Read Bring Me a Unicorn by Anne Morrow Lindbergh Free Online
Book Title: Bring Me a Unicorn|
The author of the book: Anne Morrow Lindbergh
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Loaded: 2165 times
Reader ratings: 5.9
Edition: Chatto & Windus
Date of issue: 1976
ISBN 13: 9780701118822
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 8.93 MB
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Bring Me a Unicorn: Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922-1928 is a compilation of letters and diary entries written by Anne Morrow Lindbergh between 1921 and 1928, which encompasses the meeting of her future husband, Charles Lindbergh. She is a remarkably observant and eloquent writer, even in personal correspondence and musing meant only for herself at the time they were written. She has been a fascinating individual for me over the years--such a beautiful woman, so elegant and poised, and such a courageous soul in the way she handled the tragedy to come, which was all too personal and yet all too public. This book predates that time, and reveals how little prepared she must have been to have such a fate befall her.
She seemed to recognize how fragile life could be, however, writing in 1927:
A day at Helen’s: a big, summery, chintzy house, empty and still and cool. And Helen playing Brahms and Cesar Franck. A still, perfect moment, framed neither by time nor by space but high apart, above these. Still, caught--the drop of water from the eaves, swelling, about to fall, but now whole, crystalline, perfect. These moments are so rare, so few, for anyone--those moments of perfection.
What a lovely diary entry this is! I probably would have written “had a nice with Helen.” I’m glad she had more imagination than I.
Her first encounter with Lindbergh is so special an entry, since it is not a speculation of what she thought, but her exact thoughts put to paper:
Colonel Lindbergh was there--a very nice boy, very nice, but we hardly took it in, or at least were a little annoyed--all this public-hero stuff breaking into our family party. What did I expect? A regular newspaper hero, the baseball-player type--a nice man, perhaps, but not at all “intellectual” and not of my world at all, so I wouldn’t be interested. I certainly was not going to worship “Lindy” (that odious name, anyway).
Ha! Not the most auspicious of first impressions.
Quite a bit of her pennings are about various encounters with him, the development of their friendship, and her worries that Lindbergh might be interested in her older sister, Elizabeth, or just being nice to her because he felt a duty toward her father, who was an Ambassador to Mexico. Some of her thoughts are so sweet, and so reminiscent of first loves we might all have had, that I could not but smile.
The feeling of exultant joy that there is anyone like that in the world. I shall never see him again, and he did not notice me, or would ever, but there is such a person alive, there is such a life, and I am here on this earth, in this age, to know it!
Of course, he did notice her and they embarked on what might have been a fairytale, but then life never is a fairytale, is it?
I was particularly struck by a portion of her diary and letters that dealt with the suicide death of a close friend at college.
If only I had talked to her after vacation--if only I had gone up to her room--if I could have just caught her in that gust of despair that must have come over her suddenly.
I wondered if this dealing with the loss, the guilt, the “what ifs” that accompany any premature death, might not have helped her when her own terrible tragedy came. She expresses so much of compassion and faith and composure, and yet she asks all those questions that each of us would and do.
Is there anything beautiful, is there anything good, anything lovely in this world, if such things can happen?
And as if an omen to her, the foreshadowing of things to come:
A nightmare of reporters, papers, reports, clues, detectives, questioning.
I could not help wishing I could see her mother’s replies to these heartfelt, questing letters, in which she is reaching out for both comfort and to make some sense of things. What did her mother say? And, how might that have helped her forge the inner strength she was to need so sorely later in life?
I very much enjoyed reading about this remarkable woman. I often think the women behind the famous men are more intriguing than the men themselves. I fell in love with Anne Morrow Lindbergh when I read, A Gift From the Sea, and this collection of her letters reinforced that feeling that she was someone quite special. I shall continue to pry into her life. I have a biography sitting on my physical bookshelf and I understand that there are two other volumes of her letters and diaries.
On an aside note, I cannot help lamenting that we have lost the art of letter writing. I details the thoughts and feelings of a person so much more than any of our more modern technology does. Who writes passages in an email. Where will the blogs be in one hundred years? And, how genuine are they anyway, when they are written for mass consumption. These letters are so personal and heartfelt--meant only for the eyes of the friend or relative to whom they are written; the diary so unassuming and honest, an attempt to record feelings and sort out the soul. I am happy that they have survived for all of us to see, but I am equally happy that they were never meant to be seen at all.
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Read information about the authorAnne Morrow Lindbergh was born in 1906. She married Charles Lindbergh in 1929 and became a noted aviator in her own right, eventually publishing several books on the subject and receiving several aviation awards. Gift from the Sea, published in 1955, earned her international acclaim. She was inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, the National Women’s Hall of Fame, and the Aviation Hall of Fame of New Jersey. War Within and Without, the penultimate installment of her published diaries, received the Christopher Award in 1980. Mrs. Lindbergh died in 2001 at the age of ninety-four.
Not to be confused with her daughter Anne Lindbergh.
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