One Writer's Beginnings (1983) by Eudora Welty
This gemlike (104 pp.) memoir is composed of three lectures Welty gave about her early years. She carefully curates the details she wishes to share about her family and her beginning as a writer of short stories.
Here are three quotations that show her at her best.
Here she describes a visit to the well at her grandmother's house, in West Virginia:
"It took the mountain top, it seems to me now, to give me the sensation of independence. It was as if I'd discovered something I'd never tasted before in my short life. Or rediscovered it -- for I associated it with the taste of the water that came out of the well, accompanied with the ring of that long metal sleeve against the sides of the living mountain, as from deep down it was wound up to view brimming and streaming long drops behind it like bright stars on a ribbon. It thrilled me to drink from the common dipper. The coldness, the far, unseen, unheard springs of what was in my mouth now, the iron strength of its flavor that drew my cheeks in, its fern-laced smell, all said mountain mountain mountain as I swallowed."
(I cannot decide what she meant by 'long metal sleeve'. At first I wondered, is she talking about the well shaft itself? But would that be lined with metal? Is she describing the dipper, or some implement connected to the dipper? I love the passage even though her wording at that point baffles me.)
A few pages later:
"It seems likely to me now that the very element in my character that took possession of me there on top of the mountain, the fierce independence that was suddenly mine, to remain inside me no matter how it scared me when I tumbled, was an inheritance. Indeed it was my chief inheritance from my mother, who was braver. Yet, while she knew that independent spirit so well, it was what she so agonizingly tried to protect me from, in effect to warn me against. It was what we shared, it made the strongest bond between us and the strongest tension. To grow up is to fight for it, to grow old is to lose it after having possessed it. For her, too, it was most deeply connected to the mountain."
(Whew!! That sentence starting with "To grow..." packs so much into 19 words.)
At the end of the book:
"Of course the greatest confluence of all is that which makes up the human memory -- the individual human memory. My own is the treasure most dearly regarded by me, in my life and in my work as a writer. Here time, also, is subject to confluence. The memory is a living thing -- it too is in transit. But during its moment, all that is remembered joins, and lives --- the old and the young, the past and the present, the living and the dead."