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The Eyes of the Heart: A Memoir of the Lost and Found – A Poignant and Honest Exploration of Father's Suicide and Family Relationships
From critically acclaimed author and Pulitzer Prize runner-up Frederick Buechner comes another powerfully honest memoir, The Eyes of the Heart. Full of poinant insights into his most personal relationships, this moving account traces how the author was shaped as much by his family's secrets as by its celebrations.Within the innermost chambers of his consciousness, Buechner, in his characteristically self-searching style, explores the mysteries and truths behind his deepest connections to family, friends, and mentors. Extraordinarily moving, this memoir follows not chronology but the converging paths of Buechner's imagination and memory. Buechner invites us into his library-his own Magic Kingdom, Surrounded by his beloved books and treasures, we discover how they serve as the gateway to Buechner's mind and heart. He draws the reader into his recollections, moving seamlessly from reminiscence to contemplation. Buechner recounts events such as the tragic suicide of his father and its continual fallout on his life, intimate and little-known details about his deep friendship with the late poet James Merrill, and his ongoing struggle to understand the complexities of his relationship to his mother. This cast of characters comprised of Buechner's relatives and loved ones is brought to vibrant life by his peerless writing and capacity to probe the depths of his own consciousness. Buechner visits his past with an honest eye and a heart open to the most painful and life-altering of realizations. heartbreaking and enlightening, The Eyes of the Heart is a treasure for any who have ever pondered the meaning and mystery of their own past. As "one of our finest writers," according to author Annie Dillard, Frederick Buechner provides yet another chapter in the tale of his life in this gripping memoir tracing the complicated roots and path of his inner life and family, with their multitude of intersections." The Eyes of the Heart stands as a touching testimonial to the significance of kinship to the author as well as to the legions of readers who have come to regard him as one of their own.
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1999
45 people are currently reading
416 people want to read
About the author
Frederick Buechner
92 books1,229 followersFrederick Buechner is a highly influential writer and theologian who has won awards for his poetry, short stories, novels and theological writings. His work pioneered the genre of spiritual memoir, laying the groundwork for writers such as Anne Lamott, Rob Bell and Lauren Winner.
His first book, A Long Day's Dying, was published to acclaim just two years after he graduated from Princeton. He entered Union Theological Seminary in 1954 where he studied under renowned theologians that included Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, and James Muilenberg. In 1955, his short story "The Tiger" which had been published in the New Yorker won the O. Henry Prize.
After seminary he spent nine years at Phillips Exeter Academy, establishing a religion department and teaching courses in both religion and English. Among his students was the future author, John Irving. In 1969 he gave the Noble Lectures at Harvard. He presented a theological autobiography on a day in his life, which was published as The Alphabet of Grace.
In the years that followed he began publishing more novels, including the Pulitzer Prize finalist Godric. At the same time, he was also writing a series of spiritual autobiographies. A central theme in his theological writing is looking for God in the everyday, listening and paying attention, to hear God speak to people through their personal lives.
His first book, A Long Day's Dying, was published to acclaim just two years after he graduated from Princeton. He entered Union Theological Seminary in 1954 where he studied under renowned theologians that included Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, and James Muilenberg. In 1955, his short story "The Tiger" which had been published in the New Yorker won the O. Henry Prize.
After seminary he spent nine years at Phillips Exeter Academy, establishing a religion department and teaching courses in both religion and English. Among his students was the future author, John Irving. In 1969 he gave the Noble Lectures at Harvard. He presented a theological autobiography on a day in his life, which was published as The Alphabet of Grace.
In the years that followed he began publishing more novels, including the Pulitzer Prize finalist Godric. At the same time, he was also writing a series of spiritual autobiographies. A central theme in his theological writing is looking for God in the everyday, listening and paying attention, to hear God speak to people through their personal lives.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 62 reviews
October 29, 2014
Beuchner speaks beautifully of books and regrets and grief and the imprints we leave on each other's lives, especially parents on their children. It's a wonder that our hearts know and bear so much pain. He asks aloud questions we all have-what legacy will we leave behind? Will anyone care when we're gone? What happens when we die? There's a depth of sharing here that makes one ponder the lifting of the veil on family secrets. Are these ours to know? Were all of them his to share? Most importantly, Buechner, a Presbyterian minister, should know the solid truth of the Gospel, and that certainly isn't offered here, in spite of the perfect opportunity. If he had ever found the truth, this book, as lovely as it is in so many other ways, declares he's lost it, and that's the saddest part of this memoir.
October 7, 2009
I loved it! I had to keep my want to read book list next to me because he talked about so many books. Oh I wish I had a library like his it sounds amazing! It was great to hear about his views on life and death through the stories of his family and friends. I have so many more thoughts. But I'm not sure what to write so I'll leavenit at
that.
that.
June 29, 2025
My first foray into the world of Buechner and all I can think is, "Did I choose the wrong entry point?" It's like I went to the it restaurant that everyone is talking about and I ordered the wrong menu item. It wasn't bad, it just didn't live up to the hype.
The Eyes of the Heart is a memoire where Buechner gives the reader a tour of his "Magic Kingdom," a section of his house with bronze busts, dusty books, family archives, and special photographs. He invites us to learn more about people that impacted his life: his grandmother, his parents, his brother, a life-long friend... You get the idea.
The book is beautifully written. The man can absolutely turn a phrase ("I do not bring my mother back for fear that she will be too much for me. Maybe I do not bring my father back for fear that he will be too little. Or that I will be."), albeit sometimes with an unnecessarily literary flourish. I guess the flaw in the book was that I never really grew to care about the people that Buechner wanted me to read about. He didn't draw me in (with the notable exception of his broken and twisted mother and his saintly grandmother). This was a book that was beautifully written book about a subject matter that the author could not ultimately bring me to care about.
I was also intrigued by what I had previously read about Buechner's faith. He was a minister in a New England WASPy context, so I give him credit for swimming upstream. In a world of intelligentsia in the burned over region of the country, he had the audacity to proclaim to be a follower of Jesus. Kudos for that, Freddy. Yet, his own testimony left me wanting more. His writing dabbles in eastern mysticism, universalism, and a broad-minded religious perspective that is far afield from a thoroughgoing biblical worldview. In the end, his faith felt like a condiment, not the meat of the entree.
So, to recap: a beautifully written book about nothing with notes of heresy. But I still think I'm going to read other books of his. Maybe I just need to order differently off the menu.
The Eyes of the Heart is a memoire where Buechner gives the reader a tour of his "Magic Kingdom," a section of his house with bronze busts, dusty books, family archives, and special photographs. He invites us to learn more about people that impacted his life: his grandmother, his parents, his brother, a life-long friend... You get the idea.
The book is beautifully written. The man can absolutely turn a phrase ("I do not bring my mother back for fear that she will be too much for me. Maybe I do not bring my father back for fear that he will be too little. Or that I will be."), albeit sometimes with an unnecessarily literary flourish. I guess the flaw in the book was that I never really grew to care about the people that Buechner wanted me to read about. He didn't draw me in (with the notable exception of his broken and twisted mother and his saintly grandmother). This was a book that was beautifully written book about a subject matter that the author could not ultimately bring me to care about.
I was also intrigued by what I had previously read about Buechner's faith. He was a minister in a New England WASPy context, so I give him credit for swimming upstream. In a world of intelligentsia in the burned over region of the country, he had the audacity to proclaim to be a follower of Jesus. Kudos for that, Freddy. Yet, his own testimony left me wanting more. His writing dabbles in eastern mysticism, universalism, and a broad-minded religious perspective that is far afield from a thoroughgoing biblical worldview. In the end, his faith felt like a condiment, not the meat of the entree.
So, to recap: a beautifully written book about nothing with notes of heresy. But I still think I'm going to read other books of his. Maybe I just need to order differently off the menu.
May 18, 2020
An intimate look at the author's family, life and death, with lots of hopeful insights. It had its meandering moments along with the poignant ones. I haven't read the other volumes of his memoirs, and accidentally came across this one. The library moments were excellent.
June 21, 2024
I have three pages left to finish the book and feel compelled to write this as I wipe a tear from my eye. I interrupted reading Buechner’s memoir when a library book for which I had been waiting became available, and now that I am back to this one, I’m committing to re-read it immediately from start to finish. It’s deep, and rich, and insightful…with unexpected turns and admissions. Not a book for everyone, but I think it has power to change a reader for the good.
August 11, 2013
I really like the warm heart and practical wisdom of Buechner. There were two particularly sad passages in this book. "I wonder what will happen, when I die, to all the marvelous books I've been collecting all my life, because none of my children seem to have any particular interest in them, and to all the old family letters and documents and photographs I have amassed and filed away in the little entrance room along with the diaries I have kept for the past 40years or so with their relentless and nearly uillegible account of where we went and who went with us and what we did when we got there." Buechner has three daughters, but he has also given some of his 'papers' to Wheaton College. Maybe they will want more.
About his mother: "The sadness of other people's lives, even the people she loved, never seemed to touch her where she lived. I don't know why. It wasn't that she had a hard heart, I think -- in many ways she was warm, sympathetic, generous -- but that she had a heart that for one reason or another she kept permanently closed to other people's suffering, as well as to the darkest corners of her own."
About his mother: "The sadness of other people's lives, even the people she loved, never seemed to touch her where she lived. I don't know why. It wasn't that she had a hard heart, I think -- in many ways she was warm, sympathetic, generous -- but that she had a heart that for one reason or another she kept permanently closed to other people's suffering, as well as to the darkest corners of her own."
April 15, 2023
I've never read all of Buechner's memoirs; I didn't even know four existed until I picked up a copy of Eyes of the Heart, the only Buechner book they carry at my local library. This broke me out of a longstanding reading funk, where nothing has been able to hold my attention. Maybe I shouldn't remark on this since I haven't read the others, but I think it says a lot about the man Buechner was that his "autobiography" consists wholly of portraits of the people he loved the most—concluding with God. He'd probably say otherwise, but my guess is that if you were among those people, you'd have experienced a pretty exceptional depth of loyalty and affection. Per usual, there was nothing shallow or even sentimental here, but a lot of beauty. I feel revived after reading this, even though so much of it had to do with death and what might await us after it.
June 17, 2007
Wonderful writing - Buechner opens his heart and shares his hidden fears and loves.
April 13, 2024
I became acquainted with the late Frederick Buechner in 2014 when I read ‘The Alphabet of Grace.’ Buechner was an American writer, ordained Presbyterian minister, and theologian. Over the past ten years, I have been encouraged by his writing and was saddened when he died at age 96 on August 15, 2022.
The Eyes of the Heart is his fourth memoir. Written when he was in his seventies, it contains his meditations on death and offers a candid account of his relationship with family members. I was often moved by the elegiac and tender quality of his meditations.
Buechner walked us through his library, affectionately called his ‘Magic Kingdom,’ where his impressive collection of books, manuscripts, mementoes, and family photo albums became the stimuli for summoning up memories of his loved ones and his reflections on his Christian faith.
Because I esteemed Buechner highly, I was keen to learn more about his personal life. I like knowing that he had a wonderful relationship with his maternal grandmother, Naya, who shared his love of reading. Naya could quote poetry at the drop of a hat. In contrast, he had a complex relationship with his mother who was complaining, whiny, and hard to please. I caught a glimpse of his struggles and felt better about my own. More importantly, on a day when I needed it most, I took a page out of his difficult interaction with his mother, learned from him, and made it my own.
Buechner wrote about his childhood friend, the poet Jimmy (James) Merrill. They could not have been more different from each other. In Buechner’s own words: “Jimmy, gay, a poet, an intellectual, a citizen of the world, and I straight, a minister (of all things), bookish…” They were bound by their love for each other’s mothers and grandmothers, admiration for each other’s literary efforts, but as adults, they drifted apart and hardly knew each other. Yet, when Jimmy was dying, Buechner was one of three people he called to say goodbye.
When Buechner was ten years old, his father who was a manic-depressive alcoholic committed suicide. Buechner wrote about his grief, which he could not process for more than sixty years. In many ways, this memoir allowed him to work through his grief. Buechner also paid a loving tribute to his brother Jamie whom he bullied as a child but with whom he developed a lifelong closeness after the death of their father.
Book lovers may find pleasure in visiting Buechner’s library. He wondered about what would happen to all the books he had been collecting all his life after he died. Books for him were objects of veneration. Amongst many classics, Buechner owned a first edition of Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye,’ 'The Chronicles of Narnia' and the Oz books, and everything William Maxwell had ever written (including his long-out-of-print first novel, ‘Bright Center of Heaven,’). He prized the autographed copy of T.S. Eliot’s poems and essays which were lectures he attended during his senior year at Princeton. Among the treasures was the copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’ in which his father penned a final note to his mother.
Buechner was incredibly well-read. I appreciated knowing Buechner’s admiration for Anthony Trollope. Buechner opined that Trollope “was incapable of creating real villains. He knew too much about what made them who they were, understood too well that we are all of us flawed.” I should read Trollope one day.
I shall close with a prayer Buechner wrote for his dying brother at the latter’s request:
“Dear Lord, bring me through darkness into light. Bring me through pain into peace. Bring me through death into life. Be with me wherever I go, and with everyone I love. In Christ‘s name I ask it. Amen.”
In all likelihood, this too was Buechner’s last prayer.
The Eyes of the Heart is his fourth memoir. Written when he was in his seventies, it contains his meditations on death and offers a candid account of his relationship with family members. I was often moved by the elegiac and tender quality of his meditations.
Buechner walked us through his library, affectionately called his ‘Magic Kingdom,’ where his impressive collection of books, manuscripts, mementoes, and family photo albums became the stimuli for summoning up memories of his loved ones and his reflections on his Christian faith.
Because I esteemed Buechner highly, I was keen to learn more about his personal life. I like knowing that he had a wonderful relationship with his maternal grandmother, Naya, who shared his love of reading. Naya could quote poetry at the drop of a hat. In contrast, he had a complex relationship with his mother who was complaining, whiny, and hard to please. I caught a glimpse of his struggles and felt better about my own. More importantly, on a day when I needed it most, I took a page out of his difficult interaction with his mother, learned from him, and made it my own.
Buechner wrote about his childhood friend, the poet Jimmy (James) Merrill. They could not have been more different from each other. In Buechner’s own words: “Jimmy, gay, a poet, an intellectual, a citizen of the world, and I straight, a minister (of all things), bookish…” They were bound by their love for each other’s mothers and grandmothers, admiration for each other’s literary efforts, but as adults, they drifted apart and hardly knew each other. Yet, when Jimmy was dying, Buechner was one of three people he called to say goodbye.
When Buechner was ten years old, his father who was a manic-depressive alcoholic committed suicide. Buechner wrote about his grief, which he could not process for more than sixty years. In many ways, this memoir allowed him to work through his grief. Buechner also paid a loving tribute to his brother Jamie whom he bullied as a child but with whom he developed a lifelong closeness after the death of their father.
Book lovers may find pleasure in visiting Buechner’s library. He wondered about what would happen to all the books he had been collecting all his life after he died. Books for him were objects of veneration. Amongst many classics, Buechner owned a first edition of Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye,’ 'The Chronicles of Narnia' and the Oz books, and everything William Maxwell had ever written (including his long-out-of-print first novel, ‘Bright Center of Heaven,’). He prized the autographed copy of T.S. Eliot’s poems and essays which were lectures he attended during his senior year at Princeton. Among the treasures was the copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’ in which his father penned a final note to his mother.
Buechner was incredibly well-read. I appreciated knowing Buechner’s admiration for Anthony Trollope. Buechner opined that Trollope “was incapable of creating real villains. He knew too much about what made them who they were, understood too well that we are all of us flawed.” I should read Trollope one day.
I shall close with a prayer Buechner wrote for his dying brother at the latter’s request:
“Dear Lord, bring me through darkness into light. Bring me through pain into peace. Bring me through death into life. Be with me wherever I go, and with everyone I love. In Christ‘s name I ask it. Amen.”
In all likelihood, this too was Buechner’s last prayer.
October 7, 2022
Round up to 3.5 stars.
I hadn't heard of this author until my cousin mentioned that he was my cousin's favorite. I am glad that I read this book, for several reasons.
1) Some of the writing was so lovely, it was worth savoring, re-reading certain sentences. I appreciate that - it seems increasingly hard to find. But I wish that he had worked with a sensitive editor. I am patient with rambling, in fact it can be a helpful tool, but my sensibility wished for a tighter focus much of the time.
2) It helped me understand my cousin better.
3) I was brought up Methodist around a lot of Presbyterians, but as a young adult I found Judaism, to my ever-changing but everlasting gratitude. It's important, though, to keep an ecumenical openness. I appreciate serious Christians who listen seriously to thoughtful, Jewishly-educated Jews, and I aim to return the favor. I pick up wisdom wherever I find it.
4) A lot of my cultural background and family history matched that of the author (although I am a generation younger), and I loved his stigma-bashing openness about human imperfections. Some readers have challenged his revealing family secrets, but I think more harm than good comes from family "privacy." Sure, there may be memoirists who are off-base, even mentally ill, but if you wish to keep your good reputation, then be excessively kind to all creatures - then, if you cross paths with a memoirist, you'll be portrayed favorably.
Despite all of these reasons, there are only 3.5 stars here. Why? It was only because of my cousin that I persisted in finishing this book. I appreciated it, but didn't love it, and I am not eager to read more of this author - too many other books I'd rather read first.
I hadn't heard of this author until my cousin mentioned that he was my cousin's favorite. I am glad that I read this book, for several reasons.
1) Some of the writing was so lovely, it was worth savoring, re-reading certain sentences. I appreciate that - it seems increasingly hard to find. But I wish that he had worked with a sensitive editor. I am patient with rambling, in fact it can be a helpful tool, but my sensibility wished for a tighter focus much of the time.
2) It helped me understand my cousin better.
3) I was brought up Methodist around a lot of Presbyterians, but as a young adult I found Judaism, to my ever-changing but everlasting gratitude. It's important, though, to keep an ecumenical openness. I appreciate serious Christians who listen seriously to thoughtful, Jewishly-educated Jews, and I aim to return the favor. I pick up wisdom wherever I find it.
4) A lot of my cultural background and family history matched that of the author (although I am a generation younger), and I loved his stigma-bashing openness about human imperfections. Some readers have challenged his revealing family secrets, but I think more harm than good comes from family "privacy." Sure, there may be memoirists who are off-base, even mentally ill, but if you wish to keep your good reputation, then be excessively kind to all creatures - then, if you cross paths with a memoirist, you'll be portrayed favorably.
Despite all of these reasons, there are only 3.5 stars here. Why? It was only because of my cousin that I persisted in finishing this book. I appreciated it, but didn't love it, and I am not eager to read more of this author - too many other books I'd rather read first.
June 14, 2018
It's Buechner - the beloved Buechner (as I heard someone describe him the other day) - it gets four stars at least, even before you've finished reading the first page.
I reckon I could read him writing about anything and end up feeling like it was reading time well spent. He's an artist, a true writer.
This book is beautifully set in his study library (aka the 'Magic Kingdom'), the different objects and books bringing to life memories and visions of those he loved and loves.
As in his other three memoirs, he circles back on key life experiences and people, elaborating more and viewing them from different angles and in different lights.
He seems a bit discombobulated in this one. Conscious of his age and wondering how much longer he's got. More speculative about what lies beyond, even unorthodox. Then, in his inimitable way he peacefully and hopefully lands it in the depth of faith.
The question he had in 1999 (when this book was published) about how much longer he might have on earth remains unanswered. The beloved one is still with us, aged 91. We'll miss him when he's gone, but his autobiographical works will keep him alive to us and known for years to come.
I reckon I could read him writing about anything and end up feeling like it was reading time well spent. He's an artist, a true writer.
This book is beautifully set in his study library (aka the 'Magic Kingdom'), the different objects and books bringing to life memories and visions of those he loved and loves.
As in his other three memoirs, he circles back on key life experiences and people, elaborating more and viewing them from different angles and in different lights.
He seems a bit discombobulated in this one. Conscious of his age and wondering how much longer he's got. More speculative about what lies beyond, even unorthodox. Then, in his inimitable way he peacefully and hopefully lands it in the depth of faith.
The question he had in 1999 (when this book was published) about how much longer he might have on earth remains unanswered. The beloved one is still with us, aged 91. We'll miss him when he's gone, but his autobiographical works will keep him alive to us and known for years to come.
May 18, 2017
Another in a series of spiritual autobiographies/memoirs by Buechner in which he weaves reflections on faith and hope into the story of his life. In this one he spends significant time on the past lives of his grand and great grandparents and how his life is connected to theirs. The setting is his library/ study which also contains many objects of memorabilia. He artfully uses these objects as touchstones to begin his reminiscences. Parts of them have appeared in earlier books and as such I think this one is not one of his best. As always, however, Buechner writes with clarity, honesty and emotion. He is such a good writer that any of his books, no exception in this present instance, will have ample rewards.
October 17, 2019
One of Buechner's slower books. He walks readers through his (glorious-sounding) library and study, letting books and mementos serve as springboards into stories of the relationships that have addled and sustained him over his life. The excellent last chapter takes on a directness I was missing through much of the book. He describes how he discovered, after the age of 70, the pleasure of talking to strangers with a frankness he used to risk only with close friends.
"... It has been my experience that the risks are far outweighed by the rewards, chief of which is that when you speak to strangers as though they are friends, more often than not, if only for as long as the encounter lasts, they become friends, and if in the process they also think of you as a little peculiar, who cares?"
"... It has been my experience that the risks are far outweighed by the rewards, chief of which is that when you speak to strangers as though they are friends, more often than not, if only for as long as the encounter lasts, they become friends, and if in the process they also think of you as a little peculiar, who cares?"
December 30, 2020
According to Buechner, this book is the fourth in his series of memoirs. Naturally, this final memoir focuses much on memories and mortality, both his and those he has loved in his long life. In the book he speaks often to and of his dead grandmother. The conversations between them are intimate as is the entire book. By showing us around his home office, he tells the stories of many things and books he has collected over his life. He calls this room "The Magic Kingdom." I hope to one day have a room with such things that bring joy to me and help me to remember the people in my life that have loved me into being. I enjoyed this book, especially Buechner's wisdom and of course his writing.
September 1, 2022
I was inspired to start reading Frederich Buechner's books after reading his obituary a couple of weeks ago in the New York Times. I frankly was not familiar with him, but the description of his life and works inspired me to order this memoir. I read it nearly straight through because I felt such a bond with the man. His spiritual teachings are not heavy handed and his love for family and friends was so deeply held. I plan to read all of his works now. There is nothing quite as rewarding as discovering a great author--he led such a long and marvelous life. And as one reviewer said of his writing "profound, beautiful, yet unpretentious."
February 17, 2023
A solemn memoir of Buechner's complex and often painful family relationships, and how the sadness of it created fears within himself:
"I have never risked much in disclosing the little I have of the worst that I see in my mirror, and I have not been much more daring in disclosing the best. I have seen with the eyes of my heart the great hope to which he has called us, but out of some shyness or diffidence I rarely speak of it, and in my books I have tended to write about it for the most part only obliquely, hesitantly, ambiguously, for fear of losing the ear and straining the credulity of the readers to whom such hope seems just wishful thinking."
"I have never risked much in disclosing the little I have of the worst that I see in my mirror, and I have not been much more daring in disclosing the best. I have seen with the eyes of my heart the great hope to which he has called us, but out of some shyness or diffidence I rarely speak of it, and in my books I have tended to write about it for the most part only obliquely, hesitantly, ambiguously, for fear of losing the ear and straining the credulity of the readers to whom such hope seems just wishful thinking."
September 26, 2023
I've enjoyed (and argued with) other books by Buechner. This one, mostly based on memories inspired by his home library, is really touching. I particularly savored the ease with which he wrote about encounters -- imagined or not-- with his long-dead grandmother Naya. In one scene she sat by the window knitting and scoffed at Buechner's questions about death. Here's part of her answer.
"It is the world that passes away," and flutters one hand delicately through the air to show the manner of its passing." She goes on to describe her own experience of death. "I could feel the world gradually slowly down more and more until one night...I realized it was finally slow enough for me to get off, and that is just what I proceeded to do. It was rather like getting off a streetcar before it has quite come to a stop---a little jolt when my foot first struck the pavement, and then the world clanged its bell and went rattling off down the tracks without me."
"It is the world that passes away," and flutters one hand delicately through the air to show the manner of its passing." She goes on to describe her own experience of death. "I could feel the world gradually slowly down more and more until one night...I realized it was finally slow enough for me to get off, and that is just what I proceeded to do. It was rather like getting off a streetcar before it has quite come to a stop---a little jolt when my foot first struck the pavement, and then the world clanged its bell and went rattling off down the tracks without me."
December 14, 2021
Not exactly a page turner if you’re looking for that. Fred takes a little work :) Buechner is so authentic and unpretentious in his faith, it is so refreshing. I am leery of writers who come at me with all the answers. Buechner instead shares his questions with us, and also the glimpses of beauty he has received in response over the years. His writing is smart, and funny, a bit self-deprecating. There were at least a handful of golden nuggets of wisdom and beauty in here amidst his humble ruminations. I’m glad I read this.
June 17, 2019
The fourth book of Frederick Buecher’s memoirs. As with the second book, I did not think this book reached to the level of book three or book one. It is good but just not the over the top goodness of the earlier books. Quite a bit of this work dealt with the deaths of prominent members of Buechner’s family. If one spends time reading the earlier memoirs definitely need to finish out with this work...SLT
May 23, 2024
I got impatient with this book, took a long time reading it and thought for much of it that I would rate it 4 stars, but the last two chapters are wonderful and I rated it the 5 stars I would have expected on a Buechner book. I didn't like the slow moving stories of his personal library (interesting twist on a memoir) but the conclusion made the reading all worthwhile.
June 11, 2025
Buechner was capable of such depth and nuance in his short, but accessible memoirs. This is his last one and it understandably spends a lot of time with the most important people in his life that have died and what he has discovered from their time together and the departure of their physical presence from his life. His writing is graceful, honest, respectful. What more can one ask?
November 28, 2018
This was the perfect book for me to read after the direct stab to the heart I felt when I reached the last two pages of The House at Riverton. Buechner writes like an angel, and he writes about God in a way that strips out all the junk additives of conventional religious dogma.
January 7, 2020
If I see Frederick Buechner has written something, I read it. He is just an excellent, inspirational writer who challenges me to think about life and to evaluate my lifetime beliefs--and he always encourages me as he shares his insights about his own life.
September 16, 2022
This book was published when the author was 72 and wondering how many years he had left. (Many.) A meditation on life and the prospect of death and eternity, the reading of this book was all the more poignant considering Buechner died just a month ago. Now he knows.
January 14, 2023
A lovely and honest memoir of his growing up years with a father who committed suicide and a mother who was pretty much unhinged. He and his brother became very close. A recounting of the thousands of books and letters and mementoes he has in a special room of his house.
December 28, 2023
This was interesting in the way that everyone's life is an interesting story. Buechner was definitely feeling his mortality as he wrote, wanting things that were important to him to be remembered. I was expecting something far more philosophical based on other reviews.
November 10, 2017
There are a few flashes of really insightful and evocative writing about grief and death, but in general this is not the best Buechner. Not even the best memoir.
November 6, 2018
I really liked the first three of his memoirs, but this one was a bit repetitive of the others and didn't strike me in the same way.
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