…I would have heard of this woman.
Yet I never have. A friend (after reading one of my previous posts about writing and of course not commenting on the blog so that it looks good and gives me a higher count on my statistics…not that I’m bitter…) recommended this book to me.
It was like the mothership was calling me home.
Almost as good as when I read Margaret Fuller for the first time. I had really been struggling to really get all of these thoughts and feelings into a comprehensive idea and she came along at just the right time and said, “Oh, is this what you mean?” And I said, “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly what I mean! How did you know? Can I take you out for a cup of coffee?” She’s the perfect mix of poetry and prose, feminine and masculine, and then has this sort of nineteenth-century snarkiness thrown in every once in a while. So much better than Emerson and Thoreau, who always takes themselves far too seriously.
But I digress. Tillie isn’t exactly snarky. She’s more like the street-smart Grandma I never had. Doesn’t seem like she would take much shit from anyone.
