From the journals of M. F. K. Fisher Book

The four months before my fiftieth birthday I spent in what would be our new home, alone. And not only alone in the sense of being the only one living in the house, but also in the sense of human life around me, for our new home lies deep in the forest in a tiny village of (now 8, (but then 5). No shops, no restaurants, no cinema, no trappings of 'civilization', or at least not without driving an hour and a quarter or more. My goals were two-fold: Could I survive in such an environment, and could I learn the language?

I am happy to say 'yes' to both. Not that it wasn't difficult at times, scary, depressing, lonely, but I could stand my own company, and not only survive but thrive. And I got the language.

Due to a mix-up at the airport, I could only take about a third of stuff I had packed for such a venture. The hurried reorganization of everything resulted in flying underwear (and the loss of my coat just before traveling to the far north in mid-winter, but that's a story for another time), but the book chosen for this epic period of my life Fear of Fifty manage to get on board.

Amazingly, I didn't fear the coming half century. Crossing the thirty mark was far more difficult. My fortieth my partner made fun by throwing a completely unusual party and instigating a tradition: doing something new and different each birthday, especially the decade ones. So I didn't fear the up-coming Five-O but I brought the book just in case there was something I should know or learn from it.

My notes from that reading, the spring of 2007 in my tiny village, goes like this: Not always easy to get through, but well, WELL worth the effort.

Skimming it for this review seven years later, I discovered I had marked a lot (and I mean A LOT) of passages, most of which I still find relevant. I have added them to my quotes if anyone is interested. The odd thing I did find is that although Jong and I are technically in the same 'generation' -- i.e., Baby Boomers, we come from different ends of the spectrum, thus explaining our very different life experiences. By the time I reached adulthood, many more doors were open and I didn't see marriage as my only option. I still don't though I have been married twice, both long-term. The four-month period mentioned at the beginning of this review, confirmed for me that I can if I must live happily on my own. Marriage is a choice, I am happy to say.

But what about the book? Jong is much less whiny in this than in Fear of Flying, much more mature, as one would expect. I found the tone a relief. She is somewhat repetitive, but again not nearly as much so as in Fear of Flying, again a relief. There is so much to be gained by reading this book or even in skimming it to revisit passages, that I would recommend it to anyone.