title: The Lioness in Winter: Writing an Old Woman's Life
author: Ann Burack-Weiss
description: <i>The Lioness in Winter</i> speaks to pain, illness, reflection, and even suicide. Given the author's experience as a researcheronce a middle-aged scholar who believed in the texts that we use to train the next generation of gerontologistsher perspective is particularly well informed. She has not only taught it, but now lives it. She writes from a unique and important vantage point. (Kate de Medeiros, Miami University)<br /><br /><i>The Lioness in Winter</i> is a lovely book, and not only for the writers Ann Burack-Weiss quotes, although their lines are gorgeous: Toni Morrison's acceptance speech on winning the Nobel Prize; a letter from Colette's mother and Colette's proud memory of it--when she is at her lowest and most uneasy, Colette glories in being the child of such a mother! Burack-Weiss describes her own experience of aging, and she takes inspiration from these virtual motherswomen who are old, bruised, and brilliant, aflame with words. I read the book pen in hand, keyboard nearbyso I could get down lines I need to remember, books I long to read. (Arlene Heyman, author of <i>Scary Old Sex: Short Stories</i>)<br /><br />This is one of those rare books filled with both profound wisdom and language that captivates and enthralls. Ann Burack-Weiss joins her illustrious group of 'old lady' authors in exploring the experience and meaning of aging. Attempting to navigate the losses inherent in the aging process, she turns to her lionesses, from Colette and Simone de Beauvoir to Adrienne Rich and Maya Angelou, seeking comfort and inspiration. An author tells her story. Burack-Weiss answers with hers. The fortunate reader learns from them all while basking in the beauty of their words. (Linda B. Sherby, author of <i>Love and Loss in Life and in Treatment</i>)<br /><br />Burack Weiss takes a subject that we might not necessarily want to faceaging and our declining yearsand elevates it into an inspiring and inspired conversation with the greatest female minds ever put in print, including hers. This literary guided tour of the 'sunset years' left me wiser, more prepared, and just plain better for having read it. Instead of that damned AARP magazine, <i>The Lioness in Winter</i> is really what should be showing up at our doorsteps. (Liz Tuccillo, author of <i>He's Just Not That into You</i>)<br /><br />Filled with warmth, wisdom, and knowledge, Burack-Weiss's work eloquently encourages dialogue and understanding about the inner and outer life of aging women. (<i>Publisher's Weekly, starred review</i>)<br /><br />Lovely... Encouraging... <i>The Lioness in Winter </i>is the story of one person's effort to know and give value to herself as an old womana person with intellectual curiosity and the ability to accept change with equanimity. (<i>Women's Review of Books</i>)<br /><br />A wonderfully enlightening and important read about what lies ahead. (<i>Bellevue Literary Review</i>)<br /><br />The narrative experience is ripe with the inchoate newness of the past; the words of a variety of women authors waiting rediscovery as Burack-Weiss applies them to her life. This is the gift manifest in <i>The Lioness</i>. (<i>Gerontologist</i>)<br /><br />A slim and beautiful volume that is part memoir, part career-confessional, but most compellingly a collection of writings on aging from women [Burack-Weiss] admires. (<i>East Hampton Star</i>)<br /><br />An extraordinarily good reada smart, personal reflection on a collection of writings about growing old from three dozen or so of the best women authors of the 20th and into the 21st century. (<i>Time Goes By</i>)
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  > The Fox
  
  > Sólveig Pálsdóttir
  
  > Translated by Quentin Bates
  
  > Published by Corylus Books Ltd
  
  This book has been translated with a financial support from:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She could see only the white flakes spinning towards her out of the darkness
  and for a moment it occurred to her that it was time to give up, walk out into
  the teeth of the storm and leave the snow to pile up and cover her. She could
  let herself drift into unconsciousness before they could catch up with her.
  She could fall asleep in the cold and dream her way to the warmth of home. She
  glanced into the mirror and moaned at the sight of her face, swollen, the cuts
  turning septic and the clumsy stitches.
  
  ‘I will,’ she whispered to herself, feeling the old determination return. ‘I
  will go home,’ she told herself, out loud this time as a gust of wind made the
  car bounce. She gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white as
  she cautiously put her foot on the accelerator.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  February
  
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