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219 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2005
The Harlot's best stories evoke honest emotions felt by all people, even if they aren't cool enough to be knitters - like the comforting an ill friend or reveling in the success of a new skill and conquering a challenging project. I loved her description of her nana - "a hard woman to love." She doesn't sugarcoat her childhood but relates honestly that, even though we love our family, sometimes it's darn hard to figure out why or how.
She's also very funny. On her teenage daughter who declared that knitting was "boring" and that she didn't want to do it:
I fear for her future. I really do. If knitting is "boring" then what's it going to take to hold her interest? Hitchhiking? Spearheading a revolution? Dropping acid? (Do kids still drop acid? That's something I should probably find out, now that my very own flesh and blood is talking about not knitting.) It's a slippery slope, I tell you. First you tell your mother that knitting is "boring" and next something horrible has happened, like drug addiction, not folding your laundry, or (God forbid!) declaring wool is "itchy."Mostly I enjoy Pearl-McPhee because we share the same passion. She gets geeky over the same little things that I love about knitting - heels in socks ("that miracle, the cunning three-dimensional heel"), capturing bits of your life in a project ("I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it's four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I tend to worry"), and the wonder of wool.
The world has come a long way, and astonishing and intriguing machines arrive every day, but there is still not a machine on this earth that will shear a sheep. Every ball of wool starts with some man or woman somewhere in the world...holding fast to a pissed-off sheep while cutting its fleece free. Every ball of wool you and I have ever knit, all the balls of wool in the world in every country in the whole history of the world thus far, came from the sweat and grit of a person wrestling a hot, dirty, furious sheep.And now that wool is on my (and the Yarn Harlot's) feet. Very cool.