Brenda Miller is the author of Season of the Body and co-author of Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction Her newest collection of essays, Blessing of the Animals, is forthcoming from Eastern Washington University Press. Her work has received five Pushcart Prizes and has been published in many journals, including Fourth Genre, Creative Nonfiction, The Sun, Utne Reader, The Georgia Review, and The Missouri Review.
She currently lives in Bellingham, WA, with her dog Abbe and her cat Madrona, both of whom are acting as muses for her next book, where she is an Associate Professor of English at Western Washington University and serves as Editor-in-Chief of the Bellingham Review.
I wanted to love this book. I looked forward to it and was so certain I would love it that I saved it so it would be the last book I read in winter break. I was disappointed. There are gorgeous essays here that live up to the promise of "The Date," which is one of my favorite essays and the reason I thought I would love this so much. Her writing is still and beautiful. But so much here felt so oddly off. At the risk of sounding like a prude, I felt put off by the essays about her foursomes -- though perhaps the larger issue is that I felt like I had to use the phrase "at the risk of sounding like a prude" after reading those essays. There also seemed this insistence that in order to deal with infertility and the inability to have children, a woman must adapt and adopt that kind of alternative lifestyle (along with yoga), and find their worth in other people's children -- which made me feel uncomfortable, and even more desirous of a book in which a woman deals with these issues in a different way.
Brenda Miller’s Season of the Body is a beautiful collection of lyrical essays (see The Seneca Review’s definition of the “lyric essay”) that swim and glide around the themes of body, loss, self-worth, identity, massages, meditation, and a myriad of other akin soft and supple things. Miller’s language is warm and inviting, replete with gorgeous imagery, stellar description, and impeccable honesty. If you’re new to this form, Miller’s book is a beautiful place to settle in and get acquainted with the language and poetry of the lyrical essay.
Five stars alone for "Infant Ward," which is easily one of the most devastating essays I've read in ages. The sections divide roughly into Jewish identity, Buddhist/meditative identity, and mother/maternal identity (interesting, because Miller is upfront about her childlessness). Miller's a pioneer of the braided essay, and it's on full display here--practically a master class in how to do it.
These beautifully written essays moved me deeply, and haunt the reader with Miller's sense of loss over her two ecotopic pregnancies and flawed, sometimes broken, relationships. The loss is not the whole story, Miller writes of joys as well and of her sense of balance and being in her body.
I have reading Brenda's book since December and just finished last week. One of the many things that I love about this book is that the essays really stand on their own (hence making it possible for me to take 6 months to read it). However, the reoccurring characters help weave the stories together in a natural way. Brenda is an amazing lyric essayists and reading this book made me want to write, which is perhaps the highest compliment that I can think of to give an author (and a book). Even if you don't like nonfiction, try flipping through and reading a few of the essays- the word choices and voice will pull you in!
Some books seem to change how one experiences daily life. This is one. I find myself describing the quotidian mystery of buttercups thick as stars in the grass as I walk the dog in the morning. Brenda Miller's own lyric honesty inspires one.
“Infant Ward” is a five-star essay, as are several others. Some I would give three stars, a few were downright disappointing, and so the four-star compromise. I felt that when the author stepped outside of her self-involvement, as in “Infant Ward,” she produced the strongest essays in the collection.
I just finished Season of the Body a couple of days ago. This book is both beautiful and infuriating. In some of her essays, Brenda Miller has perfect pitch, but in others she can’t keep a tune to save her life—or her book. The lesser essays are infuriating, maddening, frustrating: why can’t the entire collection live up to its most beautiful essays?
At her best, Brenda Miller is luminous and poetic. In “Season of the Body,” she writes: “It’s not just the animal body I want, the mathematics of sex, the coupling: I want another heart, an extra one, a contrabassoon to echo my everyday pulse. It’s not my imagination. I hear it there, beating inside me. My bones pop and creak in their sockets.”
There are tons of lyric essays—also known as braided essays—in this book, and she shines in a lot of them. But a few times she narrates in second person, and it is jarring. Very few people can pull off second-person narration, with the exception of Jay McInerney in Bright Lights, Big City. Brenda Miller is not an exception to this trend. I want to feel closer to the author in a lyric essay; I want her to pull me next to her heart so I can feel the thump-thump of the blood that pulses and gives the author—and the essay—life. Not further away.
Still, I would recommend Season of the Body for the parts where Miller breaks free of herself. Her three best essays far, far outshine the competition: “A Thousand Buddhas,” “Split,” and “Season of the Body.” She writes so well about the raw body. “My heart, these days, is much too dense to break,” she writes in “Split.”
The content of these essays was very engaging for me, as it traversed many of the same struggles with identity that I have tackled in my life, which include balancing the traditions we come from with our contemporary and ever-expanding views of how to live our lives. Also, if I ever decided to write some personal essays, I would return to this book for ideas, inspiration and the structural conceits she employs.
I ADORED Brenda Miller's Season of the Body. These collection of essays was gorgeously written and engaging on many levels. It definitely helped me see the stylistic layering I can do with non-fiction, which I adored. And it struck a great balance between being accessible and challenging. 4 out of 5 Hello Kittys.
Okay: I think that "Essays" is misleading. This book reads like a chronological memoir.
That being said, I loved reading this book. Miller's deliberate, insightful, and utterly honest style is both heartbreaking and absolutely beautiful. My boyfriend was out of town when I was reading it, and I kept having to call him up to read passages.
2003 PEN Center USA Literary Award Finalist for Nonfiction Summer 2002 Book Sense Selection 2002 Glasgow Prize for Emerging Writers Finalist 2002/2003 Pushcart Prize for essay 2002 ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Finalist
3.5 stars Memoirs both personal yet distant- focused around theme of physical body as opposed to narrative chronology. Clean prose, lovely words, lasting themes. Good stuff about yoga, waiting for a date, having a foursome, losing two babies, raising a friend's baby.
Nearly finished. A meaningful memoir in so many places, but not, in others. Why did I have to battle through whole sections of gawd-awful narcissism to find my love for this beautiful book, here near the end? Frustrating!
I love Brenda Miller--what she has to say and how she says it. I admire her courage in tackling the issues in this book--love, sex, loneliness, womanhood, etc.
Brilliant, colorful, and touching prose. Essays that read like a memoir. She really knows how to draw the reader into her life as she lived it. Loved it.