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American Lives
A Certain Loneliness: A Memoir
After contracting polio as a child, Sandra Gail Lambert progressed from braces and crutches to a manual wheelchair to a power wheelchair—but loneliness has remained a constant, from the wild claustrophobia of a child in body casts to just yesterday, trapped at home, gasping from pain. A Certain Loneliness is a meditative and engaging memoir-in-essays that explores the intersection of disability, queerness, and female desire with frankness and humor.
Lambert presents the adventures of flourishing within a world of uncertain kayaking alone through swamps with alligators; negotiating planes, trains, and ski lifts; scoring free drugs from dangerous men; getting trapped in a too-deep snow drift without crutches. A Certain Loneliness is literature of the body, palpable and present, in which Lambert’s lifelong struggle with isolation and independence—complete with tiresome frustrations, slapstick moments, and grand triumphs—are wound up in the long history of humanity’s relationship to the natural world.
Lambert presents the adventures of flourishing within a world of uncertain kayaking alone through swamps with alligators; negotiating planes, trains, and ski lifts; scoring free drugs from dangerous men; getting trapped in a too-deep snow drift without crutches. A Certain Loneliness is literature of the body, palpable and present, in which Lambert’s lifelong struggle with isolation and independence—complete with tiresome frustrations, slapstick moments, and grand triumphs—are wound up in the long history of humanity’s relationship to the natural world.
210 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2018
5 people are currently reading
238 people want to read
About the author
Sandra Gail Lambert
8 books34 followersSandra Gail Lambert writes about the intersections of disability, queerness, and aging. She's the author of the Lambda Literary Award winning My Withered Legs and Other Essays and the memoir A Certain Loneliness as well as two novels—The River's Memory and The Sacrifice Zone: An Environmental Thriller. Her work is widely anthologized and has been published by The New York Times, The Sun, Orion, Uncharted, and Narratively. Lambert lives in Florida close to her beloved rivers and swamps. .
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Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews
May 23, 2018
This is a collection of essays beautifully woven together to form Sandra Lambert’s memoir. Sandra is a writer, outdoorswoman, kayaking camper, bookmaker, weaver, environmentalist and activist. Having contracted Polio in early childhood, she tells her story with humour, poignancy and an honesty that floored me.
I’ve been trying to write this review for two days now and I really don’t seem to be getting anywhere. The reason is that this memoir has affected me and I don’t know how to express what it has made me feel without opening up. I write sentences then delete them because they seem tacky and shallow so let me start by saying that I chose to read it because I liked the cover and title. The description sounded interesting and, while I very rarely read non-fiction or biographies, it’s about a lesbian so if nothing else, at least I can relate to that. What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional engagement. Because my words are lacking here are a few excerpts that struck me.
I was immensely irritated at the thoughtlessness of strangers when she’s accosted in the laundromat:
But I also realised that I’ve probably been guilty of the same runaway mouth and insensitivity. Then I shook my head in disbelief that someone who works with people in wheelchairs could even think this:
And I was absolutely rooting for the wheelchair to be snapped forward.
There is also a lot of humour and one passage reminded me so much of the awkwardness I had as a child of having to dispose of sanitary towels:
The essays are not always chronological but I found I had a good idea of the approximate era by the described method of mobility. Lambert develops post-polio syndrome in her thirties which is degeneration of muscles not affected by the first polio illness, exhaustion with minimal effort and progressive joint weakness and pain. She doesn’t let it hold her back but her sense of humour failure directly correlates to the level of pain she is experiencing.
This is a wonderful and powerful read which has given me hope, and for that I am grateful.
Book received from Netgalley and University of Nebraska Press for an honest review.
I’ve been trying to write this review for two days now and I really don’t seem to be getting anywhere. The reason is that this memoir has affected me and I don’t know how to express what it has made me feel without opening up. I write sentences then delete them because they seem tacky and shallow so let me start by saying that I chose to read it because I liked the cover and title. The description sounded interesting and, while I very rarely read non-fiction or biographies, it’s about a lesbian so if nothing else, at least I can relate to that. What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional engagement. Because my words are lacking here are a few excerpts that struck me.
I was immensely irritated at the thoughtlessness of strangers when she’s accosted in the laundromat:
“’My niece, poor thing – it’s a tragedy for her parents really.
She’s afflicted like you. It’s a miracle the way you do for yourself like this, and I’m going to tell them I saw you. It’ll give them a little hope. Now my brother’s wife, she’s a saint.’”
But I also realised that I’ve probably been guilty of the same runaway mouth and insensitivity. Then I shook my head in disbelief that someone who works with people in wheelchairs could even think this:
“The man who fitted my wheelchair, as he kneeled in front of me to check the length of my thighs, should his head, tsked, and told me that I should try not to become lazy. I grabbed the wheels and wondered if it would break his nose if I snapped the wheelchair forward.”
And I was absolutely rooting for the wheelchair to be snapped forward.
There is also a lot of humour and one passage reminded me so much of the awkwardness I had as a child of having to dispose of sanitary towels:
“Instead of the privacy of the narrow hallway, my mother instructed me to wrap the used pad in toilet paper and slip it to her in the kitchen. She was appalled when I tried, in front of my grandfather, father, and sister, to discreetly hand her something that was almost the size of a shoebox. I may have overdone the toilet paper.”
The essays are not always chronological but I found I had a good idea of the approximate era by the described method of mobility. Lambert develops post-polio syndrome in her thirties which is degeneration of muscles not affected by the first polio illness, exhaustion with minimal effort and progressive joint weakness and pain. She doesn’t let it hold her back but her sense of humour failure directly correlates to the level of pain she is experiencing.
This is a wonderful and powerful read which has given me hope, and for that I am grateful.
Book received from Netgalley and University of Nebraska Press for an honest review.
June 4, 2019
I picked it on my Kindle, not remembering why it was there but because the title felt so poetic it called me.
From sentence one, you know you are going in deep water.
And that's how the book is written, like the play of waves, from memory of childhood to memory of adulthood, from despair to hope, from pain to relief, from willingness to please to rage, and back and forth, like a river.
This memoir is beautiful, relentless, difficult, and shaming.
You feel the shame of not questionning a world where people have to hide their pain or have to justify it. You look around you and you realized how so many disabled people are NOT in the public places.
How you may have been the one to look away embarassed once or twice or more, or seen people grabbing a disabled person and said nothing because the able bodied one seemed NICE, while prattling and pawing someone without asking for CONSENT**, and so on.
** the second scene illustrate this in such an organic way, it felt like a slap in a good way, like a waking up call
From sentence one, you know you are going in deep water.
And that's how the book is written, like the play of waves, from memory of childhood to memory of adulthood, from despair to hope, from pain to relief, from willingness to please to rage, and back and forth, like a river.
This memoir is beautiful, relentless, difficult, and shaming.
You feel the shame of not questionning a world where people have to hide their pain or have to justify it. You look around you and you realized how so many disabled people are NOT in the public places.
How you may have been the one to look away embarassed once or twice or more, or seen people grabbing a disabled person and said nothing because the able bodied one seemed NICE, while prattling and pawing someone without asking for CONSENT**, and so on.
** the second scene illustrate this in such an organic way, it felt like a slap in a good way, like a waking up call
June 2, 2019
(3.5) A memoir in 29 essays about living with the effects of severe polio. Most of the pieces were previously published in literary magazines. While not all are specifically about her disability, the challenges of life in a wheelchair seep in whether she’s writing about managing a feminist bookstore or going on camping and kayaking adventures in Florida’s swamps. In 1987 she gave up her crutches to use a wheelchair exclusively, at age 35. This was around the same time she qualified for a disability allowance. Life now required planning ahead, accepting help and making adjustments, as she moved from a scooter-type wheelchair to an automated one. She adopted a dog while caring for her dying mother and continued to host dinner parties, which were extremely hard work but very rewarding. On the other hand, she had to give up her bookbinding hobby.
My few favorite essays were about being swarmed by mosquitoes in the Everglades, a menstruation history provoked by her last period at age 50, and an account of a trip to Santa Fe with a legally blind friend – her first time on a plane in 20 years. I was reminded at times of Constellations by Sinéad Gleeson. Some moments of bitterness marred my enjoyment, and I didn’t always think the personal and nature writing fit together. I do like how she writes about the natural world, though: “The butter cream blooms of swamp bay send a lemon sweetness over the water.”
(From the University of Nebraska Press’s American Lives series, edited by Tobias Wolff.)
My few favorite essays were about being swarmed by mosquitoes in the Everglades, a menstruation history provoked by her last period at age 50, and an account of a trip to Santa Fe with a legally blind friend – her first time on a plane in 20 years. I was reminded at times of Constellations by Sinéad Gleeson. Some moments of bitterness marred my enjoyment, and I didn’t always think the personal and nature writing fit together. I do like how she writes about the natural world, though: “The butter cream blooms of swamp bay send a lemon sweetness over the water.”
(From the University of Nebraska Press’s American Lives series, edited by Tobias Wolff.)
August 31, 2018
This is a beautiful memoir, telling the story of growing up and living as an adult with injuries from polio. In a world that tried to force her into passivity, Lambert always fiercely cultivated and protected her agency.
Her childhood was filled with physical pain and the pain when able-bodied children did not accept her. American doctor said she needed to minimize physical activity, but fortunately she was growing up in Norway, where a doctor said she needed to learn to swim.
Her desire for nature has always been a major force in her life. From making herself tumble down a snowy slope at a ski resort when she was a child to becoming an excellent swimmer to kayaking alone through the Okefenokee Swamp, Lambert has pushed herself to be in nature. As a able-bodied person who also loves nature but faces far fewer challenges to be in it, I relished her passion for nature. She has spent much time kayaking in Florida, including kayaking alone when she's had to crawl to and from the kayak. I have kayaked in Florida, though not alone, and I loved the evocation of kayaking through bird-filled waters.
Lambert tells what a challenge it has been for her to cope with extreme physical pain as well as limitations on where she can go. Time and again she has had to readjust as her body changes. Having to give up working at a feminist bookstore was hard for her, and later having to give up bookbinding.
She skewers people who have condescended to her, especially religious people who have tried to force their religion on her. She also tells about the pain caused by people who want to be friends but don't put ramps on their homes so she can enter and about failed love relationships. But she has preserved her lesbian sexuality and in the acknowledgements tells about her wife.
I'll say it again : This is a beautiful book.
Her childhood was filled with physical pain and the pain when able-bodied children did not accept her. American doctor said she needed to minimize physical activity, but fortunately she was growing up in Norway, where a doctor said she needed to learn to swim.
Her desire for nature has always been a major force in her life. From making herself tumble down a snowy slope at a ski resort when she was a child to becoming an excellent swimmer to kayaking alone through the Okefenokee Swamp, Lambert has pushed herself to be in nature. As a able-bodied person who also loves nature but faces far fewer challenges to be in it, I relished her passion for nature. She has spent much time kayaking in Florida, including kayaking alone when she's had to crawl to and from the kayak. I have kayaked in Florida, though not alone, and I loved the evocation of kayaking through bird-filled waters.
Lambert tells what a challenge it has been for her to cope with extreme physical pain as well as limitations on where she can go. Time and again she has had to readjust as her body changes. Having to give up working at a feminist bookstore was hard for her, and later having to give up bookbinding.
She skewers people who have condescended to her, especially religious people who have tried to force their religion on her. She also tells about the pain caused by people who want to be friends but don't put ramps on their homes so she can enter and about failed love relationships. But she has preserved her lesbian sexuality and in the acknowledgements tells about her wife.
I'll say it again : This is a beautiful book.
March 22, 2020
"Driving over the the washboard ripple of a dirt road after a rain can shake the topography of a landscape into my bones. Or my kayak will nose into the high-tide openings of salt marshes until maiden cane tangles in the paddle and black needlerush leans in to itch over my knuckles. Sometimes I search out the narrow reaches of black-water creeks, where leather fern spores bronze my shoulders."
This is an astonishingly beautiful memoir. The writing is strong and graceful. The descriptions of the swamps are just stunning. And then, more than just gorgeous descriptions, you follow through the author's life as she learns to accept living within certain limitations while never giving in to the idea of confinement. "Rolling in Mud,""I Am Here in This Morning Light," and "Pride Goeth" were absolutely stunning essays/chapters.
Although Lambert is wheel chair bound throughout most of the book (from degenerative effects of childhood polio), she does things that would pause most able-bodied adults. Kayaks solo through the Okefenokee swamps. Makes a solitary camping pilgrimage to the Everglades. In many of these experiences I felt like I was in a split screen. Right there with her crawling through the mud to reach the wheelchair. And then again, I felt like one of the people watching. It's uncomfortable and honest storytelling at times, and throughout the memoir I came to terms with how little most of us think about disabilities, or what disabled people do to maintain a sense of autonomy and normalcy.
Strangest thing, by the end of the book I felt emptier than this author. Her connection and to the outdoors is greater than mine. Her satisfaction at a predawn paddle on the Okefenokee is greater. Her knowledge of herself, of others' reactions, and acceptance of her physicality, ageing, sickness, etc. is greater. Perseverance and coping skills... much, much greater. I just became sort of grateful to listen to whatever she had to say. I will continue to listen, as well as look forward to, whatever comes next.
This is an astonishingly beautiful memoir. The writing is strong and graceful. The descriptions of the swamps are just stunning. And then, more than just gorgeous descriptions, you follow through the author's life as she learns to accept living within certain limitations while never giving in to the idea of confinement. "Rolling in Mud,""I Am Here in This Morning Light," and "Pride Goeth" were absolutely stunning essays/chapters.
Although Lambert is wheel chair bound throughout most of the book (from degenerative effects of childhood polio), she does things that would pause most able-bodied adults. Kayaks solo through the Okefenokee swamps. Makes a solitary camping pilgrimage to the Everglades. In many of these experiences I felt like I was in a split screen. Right there with her crawling through the mud to reach the wheelchair. And then again, I felt like one of the people watching. It's uncomfortable and honest storytelling at times, and throughout the memoir I came to terms with how little most of us think about disabilities, or what disabled people do to maintain a sense of autonomy and normalcy.
Strangest thing, by the end of the book I felt emptier than this author. Her connection and to the outdoors is greater than mine. Her satisfaction at a predawn paddle on the Okefenokee is greater. Her knowledge of herself, of others' reactions, and acceptance of her physicality, ageing, sickness, etc. is greater. Perseverance and coping skills... much, much greater. I just became sort of grateful to listen to whatever she had to say. I will continue to listen, as well as look forward to, whatever comes next.
March 16, 2021
This is an amazing and moving memoir from one of the most talented and skilled writers I've ever encountered.
December 28, 2018
Exquisitely written and deeply felt, this little memoir balances perfectly in the intersection of womanhood, disability, and queerness. It took me several false starts and roughly 30 pages to get into it, but once I did it became impossible to put down.
August 21, 2021
This is a beautiful, sometimes funny series of essays about nature, disability, and friendship. Highly recommended.
February 17, 2019
This is a beautifully written memoir. It’s tactile, dynamic, and it places us fully both in the author’s body and in her surroundings. Particularly vivid are the chapters describing the Florida swamps – the water, the birds, the movement of the kayak, the feel of the water when she swims. Also vivid are the chapters where Sandra Lambert reveals her negotiations with her own muscles and bones, with time and energy, and with the various aids that she’s used to get around – crutches, manual wheelchairs, and finally a motorized wheelchair.
She mentions later in the book that many of her friends are catching up to her, as they get older, as they try to figure out how to live with physical limitations. Lambert started wearing braces when she was five years old, so she is an old hand at all of this. And so she gets to dispense wisdom. There is a certain wryness in this.
It was an eye-opening book in that it gets very specific about how she gets around in a world designed for two-legged walkers. Sometimes, as I read, I found myself flexing my own arms in the way she described flexing hers. Just moving around demands as much discipline and precision as a martial arts exercise. And she is as rigorous in describing her emotional states, including her ways of dealing with the attitudes of those around her. I had to cheer when she told off the faith-healer lady in the laundromat.
Here’s one of my favorite passages:
< But yes, I keep kayaking, although more and more before each trip, I brace against the thought of how much I’ll hurt later. I pay more attention to the tide schedule and wind speeds, but no matter what, for three days after, I move in slow motion as each muscle I use declares itself in a rising up of pain. I sit and watch television in a blur of fatigue. Still, so far, it’s worth it. I paddle through a salt marsh that smells like the origin of life itself, and the glory of it is not yet an illusion, a memory. It’s still real in the moment, and I’ve learned that in the moment and forever are the same thing. >
She mentions later in the book that many of her friends are catching up to her, as they get older, as they try to figure out how to live with physical limitations. Lambert started wearing braces when she was five years old, so she is an old hand at all of this. And so she gets to dispense wisdom. There is a certain wryness in this.
It was an eye-opening book in that it gets very specific about how she gets around in a world designed for two-legged walkers. Sometimes, as I read, I found myself flexing my own arms in the way she described flexing hers. Just moving around demands as much discipline and precision as a martial arts exercise. And she is as rigorous in describing her emotional states, including her ways of dealing with the attitudes of those around her. I had to cheer when she told off the faith-healer lady in the laundromat.
Here’s one of my favorite passages:
< But yes, I keep kayaking, although more and more before each trip, I brace against the thought of how much I’ll hurt later. I pay more attention to the tide schedule and wind speeds, but no matter what, for three days after, I move in slow motion as each muscle I use declares itself in a rising up of pain. I sit and watch television in a blur of fatigue. Still, so far, it’s worth it. I paddle through a salt marsh that smells like the origin of life itself, and the glory of it is not yet an illusion, a memory. It’s still real in the moment, and I’ve learned that in the moment and forever are the same thing. >
July 28, 2018
I feel incredibly lucky to have a received an electronic copy of this memoir via NetGalley. As a fan of Lambert's fiction and nonfiction, I've looked forward to publication of this book. It has exceeded my expectations.
The memoir shuttles back and forth through time in a way that seems natural and effortless, in much the way that memory itself works. I'd read many of the chapters in the memoir when they were published as essays in journals over the past few years; the arrangement of them into memoir form increases their power. The chapters resonate with one another to create a singular experience of one woman's life. Lambert's specific disappointments, adjustments, longings, and victories are all grounded in the body via astonishingly beautiful prose that reflects her skill as a close observer of nature.
Readers who are able-bodied will learn much from this book about the day-to-day achievements and perspectives of one woman who lives with disability, and that learning is urgently necessary in today's world where access to health care is so precarious, and disabled people are at the forefront of the fight for healthcare for all. That's not to say that Lambert's book can teach able-bodied readers all they need to know about disability. Like all communities, the disability community is diverse. Lambert's vision and experience is unique to her, as are all our lives.
For me, personally, the most affecting parts of the memoir are those that deal with emotional risk, the costs of being in relationship with others, and the bargains made between the mind and the body. It's a brilliant book about the pain and pleasure of being human, about coming to terms with physical limitations in service of a life without limits. Lambert is simply the best memoirist writing today.
The memoir shuttles back and forth through time in a way that seems natural and effortless, in much the way that memory itself works. I'd read many of the chapters in the memoir when they were published as essays in journals over the past few years; the arrangement of them into memoir form increases their power. The chapters resonate with one another to create a singular experience of one woman's life. Lambert's specific disappointments, adjustments, longings, and victories are all grounded in the body via astonishingly beautiful prose that reflects her skill as a close observer of nature.
Readers who are able-bodied will learn much from this book about the day-to-day achievements and perspectives of one woman who lives with disability, and that learning is urgently necessary in today's world where access to health care is so precarious, and disabled people are at the forefront of the fight for healthcare for all. That's not to say that Lambert's book can teach able-bodied readers all they need to know about disability. Like all communities, the disability community is diverse. Lambert's vision and experience is unique to her, as are all our lives.
For me, personally, the most affecting parts of the memoir are those that deal with emotional risk, the costs of being in relationship with others, and the bargains made between the mind and the body. It's a brilliant book about the pain and pleasure of being human, about coming to terms with physical limitations in service of a life without limits. Lambert is simply the best memoirist writing today.
April 21, 2021
I had no idea what to expect when I started reading Sandra Gail Lambert’s memoir, A Certain Loneliness. Even though I’d met the author in 2014 over a lovely dinner in Tampa before I set off on one of my many Olivia Caribbean Cruises, I barely got a chance to know her. She was in her motorized wheelchair at the time, but the reason why she was in the chair was not a subject I focused on. If she mentioned polio, it went in one ear and out the other. Perhaps that was because I was self-focused on my new auto-immune disorder that had knocked me for a loop.
Fast forward 6 years and I finally got a chance to read Sandra’s book. Seeing the photo of childhood Sandra in braces and crutches brought home like a thunderclap the reason why Sandra was in a wheelchair when I met her. Since that dinner, I’ve learned that my father’s cousin was stricken with polio in 1945 and spent 6 months in rehab at Warm Springs, just 6 months after FDR died. So, my awareness was heightened by the time I picked up Sandra’s book. Plus, I’d been living with my own auto-immune disorder for 6 years and had learned the art of adaption, which is much different than Sandra’s but something I could identify with.
I loved the format of the memoir with its short, pithy essays that weave the themes of resilience, love, patience, adaption, frustration, loss, loneliness, and aloneness. I learned so much about living with adversity, accepting one’s limitations gracefully, and attempting to build relationships and community when your instinct is to crawl in a hole, alone. I loved being introduced to the natural habitats of Florida through very funny stories of camping, kayaking and swimming, as well as dealing with the number one predator of the south – mosquitos.
This is not just a memoir; it is a how-to book that everyone who knows someone with a chronic physical and emotional challenge should read to become more thoughtful. As so poignantly revealed through Sandra’s writing, disability does not me weakness. Just the opposite. She is strength personified.
Fast forward 6 years and I finally got a chance to read Sandra’s book. Seeing the photo of childhood Sandra in braces and crutches brought home like a thunderclap the reason why Sandra was in a wheelchair when I met her. Since that dinner, I’ve learned that my father’s cousin was stricken with polio in 1945 and spent 6 months in rehab at Warm Springs, just 6 months after FDR died. So, my awareness was heightened by the time I picked up Sandra’s book. Plus, I’d been living with my own auto-immune disorder for 6 years and had learned the art of adaption, which is much different than Sandra’s but something I could identify with.
I loved the format of the memoir with its short, pithy essays that weave the themes of resilience, love, patience, adaption, frustration, loss, loneliness, and aloneness. I learned so much about living with adversity, accepting one’s limitations gracefully, and attempting to build relationships and community when your instinct is to crawl in a hole, alone. I loved being introduced to the natural habitats of Florida through very funny stories of camping, kayaking and swimming, as well as dealing with the number one predator of the south – mosquitos.
This is not just a memoir; it is a how-to book that everyone who knows someone with a chronic physical and emotional challenge should read to become more thoughtful. As so poignantly revealed through Sandra’s writing, disability does not me weakness. Just the opposite. She is strength personified.
February 4, 2019
This poignant book is mesmerizing from the start, when we are introduced to Ms. Lambert as a child who struggles within the confines of her disability to just be a kid. Her voice is strong and unvarnished, straightforward about her own character flaws, and honest about who she is and what she stands for simply by telling her story. Disability is only a part of who she is, but as her condition worsens, she makes sweeping accommodations to her life described in short sentences that serve to underscore the brave and hopeful choices she made to continue to live a life of meaning. The paradox of this unsentimental little book is that the brevity she uses to convey the reality of her life is the very thing that evoked a rush of empathy and understanding from me as a reader. I was astounded by her love of the natural world, and the lengths she would go to in order to camp and kayak as her body became less and less cooperative with her desires to experience the world. The voices of reason that give conflicting opinions about what she should and shouldn't do are but a background buzz in the book. This amazing woman of substance and intellect sorts through the B.S. and makes her own clear choices. This book may be a masterpiece.
September 17, 2018
I love this book. It may be the best memoir I have ever read. Lambert, who had polio as a child, went from crutches to a mechanical wheelchair to a motorized one. Who knows what will come next, but she does not let it stop her from having adventures for which I lack the courage, even though all my limbs work. Written as a collection of essays, this memoir takes us through the many challenges of being a “different” child, through figuring how to do things in spite of her handicaps, and through the cluelessness of most people about disabilities. We feel her frustration when she can’t visit places with no accessible way for her to get in. We triumph with her as she camps and kayaks and laugh with her at her wardrobe malfunctions. My favorite essay is “The Blind Girl and the Cripple Get on a Place,” in which Lambert and her legally blind friend Beckie travel to New Mexico. Every move is complicated, but it’s worth it in the end. Lambert, also the author of the novel “The River’s Memory,” is a skilled writer. In this book, she holds nothing back, and I feel blessed to know her story.
November 7, 2018
Good writing! A unique life story. An engaging voice. A story of admirable vigor and persistence. There are heartbreaking details (especially about her time as a toddler in the hospital) and the loneliness the title indicates, but also a good bit of humor. If you or anyone you know has dealt with chronic pain or the isolation of being different, read this book. Give it to a friend. There is a generosity to Lambert's telling her life story. All memoirs are basically someone revealing themselves, saying, "Look at this life of mine." But Lambert is also and often saying, "Look at this cool place I found!" She has some lovely, celebratory, sensual descriptions of nature--snow, rivers, bays, swamps--and the solace she finds there. She won my heart with her love of my home state. She will make you rethink the pleasures of swimming. She must have been a Florida otter in her last life.
September 19, 2023
A Certain Loneliness is smart, sharp-minded, witty, and beautifully written. Lambert, a polio survivor, is a passionate outdoorswoman and writes about the joy of kayaking, "paddling through a salt marsh that smells like the origin of life itself." She also writes of the guy at the counter where she asks to rent a kayak looking beyond her, for, you know, the person RESPONSIBLE for this disabled woman.
Lambert's rich storytelling gave me an embodied sense of what it's like to be visibly disabled, and I needed that. We ALL need that, don't we? So we can catch our ableism before it, you know, comes OUT at someone (or just over their left shoulder)?
But don't read it for that – or not JUST for that. Read it because it's GOOD.
Lambert's rich storytelling gave me an embodied sense of what it's like to be visibly disabled, and I needed that. We ALL need that, don't we? So we can catch our ableism before it, you know, comes OUT at someone (or just over their left shoulder)?
But don't read it for that – or not JUST for that. Read it because it's GOOD.
November 3, 2018
I love memoirs, and this was no exception. Written with beautiful prose and deep honesty, this is more than a tale of living with polio and its aftereffects. The author writes of her inner world amidst the changing abilities of her body. I love how she deals with such universal topics as loneliness, rejection, and sexuality and I adore her descriptions of kayaking adventures solo in the Everglades, and with a group of friends in north Central Florida, where she lives. Ms. Lambert is a brilliant naturalist who makes me yearn for a closer relationship with the natural beauty which surrounds me.
April 9, 2019
This earthy book of essays charmed me in several ways: the details of navigating the backwoods of Florida, the courage of going it alone in the back country while having a significant disability, its gentleness.
April 1, 2019
Moving, thoughtful, surprising - all the things I like best in a memoir.
May 1, 2019
Binge read it. Then read it again.
Incredible!
Incredible!
Read
October 20, 2021It doesn’t feel right for me to leave a review on someone’s personal experiences.
March 28, 2023
thankful
This was selected by my book group for discussion. I am really grateful for the opportunity to have read. Such value to hearing about others experiences.
This was selected by my book group for discussion. I am really grateful for the opportunity to have read. Such value to hearing about others experiences.
February 16, 2022
I first read this book when it was published. I recently read it again as part of my book club. And, once again I fell in love with Sandra Lambert and her brilliant writing. Her detailed descriptions of nature, her body, and day-to-day living were honest and intimate. Her life as a lesbian, a nature lover and a person with a disability filled the pages with riveting style.
August 7, 2018
Please note that I received this book via NetGalley. This did not impact my rating or review.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would look to read further novels by the author. The descriptions of her surroundings really took me there with her.
Reading the authors struggles with life, love and friendship laced with humour gave insight into her struggles throughout her life following disability borne from childhood polio. Her attitude is inspiring and made me think about all of the actions I do day in and day out without thought. I would recommend this book to family and friends without hesitation.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would look to read further novels by the author. The descriptions of her surroundings really took me there with her.
Reading the authors struggles with life, love and friendship laced with humour gave insight into her struggles throughout her life following disability borne from childhood polio. Her attitude is inspiring and made me think about all of the actions I do day in and day out without thought. I would recommend this book to family and friends without hesitation.
November 29, 2018
This book is not just a memoir but a look into the life of someone with disabilities that proves that you can do anything if it means something to you. It also show a different perspective of how persons with disabilities are treated. The book is really a wonderful, eye opening look at all the trials that the author has went through to keep her independence. The world has the idea that they need to take that away from people with disabilities instead of helping them keep that independence. At times in the book you do wish that the author would give more details about things but you understand that even the amount that is given is like opening a wound all over again. This book is definitely worth the time to read and to see how it looks from the other side.
May 30, 2019
Polio. memoir. So many memories..of my life growing and becoming. I might have missed this if it didn't have a photo on the cover. Of me at that age. There were so many of us.
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