no es necesario conocer los lugares de los que habla el simple hecho de haber estado en ellos me conecta intensamente con su narrativa.
La visión sobre la feminidad, la maternidad y sus experiencias me ha permitido comprender esa rebeldía salvaje con la que las mujeres defendemos nuestra propia voz.
~”le temo al silencio porque me conduce a mi misma, al un ser al que no siempre quiero enfrentarme”
El libro originalmente lo escribe en 2012 y sin embargo cabe en nuestra actualidad en la que seguimos en la búsqueda de una comunidad de apoyo.
~“En una comunidad que alza la voz, todos florecemos”
Habla sobre la escritura y el lenguaje y la trayectoria de estos en diferentes culturas.
~”ver la escritura Nushu es ver huellas de pájaros”
Un montón de temas en las que las mujeres somos importantes y necesarias, políticas que nos atraviesan, medio ambiente en el que habitamos.
Una traducción magnífica 🐦
La visión sobre la feminidad, la maternidad y sus experiencias me ha permitido comprender esa rebeldía salvaje con la que las mujeres defendemos nuestra propia voz.
~”le temo al silencio porque me conduce a mi misma, al un ser al que no siempre quiero enfrentarme”
El libro originalmente lo escribe en 2012 y sin embargo cabe en nuestra actualidad en la que seguimos en la búsqueda de una comunidad de apoyo.
~“En una comunidad que alza la voz, todos florecemos”
Habla sobre la escritura y el lenguaje y la trayectoria de estos en diferentes culturas.
~”ver la escritura Nushu es ver huellas de pájaros”
Un montón de temas en las que las mujeres somos importantes y necesarias, políticas que nos atraviesan, medio ambiente en el que habitamos.
Una traducción magnífica 🐦
June 30, 2016
Five stars is not enough.
January 8, 2022
‘far too long we have been seduced into walking a path that did not lead us to ourselves.’
December 27, 2022
I admire Terry Tempest Williams so much!!!
October 23, 2013
A mother gives her daughter her journals, requesting that they only be read after her death. When posthumously opened, the curious daughter discovers multiple journals are all filled with blank pages. Why?
Terry Tempest Williams uses 54 chapters to wonder. I loved the concept and execution of this book more than I loved William's voice and edgy opinions. Partly, that is due to her dismissal and bias against a church she has left and to which I still belong to. All I can say it is akin to having a cousin bad mouth your own family. Yes, they know them and those might be their opinions of things that happened once upon a time, but it doesn't make them true or current or fair. This referencing of the LDS (Mormon) church certainly is not the focus of the book, but as her mother was a faithful member and the daughter is an unbeliever, Williams' wonderings can't help but delve into the spiritual motives, longings, grudges and aspirations of her mother, many laden with LDS dogma.
This quote at the beginning of one of the chapters had me snort out loud. I can't recall it exactly as the book is no longer in my possession but it says something along the lines that all LDS women hold two things sacred: their responsibility to procreate and have offspring and to keep a journal. There certainly is a sacred responsibility and reverence towards motherhood but I have never, ever been told it is part of my job, because I have a uterus, to keep a journal. Certainly, some women do. Lots of LDS women blog, which is sort of modern day journal keeping (plus bragging and showing off) but part of that has to be attributed to a high percentage of them (us) finding a creative outlet and purpose beyond laundry and taxiing. I know that's why I started to write. But, her flippant, know-it-all-because-I-grew-up-in-Utah-and-went-to-BYU attitude towards the church is more self-serving than true. At the very most, it is outdated. Perhaps some of the attitudes and traditions that she saw a child in Utah growing up in the 60s and 70s were present, but she has to give her mother more credit than being a brainwashed LDS woman as a reason for a blank journal.
Defense of my religion aside, Williams is a beautiful writer who really evokes strong images and feelings in her poetic phrasing. An environmentalist who knows a lot about birds, she draws images of life and movement from birds and attaches them to human experience and the result is moving and life affirming. We are our world and our surroundings and I liked thinking with her about women: our strengths, passions, limitations and voices.
An interesting read for me and one I'm glad I picked up.
Terry Tempest Williams uses 54 chapters to wonder. I loved the concept and execution of this book more than I loved William's voice and edgy opinions. Partly, that is due to her dismissal and bias against a church she has left and to which I still belong to. All I can say it is akin to having a cousin bad mouth your own family. Yes, they know them and those might be their opinions of things that happened once upon a time, but it doesn't make them true or current or fair. This referencing of the LDS (Mormon) church certainly is not the focus of the book, but as her mother was a faithful member and the daughter is an unbeliever, Williams' wonderings can't help but delve into the spiritual motives, longings, grudges and aspirations of her mother, many laden with LDS dogma.
This quote at the beginning of one of the chapters had me snort out loud. I can't recall it exactly as the book is no longer in my possession but it says something along the lines that all LDS women hold two things sacred: their responsibility to procreate and have offspring and to keep a journal. There certainly is a sacred responsibility and reverence towards motherhood but I have never, ever been told it is part of my job, because I have a uterus, to keep a journal. Certainly, some women do. Lots of LDS women blog, which is sort of modern day journal keeping (plus bragging and showing off) but part of that has to be attributed to a high percentage of them (us) finding a creative outlet and purpose beyond laundry and taxiing. I know that's why I started to write. But, her flippant, know-it-all-because-I-grew-up-in-Utah-and-went-to-BYU attitude towards the church is more self-serving than true. At the very most, it is outdated. Perhaps some of the attitudes and traditions that she saw a child in Utah growing up in the 60s and 70s were present, but she has to give her mother more credit than being a brainwashed LDS woman as a reason for a blank journal.
Defense of my religion aside, Williams is a beautiful writer who really evokes strong images and feelings in her poetic phrasing. An environmentalist who knows a lot about birds, she draws images of life and movement from birds and attaches them to human experience and the result is moving and life affirming. We are our world and our surroundings and I liked thinking with her about women: our strengths, passions, limitations and voices.
An interesting read for me and one I'm glad I picked up.
March 18, 2013
Intriguing premise, one could decide this book is brilliant and just over one's head or one could decide this book is a bit pompous and poetically overwritten. Guess which one I chose? There are some beautiful phrases in this book, but the flowery prose only served to keep this reader at a distance. There are some genuine feelings behind this excessive language usage, but one has to work too hard to find it. I may be being totally unfair since I have never read this author before, but this is how it seemed to me. I am rating this a three because there is some interesting information to be found and in places there are some wonderful tidbits. ARC from publisher.
February 21, 2017
A memoir written in 54 short musings (ranging from less than a page to a few), the age of the author when she wrote this, as well as the age at which her mother died. All 54 pieces are interlinked, sometimes tangentially, to finding one's voice, as a woman in this space we inhabit -- from our inner lives to the wide world as a whole. A love of nature & creativity shine through the work.
January 10, 2024
”Nekada davno, kad su žene bile ptice, postojalo je jednostavno shvatanje da je pevati u zoru i pevati u sumrak značilo lečiti svet kroz radost. Ptice još pamte ono što smo mi zaboravile - da svet treba slaviti.”
December 19, 2012
It's difficult for me to review this book because my response to it is so personal. Every literary interpretation is influenced by the reader's subjectivity, but some books are just too perfectly matched to one's interior to even contemplate objectivity. When I think about When Women Were Birds, I simply don't know how to step outside of my own mind to carve out some critical distance.
To begin with, Terry Tempest Williams (TTW) was defying LDS patriarchal expectations and fighting for her own sense of self back when that was still a daring gesture. It seems like there are a lot of contemporary women writers who are very self-congratulatory about their unorthodox relationship to the Mormon church. (Elna Baker, Joanna Brooks, and Martha Nibley Beck are among the worst of this category, in my opinion.)Ooooh, you wore a sleeveless shirt in public? Wait here while I go get your medal!! Wow, you didn't go to BYU even though your mommy wanted you to?! Let me applaud your verve and throw money at your feet! (Yes, I am bitter...but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.)
Sure, it's difficult for any person, of any background, to go against the beliefs that were supposed to structure your entire life. But most of the women who are speaking out about their boundless courage are privileged US citizens who didn't have to risk that much to follow their own desires. Basically, they move away from home and do whatever the hell they want. As a woman who was exercising her rights in the 60s and 70s, there was much more at stake for TTW, and fewer role models to emulate. As a consequence, my respect for her self-determinism is only matched by my admiration for the unpretentious way she describes her past. Throughout When Women Were Birds, it is abundantly clear that TTW has nothing to prove. She is poised and self-assured, even when the subject matter delves into intimate or uncomfortable territories.
Secondly, I was captivated by the way Williams writes about her mother. Her quest to find answers and process her mother's absence is perfectly rendered. At times, it was a bit of a shock to read a setence I feel I would have written if I had the talent/perspective.
I also love how TTW integrates all the seemingly disparate threads of her book. It feels very associative and unstructured at first, but then the recurring themes start to emerge and meld with other motifs, the fragments all seem to speak in collective harmony. Dead, mothers, land, wilderness, religion, activism - somehow, it all fits together in TTW's hands. The mosaic you end up with is simultaneously jagged, lovely, and life-affirming.
To begin with, Terry Tempest Williams (TTW) was defying LDS patriarchal expectations and fighting for her own sense of self back when that was still a daring gesture. It seems like there are a lot of contemporary women writers who are very self-congratulatory about their unorthodox relationship to the Mormon church. (Elna Baker, Joanna Brooks, and Martha Nibley Beck are among the worst of this category, in my opinion.)Ooooh, you wore a sleeveless shirt in public? Wait here while I go get your medal!! Wow, you didn't go to BYU even though your mommy wanted you to?! Let me applaud your verve and throw money at your feet! (Yes, I am bitter...but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.)
Sure, it's difficult for any person, of any background, to go against the beliefs that were supposed to structure your entire life. But most of the women who are speaking out about their boundless courage are privileged US citizens who didn't have to risk that much to follow their own desires. Basically, they move away from home and do whatever the hell they want. As a woman who was exercising her rights in the 60s and 70s, there was much more at stake for TTW, and fewer role models to emulate. As a consequence, my respect for her self-determinism is only matched by my admiration for the unpretentious way she describes her past. Throughout When Women Were Birds, it is abundantly clear that TTW has nothing to prove. She is poised and self-assured, even when the subject matter delves into intimate or uncomfortable territories.
Secondly, I was captivated by the way Williams writes about her mother. Her quest to find answers and process her mother's absence is perfectly rendered. At times, it was a bit of a shock to read a setence I feel I would have written if I had the talent/perspective.
I also love how TTW integrates all the seemingly disparate threads of her book. It feels very associative and unstructured at first, but then the recurring themes start to emerge and meld with other motifs, the fragments all seem to speak in collective harmony. Dead, mothers, land, wilderness, religion, activism - somehow, it all fits together in TTW's hands. The mosaic you end up with is simultaneously jagged, lovely, and life-affirming.
August 6, 2017
I’d long wanted to read something by Terry Tempest Williams, so snapped up a beautiful deckle-edged paperback copy of her 2012 memoir-in-essays on my latest trip to Wonder Book in Frederick, Maryland. Raised a Mormon in Utah, Williams navigates between the narrow limits of her religious upbringing and the almost pantheistic feminist spirituality she’s developed as a writer with a deep love for nature, especially that of the American West and, yes, birds. Though not a chronological life story, this focuses on her key relationships – her decades-long marriage, and her friendship with her late mother – and charts her transformation into an environmentalist. I especially appreciated her metaphor of birthing books vs. babies. She never became a biological mother, and at family reunions always felt that she was considered inadequate – “Creating a book was not a legitimate pregnancy.” I didn’t always love the New Age bent to the book, but it is chock-full of memorable lines about marriage, writing, and our connection with nature.
Some favorites…
“To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones. Words have a weight to them. How you choose to present them and to whom is a matter of style and choice.”
“It is winter. Ravens are standing on a pile of bones—black typeface on white paper picking an idea clean. It’s what I do each time I sit down to write.”
“harboring regrets is making love to the past”
“Death’s cry comes through a ventriloquist, whose lips you never see move until they are howling with laughter.”
“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”
Some favorites…
“To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones. Words have a weight to them. How you choose to present them and to whom is a matter of style and choice.”
“It is winter. Ravens are standing on a pile of bones—black typeface on white paper picking an idea clean. It’s what I do each time I sit down to write.”
“harboring regrets is making love to the past”
“Death’s cry comes through a ventriloquist, whose lips you never see move until they are howling with laughter.”
“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”
May 4, 2021
Lo que más disfruté de este libro, sin duda, fue comentarlo y compartir nuestras experiencias lectoras con otras mujeres. Claro que las páginas en blanco me dejaron un nudo en la garganta, pero sinceramente nunca pensé en llenarlas.
A lo largo de la lectura pude ir entendiendo un poco sobre las voces propias y las de otres. Creo que esta combinación de voz-silencio me parece prudente y arriesgada. Y es que las mujeres vivimos con la carga de múltiples silencios obligados, pero a través de ellos también se puede encontrar la voz, y escuchar a otras.
Terry Tempest Williams va tejiendo historias propias para llenar y/o darles sentido a los diarios en blanco de su madre. En ese camino va cuestionando y explorando su propia historia, da vueltas, anota sus dudas y también hace notas sobre lo que significan los diarios de su madre.
Esta traducción maravillosa de Isabel Zapata nos permite acentuar también muchas cosas en torno a la edición y a la decisión de respetar la propia voz de la autora. La traducción me hizo pensar mucho en su libro _Alberca vacía_ y cómo dialogan estos libros y las propias autoras.
Me quedo con eso: con la traducción, con la exploración de voces y las formas de atravesarlas y adueñarnos de ellas, con todas las frases bonitas que tiene y, sobre todo, con las reflexiones y dendritas que surgieron a partir de _Cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros_.
Lo demás, me queda debiendo, desde la voz hasta el rumbo del libro.
A lo largo de la lectura pude ir entendiendo un poco sobre las voces propias y las de otres. Creo que esta combinación de voz-silencio me parece prudente y arriesgada. Y es que las mujeres vivimos con la carga de múltiples silencios obligados, pero a través de ellos también se puede encontrar la voz, y escuchar a otras.
Terry Tempest Williams va tejiendo historias propias para llenar y/o darles sentido a los diarios en blanco de su madre. En ese camino va cuestionando y explorando su propia historia, da vueltas, anota sus dudas y también hace notas sobre lo que significan los diarios de su madre.
Esta traducción maravillosa de Isabel Zapata nos permite acentuar también muchas cosas en torno a la edición y a la decisión de respetar la propia voz de la autora. La traducción me hizo pensar mucho en su libro _Alberca vacía_ y cómo dialogan estos libros y las propias autoras.
Me quedo con eso: con la traducción, con la exploración de voces y las formas de atravesarlas y adueñarnos de ellas, con todas las frases bonitas que tiene y, sobre todo, con las reflexiones y dendritas que surgieron a partir de _Cuando las mujeres fueron pájaros_.
Lo demás, me queda debiendo, desde la voz hasta el rumbo del libro.
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