Thrity Umrigar





Thrity Umrigar

Author profile


born
Mumbai, India
gender
female


About this author

A journalist for seventeen years, Thrity Umrigar has written for the Washington Post, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, and other national newspapers, and contributes regularly to the Boston Globe's book pages. She teaches creative writing and literature at Case Western Reserve University. The author of The Space Between Us, Bombay Time, and the memoir First Darling of the Morning: Selected Memories of an Indian Childhood, she was a winner of the Nieman Fellowship to Harvard University. She has a Ph.D. in English and lives in Cleveland, Ohio. (from the publisher's website)"


Average rating: 3.90 · 32,497 ratings · 4,207 reviews · 8 distinct works · Similar authors
The Space Between Us
3.96 of 5 stars 3.96 avg rating — 23,214 ratings — published 2006 — 35 editions
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The World We Found
3.74 of 5 stars 3.74 avg rating — 3,368 ratings — published 2012 — 9 editions
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The Weight of Heaven
3.74 of 5 stars 3.74 avg rating — 2,039 ratings — published 2009
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If Today Be Sweet
3.61 of 5 stars 3.61 avg rating — 1,391 ratings — published 2007 — 11 editions
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The Story Hour
3.77 of 5 stars 3.77 avg rating — 1,203 ratings — published 2014 — 8 editions
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Bombay Time
3.77 of 5 stars 3.77 avg rating — 690 ratings — published 1990 — 8 editions
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First Darling of the Mornin...
3.82 of 5 stars 3.82 avg rating — 534 ratings — published 2003 — 11 editions
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The World We Forgot
0.0 of 5 stars 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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Nectar in a Sieve
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3.58 of 5 stars 3.58 avg rating — 5,447 ratings — published 1954 — 47 editions
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January 2012, Thrity Umrigar
"Her Favorite Books About India: Step out into the teeming streets of Mumbai in The World We Found and peruse the author's top five books about her native land." ...More

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“Or perhaps is is that time doesn't heal wounds at all, perhaps that is the biggest lie of them all, and instead what happens is that each wound penetrates the body deeper and deeper until one day you find that the sheer geography of your bones - the angle of your hips, the sharpness of your shoulders, as well as the luster of your eyes, the texture of your skin, the openness of your smile - has collapsed under the weight of your griefs.”
Thrity Umrigar, The Space Between Us

“ Perhaps the body has its own memory system, like the invisible meridian lines those Chinese acupuncturists always talk about. Perhaps the body is unforgiving, perhaps every cell, every muscle and fragment of bone remembers each and every assault and attack. Maybe the pain of memory is encoded into our bone marrow and each remembered grievance swims in our bloodstream like a hard, black pebble. After all, the body, like God, moves in mysterious ways.

From the time she was in her teens, Sera has been fascinated by this paradox - how a body that we occupy, that we have worn like a coat from the moment of our birth - from before birth, even - is still a stranger to us. After all, almost everything we do in our lives is for the well-being of the body: we bathe daily, polish our teeth, groom our hair and fingernails; we work miserable jobs in order to feed and clothe it; we go to great lengths to protect it from pain and violence and harm. And yet the body remains a mystery, a book that we have never read. Sera plays with this irony, toys with it as if it were a puzzle: How, despite our lifelong preoccupation with our bodies, we have never met face-to-face with our kidneys, how we wouldn't recognize our own liver in a row of livers, how we have never seen our own heart or brain. We know more about the depths of the ocean, are more acquainted with the far corners of outer space than with our own organs and muscles and bones. So perhaps there are no phantom pains after all; perhaps all pain is real; perhaps each long ago blow lives on into eternity in some different permutation and shape; perhaps the body is this hypersensitive, revengeful entity, a ledger book, a warehouse of remembered slights and cruelties.

But if this is true, surely the body also remembers each kindness, each kiss, each act of compassion? Surely this is our salvation, our only hope - that joy and love are also woven into the fabric of the body, into each sinewy muscle, into the core of each pulsating cell?”
Thrity Umrigar, The Space Between Us

“And a mother without children is not a mother at all, and if I am not a mother, than I am nothing. Nothing. I am like sugar dissolved in a glass of water. Or, I am like salt, which disappears when you cook with it. I am salt. Without my children, I cease to exist.”
Thrity Umrigar, The Space Between Us

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