Elizabeth Alexander (1) (1962–)

Touching love story bidding farewell to her 50-year-old artist-activist-chef husband, Ficre Ghebreyesus http://www.ficre-ghebreyesus.com/painting/ who dies suddenly at fifty. Her poetic and beautiful prose swept me into a special place as I read about their building a life together with their two sons and the familygoing on without him, punctuated with a couple of dynamite recipes for lentils and shrimp from his Eritrean restaurant. Reading it was like being dipped in a spicy oil bath, smarting and soothing at the same time. Alexander read her poetry at Obama's 2009 inauguration and this book was excerpted in The New Yorker http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/02/09/lottery-tickets.
… (mais)

In The Light of the World, Elizabeth Alexander finds herself at an existential crossroads after the sudden death of her husband, who was just 50. Reflecting with gratitude on the exquisite beauty of her married life that was, grappling with the subsequent void, and feeling a reenergized devotion to her two teenage sons, Alexander channels her poetic sensibilities into a rich, lucid prose that describes a very personal and yet universal quest for meaning, understanding, and acceptance. She examines the journey we take in life through the lens of her own emotional and intellectual evolution, taking stock of herself at the midcentury mark.

This exquisite memoir is for anyone who has loved and lost. It's about being strong when you want to collapse, about being grateful when someone has been stolen from you. It's Elizabeth Alexander's story, but it is all of our stories because it is about discovering what matters.

A deeply resonant memoir for anyone who has loved and lost, from acclaimed poet and Pulitzer Prize finalist Elizabeth Alexander.

The Light of the World is both an endlessly compelling memoir and a deeply felt meditation on the blessings of love, family, art, and community. It is also a lyrical celebration of a life well lived and a paean to the priceless gift of human companionship.… (mais)

It would be hard for me to be critical of this book, but fortunately, I do not need to be. I listened to it in audiobook form and progressed through it quickly. It reads like a series of sermons – jeremiads of sorts – admonishing us to value human life in every form. As alluded to in the title, they focus on concerns about race. As an American white man, I am systemically complicit and privileged in this situation even though I take personal efforts to promote human worth. Elizabeth Alexander shows me ways where I and we can do better.

In my personal time, I mentor a black young man in high school, and he is like a son to me. I wonder what his future might be. I try to keep him involved in good things (like school, football, and volunteering), but also am worried about social forces against him – forces that did not fight against me. He can overcome, I sincerely believe, but it requires more, focused effort. By identifying these forces and giving voice to their resistance, Alexander makes me a better mentor.

Alexander, herself a mother of two black men, was a professor at Yale University and is now president of the prestigious Mellon Foundation. Her words are eloquent, informed, and honest. She points out details that quietly contribute to racism’s hold on American society, all the way down to images on a historic painting. While I’m not sure representing such as a part of our collective past is implicitly wrong, what’s clearly wrong is that these ideas, rooted in white supremacy, still feature prominently in American society. We must continue to undo them.

For me personally, the first step, a recurring step, is listening. Too many white people like to imaging America is a colorblind society. We’ve made progress, yes, but we’ve got a ways to go. Listening to others’ struggles and being willing to advocate for them are things that I want to do, regardless of their skin color. Empathy makes me a better human; it makes humans a better species. Well-articulated essays, like Alexander’s here, help us in that quest. Though the night can be long and doubt can be strong, her words give me hope that we shall indeed overcome.… (mais)