THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE - "Physicists say we are made of stardust..." by Glenda Burgess
genre
description:
Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? This tender and intimate story of a marriage provides an answer that will resonate with readers of "About Alice," "The Year of Magical Thinking," and Erich Segal's beloved novel "Love Story."
chapters
chapter 1:
"Physicists say we are made of stardust..."
"Physicists say we are made of stardust..."
chapter 1
—
updated May 17, 2008
—
3375 characters
—
3 people liked this writing
—
3 reviews of this writing
Broadway Books Catalog description of this novel:
Glenda Burgess was in her early thirties when she fell head over heels in love with Kenneth, a twice-widowed man fourteen years her senior with a troubled teenaged daughter. Ken's first wife died in a car crash; years later, his second wife was murdered in their home. Considered the prime suspect, Kenneth was living under a shadow of suspicion. But for Glenda, who believed in her instincts, and Ken, who found the resilience to take yet another chance on happiness, only one thing mattered: their love. It is a grand love that buoys them through fifteen years of marriage, two kids, and, ultimately, Ken's battle with lung cancer.
THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE is Glenda's remarkable tribute to the commitment, love, and trust that bound husband and wife together despite the shadows of the past and the uncertainties of the future. It is a profound exploration of the human heart and an inspiring journey into a relationship defined by resilience, passion, trust, and courage.
THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE reminds us that love is always a leap of faith--and beautifully illustrates why we take it.
(ISBN 0-7679-2859-8, Doubleway/Broadway Books, NY, release date April 22, 2008.) Please visit www. glendaburgessbooks.com for descriptions and excerpts of other work by this author, including the novels EXPOSURES, LOOSE THREADS, and future works in progress.
From the prologue, THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE (copyright, Glenda Burgess, 2008):
Physicists say we are made of stardust. Intergalactic debris and far-flung atoms, shards of carbon nanomatter rounded up by gravity to circle the sun. As atoms pass through an eternal revolving door of possible form, energy and mass dance in fluid relationship. We are stardust, we are man, we are thought. We are story.
“It’s always a story, my girl,” my father told me one summer evening when I was young. “Falling stars, rings in a tree trunk, the river as it swells by, all stories.”
We were camping in the wilderness north of Vancouver, Washington, along the pebble shoals of the Lewis River. It was an hour after sunset, and the sky was deepening to an inky lavender at the edge of the black canopy of trees. We crouched beside the water, washing up after a quick dinner of cowboy stew. I asked him what made stars shoot. At nine years old, I was ready for real explanations, heavy truth, clues and answers to bigger mysteries than long division. My father had studied physics as a young man. I knew he would take my question seriously.
He reached behind him to loosen a flat river stone and skipped it out across the burbling rapids. Please, I begged silently, tell me the truth. I knew with deep inner conviction that the way my father answered my question would somehow affect the way I asked and answered questions the rest of my life.
He tossed out another stone as he considered the darkening sky.
“Just a bit of chance and chaos, Sunshine,” he said. “Atoms that dance.”
I think back to that long ago conversation as I ponder the effects of luck and disaster on the human heart. A child then, I had no real awareness of human fragility, but I absolutely knew shooting stars pirouetted across the universe. Life, my search for truth, seemed dusted by a dash of magic.
Only now in the wake of fortune, do I truly understand.
back to top
Glenda Burgess was in her early thirties when she fell head over heels in love with Kenneth, a twice-widowed man fourteen years her senior with a troubled teenaged daughter. Ken's first wife died in a car crash; years later, his second wife was murdered in their home. Considered the prime suspect, Kenneth was living under a shadow of suspicion. But for Glenda, who believed in her instincts, and Ken, who found the resilience to take yet another chance on happiness, only one thing mattered: their love. It is a grand love that buoys them through fifteen years of marriage, two kids, and, ultimately, Ken's battle with lung cancer.
THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE is Glenda's remarkable tribute to the commitment, love, and trust that bound husband and wife together despite the shadows of the past and the uncertainties of the future. It is a profound exploration of the human heart and an inspiring journey into a relationship defined by resilience, passion, trust, and courage.
THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE reminds us that love is always a leap of faith--and beautifully illustrates why we take it.
(ISBN 0-7679-2859-8, Doubleway/Broadway Books, NY, release date April 22, 2008.) Please visit www. glendaburgessbooks.com for descriptions and excerpts of other work by this author, including the novels EXPOSURES, LOOSE THREADS, and future works in progress.
From the prologue, THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE (copyright, Glenda Burgess, 2008):
Physicists say we are made of stardust. Intergalactic debris and far-flung atoms, shards of carbon nanomatter rounded up by gravity to circle the sun. As atoms pass through an eternal revolving door of possible form, energy and mass dance in fluid relationship. We are stardust, we are man, we are thought. We are story.
“It’s always a story, my girl,” my father told me one summer evening when I was young. “Falling stars, rings in a tree trunk, the river as it swells by, all stories.”
We were camping in the wilderness north of Vancouver, Washington, along the pebble shoals of the Lewis River. It was an hour after sunset, and the sky was deepening to an inky lavender at the edge of the black canopy of trees. We crouched beside the water, washing up after a quick dinner of cowboy stew. I asked him what made stars shoot. At nine years old, I was ready for real explanations, heavy truth, clues and answers to bigger mysteries than long division. My father had studied physics as a young man. I knew he would take my question seriously.
He reached behind him to loosen a flat river stone and skipped it out across the burbling rapids. Please, I begged silently, tell me the truth. I knew with deep inner conviction that the way my father answered my question would somehow affect the way I asked and answered questions the rest of my life.
He tossed out another stone as he considered the darkening sky.
“Just a bit of chance and chaos, Sunshine,” he said. “Atoms that dance.”
I think back to that long ago conversation as I ponder the effects of luck and disaster on the human heart. A child then, I had no real awareness of human fragility, but I absolutely knew shooting stars pirouetted across the universe. Life, my search for truth, seemed dusted by a dash of magic.
Only now in the wake of fortune, do I truly understand.
Did you like this?
vote
(3 people liked this writing)
