Do Not Go Gentle
My Search for Miracles in a Cynical Time
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- ¥1,600
発行者による作品情報
A "breathtaking" memoir of a daughter's quest to find a miracle for her dying father, by the bestselling author of The Book That Matters Most (Publishers Weekly).
When her beloved father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, Ann Hood—the author Comfort: A Journey Through Grief—refused to give up. If conventional medicine could no longer help, then she would go to any length to find something that could—even if it took a miracle.
In this heartfelt and heartbreaking narrative, Ann's quest to save her father's life becomes a reawakening of her self. Through trial and desperation she recollects the story of her family's own past and their quest to find a better life in America, and renews her connection to her Italian Catholic heritage, all of which reminds her of where she came from and who she truly is: her father's daughter.
With a sensitive yet strong voice, Ann Hood's "spiritual quest to make sense of her father's fatal illness is rendered with exceptional grace" in a story that "affectingly explores the link between faith and family ties" (Entertainment Weekly).
"[Ann Hood] creates an entire world of belief and tradition that sustains her. . . . The miracle that truly nurtures her is her art." —The Providence Journal
"This memoir is every bit as breathtaking as the poem after which it is named." —Publishers Weekly
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
This small book tells the story of the search for a miraculous cure, the death of a father and one woman's reconnection with her Catholic roots. Novelist Hood (Ruby; Somewhere off the Coast of Maine) became determined to find a miracle cure when her father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. The product of generations of Italian-American Catholics, Hood followed her penchant for the mystical, leading her to look for signs, interpret dreams and wish for a magic potion. She traveled to Chimayo, N.Mex., where the Tewa Indians believe that the mud is curative and a chapel commemorates the healing miracles that have allegedly occurred there. Hood was looking for an incantation, for anything that would make the tumor vanish. This poignant memoir of grief is also a love story: "My father," Hood writes, "was the love of my life." She loved the way he whistled, the way he smiled, even the way he carried boxes of doughnuts. Unlike many young adults who give up their youthful adoration of Dear Old Dad, Hood only grew to cherish her father more as a grown-up. As she watched him die, Hood (who had become sophisticated, started attending Unitarian and Episcopal churches and even affected a bit of a New England accent) began to "reclaim heritage" of faith and family. This memoir is every bit as breathtaking as the poem after which it is named.
