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Love like salt : a memoir / Helen Stevenson.

By: Material type: TextTextPublisher: London : Virago, [2016]Copyright date: 2016Description: 289 pages : illustrations ; 23 cmContent type:
  • text
Media type:
  • unmediated
Carrier type:
  • volume
ISBN:
  • 0349007799
  • 9780349007793
Subject(s): DDC classification:
  • 920.72 23
Summary: 'Did Clara taste salty when I kissed her? She did. She tasted of mermaids, of the sea.' Love Like Salt is a deeply affecting memoir, beautifully and intelligently written. It is about mothers and daughters, music and illness, genes and inheritance, writing and story-telling. It is about creating joy from the hand you've been dealt and following its lead - in this case to rural France, where the author and her family lived for seven years. And back again. 'I had always written, and until the birth of Clara I wrote for a living. Once I knew the Cystic Fibrosis gene had unfolded itself in our daughter's body, like a paper flower meeting water, I felt that to write, even if I had had time, or been able, would have been to squander a kind of power which was needed for tending and nurturing. Every moment became a moment in which I protected my baby. Some of it I did in secret, like a madwoman muttering spells. I thought of her as a candle, cupping my hand around her."-- Publisher description.
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Holdings
Item type Current library Call number Copy number Status Date due Barcode
Book North Campus North Campus Main Collection 920.72 STE (Browse shelf(Opens below)) 1 Available A557173B

Includes bibliographical references.

'Did Clara taste salty when I kissed her? She did. She tasted of mermaids, of the sea.' Love Like Salt is a deeply affecting memoir, beautifully and intelligently written. It is about mothers and daughters, music and illness, genes and inheritance, writing and story-telling. It is about creating joy from the hand you've been dealt and following its lead - in this case to rural France, where the author and her family lived for seven years. And back again. 'I had always written, and until the birth of Clara I wrote for a living. Once I knew the Cystic Fibrosis gene had unfolded itself in our daughter's body, like a paper flower meeting water, I felt that to write, even if I had had time, or been able, would have been to squander a kind of power which was needed for tending and nurturing. Every moment became a moment in which I protected my baby. Some of it I did in secret, like a madwoman muttering spells. I thought of her as a candle, cupping my hand around her."-- Publisher description.

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