How to Make an American Quilt

How to Make an American Quilt

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by Whitney Otto
     
 

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"Remarkable...An affirmation of the strength and power of individual lives, and the way they cannot help fitting together."
THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW
An extraordinay and moving reading experience, HOW TO MAKE AN AMERICAN QUILT is an exploration of women of yesterday and today, who join together in a uniquely female experience. As they gather

Overview

"Remarkable...An affirmation of the strength and power of individual lives, and the way they cannot help fitting together."
THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW
An extraordinay and moving reading experience, HOW TO MAKE AN AMERICAN QUILT is an exploration of women of yesterday and today, who join together in a uniquely female experience. As they gather year after year, their stories, their wisdom, their lives, form the pattern from which all of us draw warmth and comfort for ourselves.
A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE COMING OUT FALL 1995
— with Maya Angelou, Winona Ryder, and Rip Torn

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Imaginative in concept and execution, Otto's remarkable first novel is designed with deliberate analogies to quilt-making; like the scraps of fabric that make up a quilt, a series of neat vignettes cumulatively reveal the lives of eight members of a woman's sewing group in a small California town, in portraits that include their families and neighbors. Moreover, each chapter is followed by a short set of ``Instructions,'' which provide lucid explanations of the histories, designs and techniques of various quilt patterns that reflect and symbolize the conditions of the characters' lives. The instructions also carry a subtext: assemble and stitch a quilt as you would build and sustain a human relationship. The women who form Otto's narrative quilt include two sisters whose love for each other survives sexual betrayal; a fearless teenager who loses her determination to lead a free, unfettered life when she traps herself into marriage; a half-black woman who cannot escape her heritage; a wife who forgives her husband's flagrant affairs. The economically phrased, intricately designed narrative touches on the larger issues of war, prejudice and the economic condition of women. Concluding with a description of the Crazy Quilt, ``the pattern with the least amount of discipline and the greatest measure of emotion,'' this affecting novel demonstrates that a writer's self-discipline can engender in a reader a significant emotional response. First serial to McCall's; Literary Guild alternate; major ad/promo. (Mar.)
Jill McCorkle
Remarkable...It is a tribute to an art form that allowed women self-expression even when society did not. Above all, though it is an affirmation of the strength and power of individual lives, and the way they cannot help fitting together. -- New York Times Book Review

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780345388964
Publisher:
Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
04/28/1994
Edition description:
REPRINT
Pages:
240
Sales rank:
303,153
Product dimensions:
5.51(w) x 8.24(h) x 0.52(d)

Read an Excerpt

At first,I thought I ould study art.Art history,to be exact. Then I thought,No,what about physical anthropology?—a point in my life thereafter referred to as My Jane Goodall Period.I tried to imagine my mother,Sarah Bennett-Dodd (called Sally by everyone with the exception of her mother),camping with me in the African bush,drinking strong coffee from our battered tin cups,much in the way that Jane did with Mrs.Goodall.I saw us laid up with match- ing cases of malaria;in mother/daughter safari shorts;our hands weathering in exactly the same fashion. Then,of course,I remembered that I was talking about my mother,Sally,who is most comfortable with modernity and refuses to live in a house that anyone has lived in before,exposing me to a life of tract housing that was curious and awful.

Literature was my next love.Until I became loosely acquainted with critical theory,which struck me as a kind of intellectualism for its own sake.It always seems that one has to choose literature or critical theory,that one cannot love both.All of this finally pushed me willingly (I later realized)into history.

I began with the discipline of the time line —a holdover from elementary school —setting all the dates in order,allowing me to fix time and place.History needs a specific context,if nothing else.My time lines gradually grew more and more ornate,with pasted-on photographs and drawings that I carefully cut from cheap history books possessing great illustrations but terrible,unchallenging text.I was taken with the look of history before I arrived at the
"meat "of the matter.But the construction of the time line is both horizontal and vertical,both distance and depth.Which,finally,
makes it rather unwieldy on paper.What I am saying is that it needed other dimensions,that history is not a matter of dates,and only disreputable or unimaginative teachers take the "impartial "
date approach,thereby killing all interest in the subject at a very early age for many students.

(I knew,in a perfect world,I would not be forced to choose a single course of study,that I would have time for all these interests.
I could gather up all my desires and count them out like valentines.)

The Victorians caught my eye almost instantly with their strange and sometimes ugly ideas about architecture and dress and social conventions.Some of it was pure whimsy,like a diorama in which ninety-two squirrels were stuffed and mounted,enacting a basement beer-and-poker party,complete with cigars and green visors pulled low over their bright eyes;or a house that displayed a painting of cherubs,clad in strips of white linen,flying above the clouds with an identical painting hidden,right next to it,under a curtain in which the same cherubs —babies though they were —are completely nude.Or a privileged Texas belle 's curio cabinet that contained a human skull and blackened hand.Or still another young woman (wealthy daughter of a prominent man)who insisted on gliding through the family mansion with a handful of live kittens clinging to the train of her dress.

I enrolled in graduate school.Then I lost interest.I cared and then I didn 't care.I wanted to know as much about the small,odd details that I discovered here and there when looking into the past as I did about Lenin 's secret train or England 's Victorian imperial-
ism or a flawless neo-Marxist critique of capitalism.

There were things that struck me as funny,like the name
Bushrod Washington,which belonged to George 's nephew,or the man who painted Mary Freake and her baby,known only as the
Freake Limner.And I like that sort of historical gossip;I mean,is it true that Catherine the Great died trying to copulate with a horse?
And if not,what a strange thing to say about someone.Did Thomas
Jefferson have a lengthy,fruitful affair with his slave Sally Hem-
ings? What does that say about the man who was the architect of the great democratic dream? What does it say about us? Did we inherit the dream or the illicit,unsettling racial relationship?

This sort of thing is not considered scholarly or academic or of consequence,these small footnotes.And perhaps rightly so.Of course,I loved the important,rigorous historical inquiry as well.
What I think I wanted was both things,the silly and the sublime;
which adds up to a whole picture,a grudgingly true past.And out of that past truth a present reality.

You could say I was having trouble linking the two.

I wished for history to be vital,alive with the occasional quirk of human nature (a little "seriojovial ");I imagined someone saying to me, Finn,what ever gave you the idea that history was any sort of liv-
ing thing? Really.Isn 't that expectation just the least bit contradictory?

Then Sam asked me to marry him.

It seemed to me a good idea.

Yet it somehow led me back to my educational concern,which was how to mesh halves into a whole,only in this case it was how to make a successful link of unmarried to married,man to woman,the merging of the roads before us.When Heathcliff ran away from
Wuthering Heights,he left Cathy wild and sad,howling on the moors,I am Heathcliff,as if their love were so powerful,their souls so seamlessly mated,that no division existed for them,save the cor-
poreal (though I tend to believe they got "together "at least once),
which is of little consequence in the presence of the spirit.

All of which leaves me wondering,astonished,and a little put off.How does one accomplish such a fusion of selves? And,if the af-
fection is that strong,how does one avoid it,leaving a little room for the person you once were? The balance of marriage,the delicate,
gentle shifting of the polished scales.

Let me say that I like Sam tremendously.I love him truly.

The other good idea was spending the summer with my grand-
mother Hy Dodd and her sister Glady Joe Cleary.Their relationship with me is different from that with the other grandchildren;we share secrets.And I probably talk to them a little more than my cousins or their own children do.I think they have a lot to say and I
am more than willing to hear it.All of it.Whatever strikes them as important.

To me,they are important.

So my days are now spent watching the quilters come and go,
lazily eavesdropping on the hum of their conversation and drifting off into dreams on my great-aunt 's generous porch;thinking about my Sam,my sweetheart.Or lying on my back,in the shade,in Aunt
Glady 's extravagant garden,removing the ice cubes from my tea,
running them across my face,neck,and chest in an effort to cool down from the heat.

I could wander over to the Grasse swimming pool,but it is al-
ways so crowded.Sophia Richards says you never know who you 'll meet there —as if I want to meet anyone.As if I am not already stay-
ing in a house that has quite a bit of "foot traffic."

The quilters have offered to make a bridal quilt in honor of my marriage,but I tell them to Please continue with what you are doing as if I never arrived to stay for the summer .Sometimes I say, I can 't think about that now (as if anyone can think clearly in this peppery heat).I
can see this puzzles them,makes them wonder what sort of girl it is who "cannot think about " her own wedding..

This amuses me as well,since,at age twenty-six,I have lost track of the sort of girl that I am.I used to be a young scholar;I
am now an engaged woman.Not that you cannot be both —even I
understand that —yet I cannot fathom who I think I am at this time.

Meet the Author

Judith Ivey has appeared in a variety of film, television, Broadway and other stage roles. Her movie credits include: In Country, Alice, and Brighton Beach Memoirs, among others. She starred on television in the series Designing Women, and The Five Mrs. Buchanans.

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How to Make an American Quilt 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
songcatchers More than 1 year ago
How to Make an American Quilt is a fairly interesting story. There is a lot of quilt talk and by the end of the book I was wanting to start my own quilt. The story has quite an array of characters which makes it hard to keep their stories separate. On top of that, each character has only one chapter in which their life story is told and that makes it hard to remember much about that person by the end of the book. If I read it again I think I'd get more out of it. Maybe.
Guest More than 1 year ago
The story of friends who help each other through good and bad times. And form lasting bonds in which they form a club of sewing the pices of a quilt together binding their lives and healing each other through good and bad moments in their lives.