Inside the Halo and Beyond: The Anatomy of a Recovery

Like many of Maxine Kumin's devoted reader/fan/friends, I came to her poetry through Anne Sexton's poetry/life.However, as wonderful as Sexton's poetry is, and I love Anne Sexton's poetry, Maxine Kumin's poetry and prose can well stand on its own considerable merits.Inside The Halo is a wonderful, gutsy, thoughtful book.Having had some "orthopedic trauma" myself, though nowhere as severe as the accident Kumin survived, I can attest to the abundant truth she tells about the frustrations and joys of rehabilitation, and the "tough tenderness" of the best therapists.Kumin also speaks movingly of how her amazing husband, children, and grandchildren rallied to see her through.This is a difficult book to write about, because words like "uplifting" have become debased with casual use.However, I am of the unshakable opinion that all doctors, nurses, therapists, and lovers of great writing would find something real in this fine book.

Putting thoughts into words is the salvation of many, particularly Maxine Kumin, who describes her recovery from paralysis in "Inside the Halo and Beyond." I was recently paralyzed myself, so I keenly identified with the account of her rehabilitation. Yet I felt pangs of jealousy because she walks again and the chances are nil this will happen to me. Still, this book deserves an all-star rating for Kumin's eloquent and starkly honest description of her connections to poetry, literature, current events, international suffering, nature, equestrian riches, gardening, familial and friendly relations. She evokes empapthy and compassion without resorting to sappy sentiment or references to God. She explains, "My agnosticism eroded eventually to the skeletal remains of atheism and there I still stand. I'm not sure whether I should envy or pity the faith of others. Yes, it would be nice to have, but it seems a luxury of pietism I cannot afford."Her love of words is eloquent: "I've always been a galloping reader, racing for information, hurtling past intervening advertisements or cartoons, breathless and fascinated with language."It's a fine book.

Maxine Kumin has given us a gift. "Illness, disability, the specter of permanent damage... are deeply personal, immediate, and terrifying," she writes. Indeed. This chronicle of recovery from a cervical spinal injury sustained after her horse bolted is a courageous foray through the intense first ten months of recovery.More than a story of pluck and resilience this book delivers joy in its reaffirmation of what nourishes us: loving relationships. Relationships with husband, son, daughters, and friends--both old and newly formed in recovery-- and relationships to the land, to its bounty. It seems impossible for someone so connected to life to ever give up on it easily. Kumin narrates, in journal form, her struggles and how she didn't quit. Kumin's life unfolds in this book. We see the stoic formed when her adored father "hovered in the doorway" when she was ill as a child; the horse lover who takes "deep pleasure" in seeing her horses in action; the gardener describing cauliflower and broccoli lovingly planted in May from seeds started on living room windowsills; and the poet who says of her farmhouse, "All of my doors are held open by stones." The mother and wife are here, too. Kumin's daughter, Judith, spends months with her mother. It is comforting to read of a supportive, caring, daughter/mother relationship that flourishes during a time of great stress. Kumin is not afraid to tell us about moments of guilt and despair: "How I feel about my accident is quite simply that I screwed up everybody's life by living through it." All this is written within a flowing narrative style that is groomed by this writer's cumulative knowledge of what is important in language and life. Maxine Kumin is one of my favorite poets. I cheered when this well-paced chronicle led to a spring when this writer was finally back in the "peaceful kingdom" of her farm in New Hampshire. I am grateful the author has offered a book that allows us to witness her struggle as she looked inward and reached out.

Maxine Kumin has given us a gift. "Illness, disability, the specter of permanent damage... are deeply personal, immediate, and terrifying," she writes. Indeed. This chronicle of recovery from a cervical spinal injury sustained after her horse bolted is a courageous foray through the intense first ten months of recovery.More than a story of pluck and resilience this book delivers joy in its reaffirmation of what nourishes us: loving relationships. Relationships with husband, son, daughters, and friends--both old and newly formed in recovery-- and relationships to the land, to its bounty. It seems impossible for someone so connected to life to ever give up on it easily. Kumin narrates, in journal form, her struggles and how she didn't quit. Kumin's life unfolds in this book. We see the stoic formed when her adored father "hovered in the doorway" when she was ill as a child; the horse lover who takes "deep pleasure" in seeing her horses in action; the gardener describing cauliflower and broccoli lovingly planted in May from seeds started on living room windowsills; and the poet who says of her farmhouse, "All of my doors are held open by stones." The mother and wife are here, too. Kumin's daughter, Judith, spends months with her mother. It is comforting to read of a supportive, caring, daughter/mother relationship that flourishes during a time of great stress. Kumin is not afraid to tell us about moments of guilt and despair: "How I feel about my accident is quite simply that I screwed up everybody's life by living through it." All this is written within a flowing narrative style that is groomed by this writer's cumulative knowledge of what is important in language and life. Maxine Kumin is one of my favorite poets. I cheered when this well-paced chronicle lead to a spring when this writer was finally back in the "peaceful kingdom" of her farm in New Hampshire. I am grateful the author has offered a book that allows us to witness her struggle as she looked inward and reached out.

Pulitzer prize winning poet-naturalist Maxine Kumin chronicles a period of nine months, from the horrible horse-and-carriage accident that left her with a 5% chance of survival, and an even tinier prospect of ever walking again, to the time she is once again able to scramble up steep hills on her farm in New Hampshire again, albeit with difficulty. Hers is a statistically improbable recovery brought about not just by discipline and determination, and certainly not by faith (she is an atheist), but by love -- her family's love of her, and her own love not just for husband, children and grandchildren, but for horses, dogs, birds, vegetable garden, the seasons, and above all art and her craft. A passionate biophiliac, Kumin's love of nature can not be separated from her love of others, or her will to survive. This is an inpsirational book at so many levels. I completed it within hours of getting my hands on it, with my husband (a medical doctor) urging me to keep going, because I was reading it out loud to him and to my thirteen year old son. Inside the Halo... is wise, upbeat, gorgeously written and utterly inspirational. Someone you know scheduled for an operation? Had an accident? Run into some discouraging news? Forget the card. Send this book.