Niche review time! I wish it weren't so niche, actually - I think KWT has an awful lot to recommend it, and not just to knitters.
I have read Knitting Without Tears cover-to-cover twice in the four-ish years since I got my own copy of it. I dip into it every few months; it's dog-eared and scribbled in, and I've lent it out to at least two other new-ish knitters (usually just after I've taught them to knit for themselves). This is because it is fantastic, in every respect. Clever, readable, fearless.
Knitters - social knitters, at least - know Elizabeth Zimmermann. Born in the UK, swiftly relocated to the US, EZ (as she is affectionately known) revitalised knitting, and especially the genre of books associated with getting better at it. Largely self-taught, she invented or discovered or otherwise put together an astonishing number of techniques, patterns, and recipes for garments - which wouldn't be particularly unusual, except that what makes Zimmermann different is that she wrote a load of them down. What is even more unusual is her writing style: where most vintage patterns resemble nothing so much as the Rosetta Stone, EZ wrote clearly, wittily, engagingly. When you read her books, you feel like you can do anything.
The patterns aren't even the half of it.
"The Books don't know everything," she insists at one point. "They know a great deal, but not everything... If it doesn't make sense in your particular circumstances, pay no attention to it; seek further. There are scores of different ways of doing things in knitting, and none of them are wrong, but they are sometimes unsuitable."
She's right, of course, and the more I think about it, the more I think growing up as a knitter has shaped me as a person. Knitting makes you resourceful. It helps you conceptualize problems, and think around them. It makes you unafraid in the face of failure, because all you have to do is take the needles out, rip it back, and start again. Knitting is the skill of the autodidact: if you're not one when you start, you will be after a few months. This book is a masterclass in that. "This is almost the only measuring and deciding you will have to do for yourself," says Zimmermann, half a page into her instructions for a yoked sweater, "and it is important to do it accurately and conscientiously. Otherwise you may sup the porridge of regret with the spoon of sorrow."
She's talking about shaping the waistline for a sweater. I tell you, I would go for tea with this woman. I would be her friend, by which I mean, I would join her knitting group.
Knitting Without Tears was published in in 1971, at the height of second wave feminism. And while knitting, in Zimmermann's world, might not explicitly be a feminist act, her book certainly has not-so-subtle undertones of taking the expertise of generations of women, and making something powerful with it. She knits because she loves it, she shares information because it's intellectually satisfying, and above all, fun. She admits to borrowing ideas from other knitters when she meets them ("All right; they were going to copy my sweater; I would pick up their weaving idea. Was this resourcefulness or just plain thievery?") and my favourite thing about the whole book is the sense of history, of women doing women's work, throughout the decades and the centuries, sharing it with each other and making it better. We may, these days, have not very much idea about what a woman in 17th century Britain was doing with her day-to-day, but I don't wonder that knitters might know a little bit more than most people.
"Good rigid needles," she notes, about aluminium knitting needles. "A #6 aluminium needle has been known to furnish an excellent emergency shearpin for an outboard motor. It once saved us seven miles of paddling."
I love this book. It's a must for the knitting-conversant, and (I think) also for people with the vaguest interest in women's history. It's far more than a pattern book, although the patterns are good too. (I've made two yoked, two-and-a-half raglan, and one saddle-shouldered sweater from her instructions to date. The last is a bit dodgy at the underarm, but the raglan is one of my go-to favourites. If you're a knitter and you care about such things.)
I wish more people would pick it up, as a piece of history as much as anything else. Perhaps I can convince you.