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Tara Westover was seventeen the first time she set foot in a classroom. Born to survivalists in the mountains of Idaho, she prepared for the end of the world by stockpiling home-canned peaches and sleeping with her "head-for-the-hills bag." In the summer she stewed herbs for her mother, a midwife and healer, and in the winter she salvaged in her father's junkyard. The family was so isolated from mainstream society that there was no one to ensure the children received an education, and no one to intervene when one of Tara's older brothers became violent. As a way out, Tara began to educate herself, learning enough mathematics and grammar to be admitted to Brigham Young University. Her quest for knowledge would transform her, taking her over oceans and across continents, to Harvard and to Cambridge. Only then would she wonder if she'd traveled too far, if there was still a way home. With the acute insight that distinguishes all great writers, Tara Westover has crafted a universal coming-of-age story that gets to the heart of what an education offers: the perspective to see one's life through new eyes, and the will to change it.… (mehr)
Nickelini: Quite different views of Mormon life, but both books are compelling reads of young women who suffered through horrific lives under the control of domineering and manipulative men.
BookshelfMonstrosity: These wrenching autobiographies examine how parents with fiercely held beliefs can damage their children on multiple fronts. Forbidden from engaging with the rest of society in normal ways, the authors endured shattering psychological abuse before their eventual escape.… (mehr)
bjappleg8: Both books describe in intimate detail the supreme effort required to break free of fundamentalist beliefs and the pain of being cast out of their close-knit families as a result.
Carissa.Green: Sarah Smarsh's memoir is about a similarly-aged girl growing up in a rural area on the economic fringes, but Smarsh's memoir is more analytical and deals much less in the sensationalism of having a violent, mentally ill parent.
Mich hat das Buch an "Schloss aus Glas" erinnert, da es auch hier um eine junge Frau geht, die in einer radikalen Familie ohne Schulbildung aufwächst und sich dann über Bildung daraus emanzipiert. Beider Problem ist der resultierende Verlust der Bindungen und der Familie, der Wurzeln und dieses Teils der Identität. Mir hat Westovers Buch aber viel besser gefallen, da ich es in seiner unbedingten Suche nach Wahrheit und Zuverlässigkeit extrem aufrichtig fand. Zudem ist es auch sehr gut geschrieben. Tara Westover wächst in einer Familie raikaler Mormonen auf und wird nicht unterrichtet. Sie weiß bis zu ihrem Universitätsstudium zum Beispiel nichts vom Holocaust, kennt nicht einmal das Wort. Doch sie ist konzentriert und gründlich, lernbegierig und intelligent. Die Jahre der gefährlichen Mitarbeit auf dem dem väterlichen Schrottplatz, Verletzungen, Demütigungen, Misshandlungen durch den Bruder, das alles nimmt sie in Kauf, weil sie die Familie liebt. Erst als sie den Buck Peak verlässt, beginnt sie an ihrem Aufwachsen und dem göttlichen Wirken darin zu zweifeln. Und trotzdem dauert es Jahre, bis sie den Schritt der Ablösung in allen Konsequenzen geht. Die Trauer um den Verlust der Familie bleibt. Das Buch ist interessant und läst sich sehr gut lesen, empfehlenswert! ( )
Meine Meinung Ich schließe die Buchdeckel und eine Gänsehaut bleibt. Es dauert noch eine kleine Weile bis ich sie abschütteln kann. Denn dieses Buch, diese Geschichte einer klugen und mutigen Frau kann ich nicht so leicht vergessen. Sie hat mich in ihren Bann gezogen und mich geprüft. Während des Lesens habe ich sehr oft das Buch zur Seite gelegt und nachgedacht.
Meine Fragen und Gedanken handeln von Familie, Loyalität, von Liebe und Vertrauen. Es geht aber auch um Erkenntnis, Selbstvertrauen, Heranreifen, Misshandlungen, Gewalt, Selbstschutz und Entscheidungen treffen. Von alledem erzählt uns die Autorin ganz privat aus ihrem Leben. Und es bleibt einem die Spucke weg, das kann ich versprechen!
Es war ein sehr langer und sehr schmerzhafter Weg, als Tara Westhover begriff, was ihr einst Dr. Kerry sagte:
“>>Sie dürfen nicht mehr so denken>Sie sind kein falsches Gold, das nur in einem bestimmten Licht glänzt. Was auch einmal aus Ihnen wird, was Sie auch aus sich machen, Sie sind es immer schon gewesen. Es war schon immer in Ihnen. Nicht in Cambridge. In Ihnen. Sie sind Gold, sind es schon immer gewesen, und eine Rückkehr an die BYU oder zu dem Berg, von dem Sie kommen, wird nicht verändern, was Sie sind. Vielleicht verändert es das Bild, das andere von Ihnen haben, vielleicht sogar das, was Sie selbst von sich haben – sogar Gold wird in einem bestimmten Licht trüb -, aber das ist die Illusion. Und war es schon immer. ( )
Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite.Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen.
The past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, & thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past. - Virginia Woolf
I believe finally, that education must be conceived as a continuing reconstruction of experience; that the process and the goal of education are one and the same thing. - John Dewey
Widmung
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For Tyler
Erste Worte
Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite.Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen.
My strongest memory is not a memory.
Zitate
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...I had finally begun to grasp something that should have been immediately apparent: that someone had opposed the great march toward equality; someone had been the person from whom freedom had been wrested. (p. 180)
...something shifted nonetheless. I had started on a path of awareness, had perceived something elemental about my brother, my father, myself. I had discerned the ways in which we had been sculpted by a tradition given to us by others, a tradition of which we were either willfully or accidentally ignorant. I had begun to understand that we had lent our voices to a discourse who sole purpose was to dehumanize and brutalize others--because nurturing that discourse was easier, because retaining power always feels like the way forward. (p. 180)
I had decided to study no history, but historians. I suppose my interest came from the sense of groundlessness I'd felt since learning about the Holocaust and the civil rights movement--since realizing that what a person knows about the past is limited, and will always be limited, to what they are told by others. I knew what it was to have a misconception corrected--a misconception of such magnitude that shifting it shifted the world. Now I needed to understand how the great gatekeepers of history had come to terms with their own ignorance and partiality. I thought that if I could accept that what they had written was not absolute but was the result of a biased process of conversation and revision, maybe I could reconcile myself with the fact that the history of most people agreed upon was not the history I had been taught. Dad could be wrong, and the great historians Carlyle and Macauley and Trevelyan could be wrong, but from the ashes of their dispute I could construct a world to live in. In knowing the ground was not ground at all, I hoped I could stand on it. (p. 238)
It's strange how you give the people you love so much power over you, I had written in my journal. ... He had defined me to myself, and there's no greater power than that. (p. 199)
I had been taught to read the words of men like Madison as a cast into which I ought to pour the plaster of my own mind, to be reshaped according to the contours of their faultless model. I read them to learn what to think, not how to think for myself. (p. 239)
I had begun to understand that we had lent our voices to a discourse whose sole purpose was to dehumanized and brutalized others--because nurturing that discourse was easier, because retaining power always feels like the way forward. (p. 180)
My life was narrated for me by others. Their voices were forceful, emphatic, absolute. It had never occurred to me that my voice might be as strong as theirs. (P. 197)
This moment would define my memory of that night, and of the many nights like it, for a decade. In it I saw myself as unbreakable, as tender as stone. At first I merely believed this, until one day it became the truth. Then I was able to tell myself, without lying, that it didn’t affect me, that he didn’t affect me, because nothing affected me. I didn’t understand how morbidly right I was. How I had hollowed myself out. For all my obsessing over the consequences of that night, I had misunderstood the vital truth: that its not affecting me, that was its effect. (p. 111)
I believed then—and part of me will always believe—that my father’s words ought to be my own. (p. 172)
What was important to me wasn’t love or friendship, but my ability to lie convincingly to myself: to believe I was strong. I could never forgive Charles for knowing I wasn’t. (p. 189)
I wonder now if the day I set out to steal that tax return wasn’t the first time I left home to go to Buck’s Peak. That night I had entered my father’s house as an intruder. It was a shift in mental language, a surrendering of where I was from. My own words confirmed it. When other students asked where I was from, I said, “I’m from Idaho,” a phrase that, as many times as I’ve had to repeat it over the years, has never felt comfortable in my mouth. When you are part of a place, growing that moment in its soil, there’s never a need to say you’re from there. I never uttered the words “I’m from Idaho” until I’d left it. (p. 206)
I had to think before I could answer. “I can stand in this wind, because I’m not trying to stand in it,” I said. “The wind is just wind. You could withstand these gusts on the ground, so you can withstand them in the air. There is no difference. Except the difference you make in your head.” He stared at me blankly. He hadn’t understood. “I’m just standing,” I said. “You are all trying to compensate, to get your bodies lower because the height scares you. But the crouching and the sidestepping are not natural. You’ve made yourselves vulnerable. If you could just control your panic, this wind would be nothing.” “The way it is nothing to you,” he said. — I WANTED THE MIND of a scholar, but it seemed that Dr. Kerry saw in me the mind of a roofer. The other students belonged in a library; I belonged in a crane. (p. 237)
...vindication has no power over guilt. No amount of anger or rage directed at others can subdue it, because guilt is never about them. Guilt is the fear of one’s own wretchedness. It has nothing to do with other people. (p. 327)
I am not the child my father raised, but he is the father who raised her. (p. 328)
Letzte Worte
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Literaturhinweise zu diesem Werk aus externen Quellen.
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▾Buchbeschreibungen
Tara Westover was seventeen the first time she set foot in a classroom. Born to survivalists in the mountains of Idaho, she prepared for the end of the world by stockpiling home-canned peaches and sleeping with her "head-for-the-hills bag." In the summer she stewed herbs for her mother, a midwife and healer, and in the winter she salvaged in her father's junkyard. The family was so isolated from mainstream society that there was no one to ensure the children received an education, and no one to intervene when one of Tara's older brothers became violent. As a way out, Tara began to educate herself, learning enough mathematics and grammar to be admitted to Brigham Young University. Her quest for knowledge would transform her, taking her over oceans and across continents, to Harvard and to Cambridge. Only then would she wonder if she'd traveled too far, if there was still a way home. With the acute insight that distinguishes all great writers, Tara Westover has crafted a universal coming-of-age story that gets to the heart of what an education offers: the perspective to see one's life through new eyes, and the will to change it.
Beider Problem ist der resultierende Verlust der Bindungen und der Familie, der Wurzeln und dieses Teils der Identität. Mir hat Westovers Buch aber viel besser gefallen, da ich es in seiner unbedingten Suche nach Wahrheit und Zuverlässigkeit extrem aufrichtig fand. Zudem ist es auch sehr gut geschrieben.
Tara Westover wächst in einer Familie raikaler Mormonen auf und wird nicht unterrichtet. Sie weiß bis zu ihrem Universitätsstudium zum Beispiel nichts vom Holocaust, kennt nicht einmal das Wort. Doch sie ist konzentriert und gründlich, lernbegierig und intelligent. Die Jahre der gefährlichen Mitarbeit auf dem dem väterlichen Schrottplatz, Verletzungen, Demütigungen, Misshandlungen durch den Bruder, das alles nimmt sie in Kauf, weil sie die Familie liebt. Erst als sie den Buck Peak verlässt, beginnt sie an ihrem Aufwachsen und dem göttlichen Wirken darin zu zweifeln. Und trotzdem dauert es Jahre, bis sie den Schritt der Ablösung in allen Konsequenzen geht. Die Trauer um den Verlust der Familie bleibt.
Das Buch ist interessant und läst sich sehr gut lesen, empfehlenswert! ( )