Unlearning to Fly is the memoir of a bookworm growing up in Alaska—among people whose resilience, restlessness, and energy find their highest expression in winter ascents of Mount McKinley or first descents of wild rivers. These are the flying stories of a fearful pilot, one who admires but does not emulate the more daring exploits of her father and her friends.
The accounts of Jennifer Brice—at times poignant, funny, and downright nerve-racking—are engaging recollections of deadly, near-deadly, and occasionally comic encounters between human nature and Nature writ large. The unlikely romance between her parents, the Good Friday earthquake, the Alaska oil boom, a stint as a newspaper reporter, and the trials of a student pilot form a few chapters in Brice’s remarkable life. These are the stories in which the physics and metaphors of flight—center of gravity, angle of attack, wake turbulence—illuminate Brice’s remarkable life story, recounted in prose that takes wing.
It took a while to read this because I read it between other books. It is a memoir told in topical essays, with the great density known to creative non-fiction readers. I read it as part of my goal to read a variety of perspectives on Alaska, and this book was included in a pile I borrowed from Joni Tevis.
Topics run the gamut from her parents' relationship, planes and flying, her adopted brother, the controversies and complications of the oil pipeline, an Alaskan childhood and more. While her experiences are largely focused on the internal part of the state (Fairbanks) and I am traveling in the outer regions, I still enjoyed it.
If you live in Alaska, you fly. If you’re born in Alaska, like Jennifer Brice, you fly in an airplane before you ride in a taxi. If your father is a tireless contractor clearing Arctic forests for roads and runways, like Brice’s; if he raises you before dawn on school days to take you along for a flight to a remote site; and if he asks you what you want to be when you grow up, doesn’t it seem natural to say, a pilot? Brice’s memoir in essays charts precisely this route from birth through childhood, to adulthood, to flying solo over the awesome and uncompromising land. More essentially, though, this book is a map of the many illusions by which we organize our lives, the most important of which is the illusion of dying, the sense of toeing the line no man can cross, and peering over.
meh! Seemed like a collection of random essays, many of which referenced similar material, with insufficient effort made to weave these together. Each was interesting on its own, and I enjoyed the read, but it could have been so much more. The upside is that it turned me on to "Wind, Sand and Stars" by Antoine Sainte-Exupery.
Jennifer Brice's memoir is multiple things simultaneously: the story of a daughter who wanted to be tough enough to earn the love and respect of her rough-and-tumble Alaska dad; the story of an Alaskan native who loves the land with the fierceness of a bear sow protecting her cubs; the daughter who serves as her mother's amaneusis in telling tales of society life on the East Coast before choosing Fairbanks and to become Mrs. Brice. All of this, and more, is told in prose both poignant and muscular, depending on the turbulence of the tale.
This! I adored. The book is a mass of stickies of loved lines / quotes.
- Experience leads us beyond the approaches and up to the very door of death. But what then? I thought I was practising when I was kayaking and flying. And I guess I was. But the lessons of reading, and, later, of writing, went deeper. Stories and essays and poems have taught me more about life than life has taught me about itself. -
I have to admit I skipped over anything that had to do with flying (yawn). I did enjoy this book because it is about quirky family members and just plain old life stuff. Some of it just happens to take place in Alaska. I also did some stuff in Alaska. It's a (relatively) normal place. And this collection of stories reflected that.
I'm not sure there's anything better than a good memoir. We got this book as a review copy at my magazine, and while I don't think we're going to do a review, I grabbed it and thought it was completely wonderful. I'm passing it on to anyone who is interested.
I'm biased (I studied with Jennifer) but beautiful, lyrical prose; compelling adventures; and thoughtful reflections on life, family, courage. Stunning. I reread these essays every year.