By Susan Jane Gilman
They have been younger, terrific, and impressive. They got down to triumph over the area. however the global had different plans for them.
Bestselling writer Susan Jane Gilman's new memoir is a hilarious and harrowing trip, a latest middle of darkness packed with Communist operatives, backpackers, and pancakes.
In 1986, clean out of school, Gilman and her good friend Claire yearned to do whatever bold and unique that didn't contain getting a task. encouraged by way of a spot mat on the foreign residence of Pancakes, they made up our minds to embark on an formidable journey world wide, beginning within the People's Republic of
Armed simply with the accumulated works of Nietzsche, an astrological love consultant, and an arsenal of bravado, the 2 pals plunged into the dusty streets of
Undress Me within the Temple of Heaven is a flat-out page-turner, an fantastic actual tale of hubris and redemption informed with Gilman's trademark compassion, lyricism, and wit.
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Additional info for Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven
The summer time after our commencement from collage, we’d bought around-the-world airline tickets, which started with a flight from manhattan to Hong Kong that September. through slowly plane-hopping round the waistline of the planet, we’d figured we’d circumnavigate the globe in just a 12 months, returning simply in time for my pupil loans to return due. We had no notion, in fact, of the way complex the area may be, or of our position in it, or of simply how a lot hassle we have been in for. We didn’t even understand what it should consider wish to lug water purifiers, snoozing luggage, and leaden pairs of climbing boots all over the world. All we’d proposal was once: hi there, let’s be Odysseus. Let’s be Byron. Let’s be Don Quixote, Huck Finn, and Jack Kerouac all rolled into one—except with lip gloss. Let’s triumph over the fucking international. As we alighted from the gangway, Claire pirouetted. “Oh my God! We’re in Hong Kong! are you able to be-lieve it? ” We every one gave a trilling, girlish squeal—no doubt precisely as Odysseus would’ve done—and sashayed via passport regulate. We hadn’t even reached the bags declare, notwithstanding, sooner than I received an incredible nosebleed. Blood pooled in my left nose, dripping down my face. A candy, meaty style stuffed the again of my throat. even though I’d been certain to stuff a half-pound bag of M&M’s, my diaphragm, and my 913-page astrology advisor, Linda Goodman’s Love symptoms, into my carry-on, it hadn’t dawned on me to pack Kleenex. i discovered a crumpled, lint-ridden United airways cocktail serviette and fixed it up my nostril. “Ow. ” Claire winced as she drew nearer. “That seems nasty. right here. ” She guided me like a blind individual around the concourse to the women’ room. hundreds of thousands of ladies had gone through it through the day; streamers of rainy rest room paper lay raveled around the ground. Claire eased me down onto a dry spot close to the sinks. Leaning my head again, I virtually choked alone blood. She rummaged via her handbag, pulling out the cut up of champagne we’d obtained on the duty-free store again in San Francisco, her Mason Pearson hairbrush, a paperback replica of The family tree of Morals. Claire was once might be the 1st individual to insist on bringing the entire works of Friedrich Nietzsche on a backpacking journey. yet she hadn’t concept to pack tissues, either—which was once ironic simply because we’d differently ready for this voyage as though it have been the invasion of Normandy. the baggage we’d checked have been weighted down without lower than fourteen Berlitz word books, kinds of malaria capsules, earplugs, first relief kits, inflatable pillows, sarongs, flip-flops, computer virus spray, Kwell, anti-diarrhea drugs, canteens, condoms, six Penguin literary paperback classics by means of authors starting from Cervantes to Virginia Woolf, and sufficient tampons to final us a yr. “Stay here,” she advised, pivoting round. even if she was once exhausted, Claire moved with the self-discipline of the ballerina she’d as soon as been, her ft grew to become out, her carriage erect, her chin increased. along with her lengthy neck and aristocratic positive aspects, she seemed like a Dutch Renaissance Madonna—albeit one in a polo blouse and pleated khakis from L.