Product Description

In the spring of 1983 Terry Tempest Williams learned that her mother was dying of cancer. That same season, The Great Salt Lake began to rise to record heights, threatening the herons, owls, and snowy egrets that Williams, a poet and naturalist, had come to gauge her life by. One event was nature at its most random, the other a by-product of rogue technology: Terry's mother, and Terry herself, had been exposed to the fallout of atomic bomb tests in the 1950s. As it interweaves these narratives of dying and accommodation, Refuge transforms tragedy into a document of renewal and spiritual grace, resulting in a work that has become a classic.


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #169793 in Books
• Published on: 2000-05-02
• Released on: 2000-05-02
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 320 pages

Amazon.com Review
The only constants in nature are change and death. Terry Tempest Williams, a naturalist and writer from northern Utah, has seen her share of both. The pages of Refuge resound with the deaths of her mother and grandmother and other women from cancer, the result of the American government's ongoing nuclear-weapons tests in the nearby Nevada desert. You won't find the episode in the standard history textbooks; the Feds wouldn't admit to conducting the tests until women and men in Utah, Nevada, and northwestern Arizona took the matter to court in the mid-1980s, and by then thousands of Americans had fallen victim to official technology. Parallel to her account of this devastation, Williams describes changes in bird life at the sanctuaries dotting the shores of the Great Salt Lake as water levels rose during the unusually wet early 1980s and threatened the nesting grounds of dozens of species. In this world of shattered eggs and drowned shorebirds, Williams reckons with the meaning of life, alternating despair and joy.

From Publishers Weekly
From 1982 to 1989 Williams, a naturalist in residence at the Utah Museum of Natural History, suffered two traumatic events: her mother's unsuccessful battle with cancer and the flooding of the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge by the rising waters of the Great Salt Lake. Here she attempts to come to terms with the loss of her parent and that of the birds in the refuge by juxtaposing natural history and personal tragedy, alternating her observations on each. In an epilogue that might well serve as the subject of another book, the author also maintains that her mother--and many other people in Utah--probably contracted cancer as a result of radioactive fallout from atmospheric testing of atomic weapons in Nevada in the 1950s and '60s. And she concludes that, even though it is not in the tradition of her Mormon background to question governmental authority, she must actively oppose nuclear tests in the desert. The book is a moving account of personal loss and renewal.
Copyright 1991 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
Williams, a naturalist at the Utah Museum of Natural History in Salt Lake City, uses the rise and fall of Great Salt Lake and the fluctuations in wild bird populations that inhabit or migrate through the ecosystem as a personal metaphor. Her diary-like personal reflections cover such issues as helping family members through the traumatic process of living and dying with cancer. She also reflects upon women's place within the Mormon Church and touches on citizens' conflicting civic responsibilities as stewards and exploiters of the earth. Finally, she ponders federal responsibility for irradiating Utah land and people during 11 years of above-ground atomic testing. Williams's book is difficult to pigeonhole because she wrestles with a wide range of ethical questions in her struggle to find understanding. Her book may be of particular interest to public libraries in Southwestern states.--Laurie Tynan, Montgomery Cty.
Norristown P.L., Pa.
Copyright 1991 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Customer Reviews

Excellent read
I found that this book lingered in my thoughts long after I'd finished it. I think that Williams did a fine job paralleling the environment with her own sense of ebbing loss. I am certainly no ecologist, in fact a speech language pathologist, so I can't comment on the factualness of the ecology references. But I felt nature while reading it. Never been to Utah--can't comment on the accuracy of descriptions. But I could sure see it in my mind. I am a woman so the anti-male climate I may not be best to judge. I read it as a dialogue of women, a sisterhood or lack there of at times. Having lost a loved one to breast cancer, I can comment on the sense of impending loss and the need to search for something you that you can stop and "save". I enjoyed this book for what it was to me.

Ed Abbey called her "Tempest"
A rare combination of personal journal and field notes, this story compasses the death of a marsh and the death of a mother, the tenacity of struggling species and the re-birth of a daughter. It moved me to tears -- a decidedly rare experience for me with non-fiction -- and surprised me with those tears at odd times: the beauty of a bird and a place and a moment, or the stoic wisdom of the women who battle with and lose to cancer. In addition to possessing a questioning spirit, and a lover's eye for birds in the wild places she roams, Williams is a downwinder. She and her family are among the officially "inconsequential" population who were conveniently ignored during America's atmospheric nuclear testing in the 50s. The several women (and a few men) in her family who have died from cancers probably linked to those tests have moved her from interest to activism. This book is a record of her baptism in nuclear fire as well as her search for wings. REFUGE is among the armful of books I would grab if my house were on fire. I own two copies so I can lend one without fear. It is absolutely first rate.

Nothing Unnatural About It; It's Sacred
The first time I went to Utah, I read Edward Abbey's "Desert Solitaire" and loved it. This time, at a bookstore in Moab, I picked up Williams' "Red" for a contemporary view of the ecological issues around this gorgeous desert landscape, which is unlike any place I have been. Although I liked "Red," people told me "Refuge" was even better.

This is a very special book. I'm no birdwatcher, but it made me want to be. I'm no scientist, but I wished I were. I'm no Mormon, but it gave me respect for a religion I have never been able to fathom. Terry Tempest Williams has profound insights into the natural world. Her observations of the Great Salt Lake and the many migratory birds that visit it are as moving as her account of the death by cancer of her mother and grandmothers. Not surprisingly, they taught Williams awe of birds and sunsets and their own bodies. All of them are brave and spiritual women, and we would be wise to learn from them.

I think what I most admire about Williams as a writer is her emotional courage. Time and time again, she strikes out where more conventional writers would hesitate. She finds redeeming passages from the Book of Mormon. She follows her mother through her long and circuitous spiritual journey with cancer. She follows her grandmother as she moves into Eastern thought and modern physics. She dips respectfully into ancient Indian and Mexican culture. She walks in the desert at some peril to her well-being. She speaks of the intimacy of her marriage and about her decision not to bear children.

Yet his is not a book "about" the desert or cancer or birds or Mormonism, but about life and how it can be richly observed, experienced. shared and redeemed. It's one brave woman's answer to "Desert Solitaire."