This book has now officially been added to my TBR (To Be Read) list and I wanted to share this terrific review with my blog readers.
Over a lifetime we tell thousands of tales. We recount happenings. We define and refine truths. We construct ourselves out of memories. Flashes of events. Snippets of fragile celluloid clipped and taped together to create a singular work. Our story. A history of who we were, and are, and how we wish others will remember us someday, when we are no longer.
When our voices fail, sometimes our faces reveal what we are unwilling or unable to speak. They act as a repository for memory — a counterbalance for the ephemerality of emotion. A smile line here, some crow’s feet there. Gravitational folds. Atrophic Crinkling Rhytids. They will tell your secrets — of worry and loss and heart swells and unchecked gladness. And as illustrated by Simona Ciraolo in The Lines on Nana’s Face, small children will not miss an opportunity to probe them.
Nana doesn’t mind the lines on her face. In fact…
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