The Geography of Love

I read Glenda Burgess’s exquisite memoir, The Geography of Love a couple of weeks ago, reading it voraciously in two sittings, unable to put the beautiful volume down.  Glenda makes me believe in soul mates.

Given my own fixation with maps and geography, with all the tools that we use, concrete and ineffable, to guide our way through life, I was predisposed to love this book. I did not, however, expect the completeness with which I’d tumble into Glenda’s world, that I’d be so completely seduced by her voice. She knocked me over twice in her first chapter alone, first with “And while the question of God himself frames the universe, the great mysteries exist in the human heart unsolved,” which echoes my growing awareness that beyond the questions there are more questions. And her description of her life before meeting her husband is a far more eloquent and lyrical summary of exactly what it is I write about so clumsily, all the time:

Eventually, I constructed a layered exoskeleton, a coral reef instead of a life. The structure was there, but the essence was missing.

It is a rare book that sends me to the dictionary almost once a chapter. An even rarer one that does so in an elegant, unforced way. This book did both. Glenda’s prose is never showy or flamboyant. It is simply elegant, intelligent, and full of metaphors that seem to spring from a deep intuition.

The Geography of Love is, most of all, a love story. Glenda describes falling in love with Ken, and taking a chance on a life together despite some red flags in his history that might send a more cautious woman running (twice widowed, he was a suspect in his second wife’s murder). Her narrative is interspersed with reflections on faith, meaning, and the soul. There are many sentences that made my breath catch in my throat, sentences that glitter like gems, that put into the perfect words, in the perfect order, things deep in my heart. For example: “How do you know a heart? The life only tells the journey.”

The story that Glenda tells of her life with Ken and their two children is evocative and personal. The bulk of the book traces Ken’s illness with cancer, his deteriorating health and their movement as a family towards his death. Glenda seems certain that Ken is her destiny, that her path was always meant to lead to him (“In every way, he was my true home, my center of gravity.”) At the same time, she evinces raw reverence in the face of life’s great mystery, circles around the essential unknown at the heart of the human experience. In her very first chapter, those five pages that are as beautiful as any prose I’ve read in a long time, she talks about “quintessence: the essence of a thing in its purest and most concentrated form … Quintessence, like faith, remains unproven: a deductive belief.” Certainty and the unknown, tangled inextricably together.

Interleaved into this story of an ordinary life and an uncommonly strong love are Glenda’s reflections on the great currents of feeling and belief that I think run through all of us. She accomplishes what is surely the highest aspiration of memoir: taking a deeply personal story and telling it in a way that examines and explicates universal emotions and experiences.

The scene of Ken’s death, which happens at home and in Glenda’s presence, is among the most powerful I’ve ever read. She writes of watching – feeling – his soul leave his body. She is suffused with grace as she sits with the body of the man who has become the geography of her life, of her love. Her courage and humanity in sharing this scene, this most private of moments, awes me. The book ends with Glenda moving towards the “formal feeling” that Emily Dickinson said came after great pain. Even in her grief, she continues to respect the forces beyond our control and understanding that shape our lives, and her gratitude for what she shared with Ken clearly overwhelms the pain of her loss.

This is a gorgeous, lucid, moving book. It is sad but also profoundly hopeful. For me, the most enduring of Glenda’s messages is that in abandoning ourselves to – even embracing – all that we cannot know, we may find peace and comfort. The Geography of Love is the story of two human beings, whole and flawed and full of love, and of the path they walked together. It hints at the path that lies ahead for the one who survives, and, even, at the path ahead for the one that dies.

Life distills in the elements of chaos and chance. Vagary, arcane and capricious, hints at destiny and confounds God, adumbrates the fragile human landscape.


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8 Comments

  1. Posted May 13, 2010 at 4:49 am | Permalink

    Beautiful review. I’ll add it to my list. (Even though I had to go to the dictionary twice for just the last quote.)

    admin Reply:

    I know. Me too. But every time I went to the dictionary, I loved the word I learned. “Quintessence,” for example, has stayed with me.

  2. Posted May 13, 2010 at 6:13 am | Permalink

    Ah, I love that Dickenson poem–it’s brilliant.

    I love that you share what you’re reading with us–this is yet another book you’ve shared that’s going on my “must-read” list.

  3. Posted May 13, 2010 at 6:51 am | Permalink

    Oh Lindsey! You have just added yet another book to my must read list.

  4. Posted May 13, 2010 at 7:53 am | Permalink

    I was quite struck in the passages you quoted that her writing evokes yours.

    I too don’t believe there is a “one” for us. When I was 23, maybe, but obv that’s been thrown out the window. I’ll settle for contentment (even with the knowledge that I might be shortchanging my cosmic self.) But I’m intruiged now!

    admin Reply:

    awfully kind of you but absolutely untrue. i wish!

  5. amy
    Posted May 13, 2010 at 8:42 am | Permalink

    Lindsey, The Geography of Love is one of my favorite books! (And one which my friend, Christine, introduced to me)! – Amy

    admin Reply:

    :)

  6. Posted May 13, 2010 at 9:41 am | Permalink

    Lindsey, this review almost brought me to tears! Thank you for this beautiful testament to The Geography of Love. It is one of my most cherished books. I do see the same elegance and lyricism in your writing. Beyond that, what I love about Glenda’s work and yours is a shared desire to explore life’s questions and complex emotions to their greatest depths. You do this with great sincerity and grace.

  7. Posted May 14, 2010 at 1:15 am | Permalink

    Wow, this book sounds like one I long to read but can never muster the courage for, knowing the tears that will inevitably come. Thanks for the reminder to be thankful for the time we do have with our loved ones and for the geography that brought us to them (and will keep us moving in the right direction once they are gone).

  8. Posted May 18, 2010 at 8:13 pm | Permalink

    The way you describe her writing is how I would describe yours, my friend. The metaphors, me running for the dictionary…:) Really.

    I love your book reviews.

    xo elizabeth