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Celebration
Spufford tells the story of her daughter, who was born with a rare metabolic disease, and the story of her own struggle with chronic pain. An unflinching look at faith and prayer in the face of pain and physical evil.
- GenresNonfiction
128 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1996
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
July 11, 2020
A very specific memoir of one woman's experiences with chronic illness in herself and her daughter, Celebration is an engrossing read and fascinating insight, but may not be for everyone.
Dr Spufford writes from a place of pain – she has suffered osteoporosis most of her life, and her daughter was born with a severe metabolic disorder that meant many years in hospital and a great deal of inconvenience and suffering under various medical procedures. These experiences are in constant dialogue with her profound Christian faith; throughout the book she circles back to different interpretations of how to reconcile such flawed existence with the strong and loving God she knows. These interpretations are weighed but ultimately rejected, and one is left with the impression it is a conversation she will continue to have her whole life. The lack of resolution may frustrate those coming to this book for answers, but it is not a book of answers, rather sharing one life (or, in a way, two) and perhaps assuring the reader that they are not alone in suffering or having these questions, whatever form they may take.
Like most well-written and insightful memoir, Celebration can be interesting to anyone on a purely human level, to see inside the life and mind of another human, in this case with a distinctly unusual life. Those most likely to be drawn to it are probably mothers with chronically ill children themselves, yet is is they who may be most let down if what they are after is balm for their own pain. It is not a self-help book – no easy answers or reassuring aphorisms here – but what they will find is a unity across time and space with suffering mothers through history, and if their hearts are open, that may be worth the read.
I worry that some may bristle at Spufford's use of the word 'evil' to describe biological mishap – she uses it in a particular theological sense but does not, I think, make it sufficiently clear which definition she is operating under. Christians of a certain stripe, facing similar challenges of their own, may take offence at their hardships being labelled 'evil' in the sense of 'the Devil's work', but that's not how it is meant. I read this from the same faith tradition as the writer, so had some grasp of where she was coming from already; if I were to offer a criticism of the work it would be that she doesn't establish the theological and traditional underpinnings well enough to extend that understanding to readers further down the Christian spectrum, or not as well-read, or outside it entirely. However, it is a deeply personal work, and padding it with explanations might have abstracted the raw expression too much; made it a textbook rather than a memoir. I respect her editorial decision, but it is something to bear in mind if you are not an academic Anglo-Catholic.
Spufford's writing is briskly evocative – the agonies of the intensive care ward at Great Ormond Street, working 'upside down' when laid out with back problems, trying to balance the demanding care of a severely ill child with nurturing attention to a healthy sibling – and it was hard for me to tear myself away until she had said all she had to say. She led me through twenty-odd years of her life in one afternoon, and I don't regret giving that time to her. Regardless of whether her experiences apply directly to you, it is a very short book, and such a visit may do you some good too, if only to see through another pair of eyes for a while.
Dr Spufford writes from a place of pain – she has suffered osteoporosis most of her life, and her daughter was born with a severe metabolic disorder that meant many years in hospital and a great deal of inconvenience and suffering under various medical procedures. These experiences are in constant dialogue with her profound Christian faith; throughout the book she circles back to different interpretations of how to reconcile such flawed existence with the strong and loving God she knows. These interpretations are weighed but ultimately rejected, and one is left with the impression it is a conversation she will continue to have her whole life. The lack of resolution may frustrate those coming to this book for answers, but it is not a book of answers, rather sharing one life (or, in a way, two) and perhaps assuring the reader that they are not alone in suffering or having these questions, whatever form they may take.
Like most well-written and insightful memoir, Celebration can be interesting to anyone on a purely human level, to see inside the life and mind of another human, in this case with a distinctly unusual life. Those most likely to be drawn to it are probably mothers with chronically ill children themselves, yet is is they who may be most let down if what they are after is balm for their own pain. It is not a self-help book – no easy answers or reassuring aphorisms here – but what they will find is a unity across time and space with suffering mothers through history, and if their hearts are open, that may be worth the read.
I worry that some may bristle at Spufford's use of the word 'evil' to describe biological mishap – she uses it in a particular theological sense but does not, I think, make it sufficiently clear which definition she is operating under. Christians of a certain stripe, facing similar challenges of their own, may take offence at their hardships being labelled 'evil' in the sense of 'the Devil's work', but that's not how it is meant. I read this from the same faith tradition as the writer, so had some grasp of where she was coming from already; if I were to offer a criticism of the work it would be that she doesn't establish the theological and traditional underpinnings well enough to extend that understanding to readers further down the Christian spectrum, or not as well-read, or outside it entirely. However, it is a deeply personal work, and padding it with explanations might have abstracted the raw expression too much; made it a textbook rather than a memoir. I respect her editorial decision, but it is something to bear in mind if you are not an academic Anglo-Catholic.
Spufford's writing is briskly evocative – the agonies of the intensive care ward at Great Ormond Street, working 'upside down' when laid out with back problems, trying to balance the demanding care of a severely ill child with nurturing attention to a healthy sibling – and it was hard for me to tear myself away until she had said all she had to say. She led me through twenty-odd years of her life in one afternoon, and I don't regret giving that time to her. Regardless of whether her experiences apply directly to you, it is a very short book, and such a visit may do you some good too, if only to see through another pair of eyes for a while.
November 29, 2021
I should make a diary reminder to read this book every few years. I was taught by the author’s husband but to anyone it is a profoundly challenging & simultaneously inspiring moral consideration of living with pain, preserving life, or allowing death. The author’s unflinching appraisal of her faith & God may puzzle believers & non-believers alike for differing reasons, but her intellectual honesty is moving regardless. You could read as memoir, theology or ethics but worth your time whichever.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews