So many sections in this work are worthy of being copied out and kept close at hand.

Some of the themes and stories are familiar, as they are also found in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, but here there is an added more social dimension.

I found the third section to be the most awe-inspiring and terrifying. It makes me sort of wish she had published a separate volume titled "An American Adolescence" because in that section, things suddenly became lurchingly familiar and yet completely alien.

Whenever I read her works, I always have that "Yes, that is exactly how it is!" feeling. And she points to a darker place where things are a little out of control.

I wouldn't mind having more guidance to navigate through that darker area.

Overall, her writing is both captivating and thought-provoking, leaving a lasting impression on the reader.

I was immediately captivated from the very first sentence:

"When everything else has gone from my brain—the President's name, the state capitals, the neighborhoods where I lived, and then my own name and what it was on earth I sought, and then at length the faces of my friends, and finally the faces of my family—when all this has dissolved, what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that."

And it's no wonder she thought that, having grown up in Pittsburgh, a city shaped by the confluence of three rivers. Here, a father was so enamored with Twain's Life on the Mississippi that he embarked on his own solo boat trip down the Ohio from Pittsburgh to the Mississippi and then to New Orleans. A mother who liked to test her children's wits by passing wrong phone calls to her daughters and saying, "It's for you." And a childhood filled with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge that would challenge any child today. Dillard writes about drawing the topography of her baseball mitt, finding refuge in the local library and the many books there that likely aren't being downloaded to e-readers (The Field Book of Ponds and Streams), being chased for blocks by a stranger after she and another child threw a snowball at his car, a failed attempt to derail a trolley, her amateur detective work and the mountains of paperwork that came with it, her investigations of insects, and so many other escapades that are too numerous to record here. You're better off reading it and experiencing this other childhood in Pittsburgh in the 1950s.

This one was just not for me.

I can appreciate it and understand why some people enjoy it.

However, it is so full of content that it becomes overwhelming.

There were many parts that felt drawn out and could have been more concise.

I could only read a little at a time because it was just so dense with information.

It seems that the author tried to include every possible detail, but in doing so, the flow and readability of the text suffered.

Perhaps if the content had been presented in a more organized and streamlined way, it would have been more engaging for me.

As it stands, I find it difficult to get through the entire piece without losing interest.

Nonetheless, I respect the efforts that went into creating it and can see the value that it may hold for others.

But for me, it simply didn't hit the mark.

Will every Annie Dillard book I read just be a desperate hoping that it’ll feel like Pilgrim at Tinker Creek again? I’m afraid so.

I loved some parts of this, and was very disappointed in others. Some of it just connected so strongly - not that I could relate personally, having grown up decades later, in a different socioeconomic class and with a much more dysfunctional family than hers, but in a region not far or dissimilar. But I mean connect more so in what it made me remember or think about my own childhood, and, unfortunately, high school. Or maybe fortunately? Because the way she writes about certain things made me reconsider my own similar things, and feel less ashamed or pained about them. I wasn’t expecting that, and it was something really valuable here, that gift of a different way of looking.

Sometimes her writing is so gorgeous and resonant, and her snarky humor is amazing as usual — “The interior life is often stupid. Its egotism blinds it and deafens it; its imagination spins out ignorant tales, fascinated. It fancies that the western wind blows on the Self, and leaves fall at the feet of the Self for a reason, and people are watching.” Haha. I do so love her.

It’s written very abstractly, drawing up certain scenes or memories in lots of detail and then veering into her musings, and on to the next without much of a cohesive narrative. And a stretch in the middle almost lost me completely. Sometimes it’s glorious and sometimes it doesn’t land. It’s still better than most memoirs written today though. The way she weaves her thoughts and experiences together, even if it lacks a traditional linear structure, gives the book a unique charm. Her descriptions are vivid and bring the past to life in a way that few authors can. While it may not be a perfect read, it still offers valuable insights and moments of pure literary beauty.

This was a lucid and compelling account of an American childhood.

Told with an honest and sincere voice, it took the reader on a journey through the author's memories of growing up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the 1950s.

The account was nostalgic but not overly sentimental, idealistic but not overbearingly romantic. It allowed the reader to reflect on their own experiences of childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood.

What made this account even more remarkable was that the author did not digress into language that only allowed for trite generalities or universals about the American coming of age experience. Instead, the author used their skill and wit to paint a vivid picture of a specific time and place.

Dillard's work was a great re-introduction to American literature after a time away. It reminded readers of the power of good writing to transport them to another world and make them feel as if they were a part of it.

Overall, this was a wonderful read that will stay with the reader long after they have finished the last page.

My mother is just a year younger than Annie Dillard. As I read this memoir, I constantly thought of her. Their eras might have been the same, but their circumstances were worlds apart. Dillard was raised in privilege in Pittsburgh, with private schools, lake homes, country clubs, and wearing white gloves to the right Presbyterian church. In contrast, my mother grew up in relative poverty in an Irish Catholic family in Charlottetown, PEI.

However, in essence, they were quite similar. Both were tomboys whose parents indulged them while also expecting them to conform to society's norms. More importantly, they were both curious little girls who frequented their local libraries to seek answers to the questions that intrigued them the most.

My mother recently shared a story about her school days. As a young girl, she repeatedly asked the nun who taught her why an omniscient and omnipotent God would allow people to be born destined to suffer or, worse, for eternal damnation. Unable to answer and flustered in front of the class, the nun sent my mother to stand in the hall. When Annie Dillard had similar questions as a teenager, she wrote a fierce letter to her minister, quitting the church. In a follow-up meeting with the assistant minister, she was given some books that might address her questions. The best answer she found was in C.S. Lewis, who said, "Forget it." As Dillard summarizes: "The sum of human suffering we needn't worry about: There is plenty of suffering, but no one suffers the sum of it." I wonder what my mother would think of "An American Childhood."

I recently listened to "The Writing Life" and was fascinated as Dillard described her writing studio, complete with a collection of stones and bones that she把玩s like talismans when daydreaming on her cot. The studio also contains paints, sketchbooks, and various reference materials. It's interesting to see that these materials have always been with her, and from childhood, she has been trying to merge scientific inquiry with artistic expression.

"An American Childhood" is about awakening in childhood, realizing that the world is something outside oneself that one must find one's place in. This idea is restated in many ways throughout the book, in beautiful and poetic language.

By contrast and coincidence, I'm also listening to "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid" by Bill Bryson. He is six years younger than Annie Dillard and from a less privileged background in Des Moines, Iowa. But he writes of his own childhood with great humor, about many of the same experiences.

This book doesn't describe my own childhood. I don't think I had that burning curiosity, and I certainly don't remember the transition from self-absorbed to self-aware. Was it because I watched too much TV instead of making explorations that would lead to larger inquiries? I came to these threads later in life. Am I poorer for it? I don't know.

Lately, whenever my older daughter asks me if I know something, her computer geek boyfriend will chirp up, "Did you google it? You just need to google it." So far, he's right. Anyone can find the answer to anything if they google it, but does that lead to wisdom? If you use google to find a definition for a word, you won't accidentally discover other words as you would when flipping through a physical dictionary. Is the availability of unlimited knowledge at one's fingertips the assassin of curiosity? Will my daughters find the threads?

Related to this, Dillard writes about the library and the discovery of knowledge. She also writes about self-awareness and the responsibility to remember. And there are passages about her headmistress recommending a college to smooth off her rough edges and her thoughts on rock-collecting.

On a final note, Annie Dillard's parents seem wonderful. The wise-cracking, prank-pulling mother and the Dixieland-loving, Huck Finn wannabe father, that "houseful of comedians," may have been the greatest treasures in that privileged home.

One of my all-time favorite books is truly a remarkable piece of literature. It delves deep into the author's childhood experiences, and I could really relate to them on a profound level. The vivid descriptions and the honest portrayal of her life events made me feel as if I was right there with her, sharing every joy and sorrow. It was as if the author had opened up a window into her world, allowing me to peek in and understand the emotions and challenges she faced growing up. This book not only entertained me but also made me reflect on my own childhood and the lessons I had learned. It is a testament to the power of storytelling and how a well-written book can touch the hearts and minds of its readers.

I would never read this again because I don't really care about people's obscure childhood memories. So, I gave it a low rating.

That being said, Dillard will always remain one of my favorite writers. The prose, the epilogue, and many of the passages were of the kind that made me read them over in total awe. This, I'm realizing, is just the norm or whatever people say. Screw golf, I don't know. It's like that for Annie Dillard.

The content was rather boring, but the execution was timeless.

"What does it feel like to be alive?"...."Knowing you are alive is feeling the planet buck under you, tear, kick, and try to throw you...It is riding the planet like a log downstream, whooping, or conversely you step aside from the dreaming and feel time as a stillness about you, and hear the silent air asking in so thin a voice, Have you noticed yet that you will die? Do you remember, remember, remember?" This passage really makes you stop and think about the meaning of life and our place in the world. It's powerful and thought-provoking, even if the overall content of the work wasn't to my taste.

There is truly an abundance of thoughts and feelings that I wish to express, yet in this moment, I find myself at a loss for words.

When it comes to the books and writers that have had a profound and life-changing impact on me, I can literally count them on one hand.

This particular book, however, holds a special place among them. It is a work that has touched my soul and opened my mind in ways I never thought possible.

I am deeply grateful for having discovered it, and I know that it will be a constant companion throughout my life.

It is not a book to be rushed through; rather, it is a thinking book, an intimate exploration of the heart and mind.

To truly appreciate its depth and beauty, one must read it slowly, savoring each word and allowing the ideas to sink in.

With each reading, I am sure to uncover new insights and gain a deeper understanding of its profound wisdom.

This book is a treasure, and I will cherish it always.

Fine, Annie. You truly have a gift for breaking my heart with your redolent prose and those few of the most moving nonfiction passages I've ever come across in my entire life.

"Have you noticed yet that you will die?..." This simple yet profound question sets the stage for what follows.

Then you describe feeling your life as a weekend, a weekend that cannot be extended, a weekend spent in the country.

And you proceed to write the most unassumingly profound account of an ordinary weekend from your childhood. It's so touching that it makes me weep uncontrollably.

In fact, I'm so moved that I'm compelled to read it aloud to multiple bystanders. And they, too, walk away with tears streaming down their faces.

JUST. FINE. DO THAT THEN.

For me, this particular book was an absolute treasure trove. It was rich and deep beyond measure, filled to the brim with nuggets of truisms, profound wisdom, and illuminations of those universal experiences that we have all gone through in our childhoods.

Every page seemed to hold a new gem that I could relate to on a personal level. I found myself constantly nodding in agreement and reflecting on my own past.

I have come to rely on this book as a valuable reference for my own experiences. It serves as a reminder of the joys, the challenges, and the important lessons that we learn during our formative years.

One such book that has had this profound impact on me is An American Childhood by Annie Dillard. It is a truly remarkable work that I would highly recommend to anyone.

I have tried twice, but unfortunately, I am giving up now.

It seems that no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to achieve the desired result.

Maybe it's because I'm not good enough, or maybe there are other factors at play.

But whatever the reason, I have to accept the fact that I can't continue.

I feel a bit disappointed and frustrated, but I also know that this is just a part of life.

There will always be challenges and setbacks, and we have to learn to deal with them.

Maybe this experience will teach me something valuable and help me grow in the future.

For now, I just need to take a break and figure out what to do next.