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Naomi Shihab Nye

Never in a Hurry

From the acclaimed poet and National Book Award finalist, “a sparkling book of travel and childhood: born on the bridge between two cultures” (Paulette Jiles, New York Times–bestselling author).
In Never in a Hurry the poet Naomi Shihab Nye resist the American inclination to “leave toward places when we barely had time enough to get there.” Instead she travels the world at an observant pace, talking to strangers and introducing readers to an endearing assemblage of eccentric neighbors, Filipina faith healers, dry-cleaning proprietors, and other quirky characters.
A Palestinian-American who lives in a Mexican-American neighborhood, Nye speaks for the mix of people and places that can be called the “American Experience.” From St. Louis, the symbolic “Gateway to the West,” she embarks on a westward migration to examine America, past and present, and to glimpse into the lives of its latest outsiders—illegal immigrants from Mexico and troubled inner-city children.
In other essays Nye ventures beyond North America’s bounds, telling of a year in her childhood spent in Palestine and of an adulthood filled with cross-cultural quests. Whether recounting the purchase of a car on the island of Oahu or a camel-back ride through India’s Thar Desert, Nye writes in wry, refreshing tones about themes that transcend borders and about the journey that remains the greatest of all—the journey from outside to in as the world enters each one of us, as we learn to see.
“The generous gift of a writer at the top of her form, a book jammed with vivid sights and pungent tastes and wonderful stories.” —Marion Winik, author of Above Us Only Sky
270 trykte sider
Oprindeligt udgivet
2020
Udgivelsesår
2020
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Citater

  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    When my eye picked out a town named Nye on the map near Pendleton
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 3 år siden
    It worked out. We stopped at every playground between San Antonio and Portland. (The best one, for anyone following our circuitous route, is at Baker, Oregon—an old-fashioned paradise of high slides and well-oiled merry-go-rounds.) We ate Japanese food in Santa Fe. We unrolled our moldy-smelling tent on a spot of ground in Utah and by morning were encircled by clamoring chipmunks, who had found a wealthy source of cracker crumbs. They were calling for more.
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 3 år siden
    It probably wouldn’t have made any difference had I told her that I happened to like the name, or that sometimes it’s a pleasure to become someone else midstream in your life. Had the name in question been Smithers or Lumpkin, I might have passed. But this little syllable, this glittering eye, held mine. I could almost have made it up.
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