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The Place He Made
by Edie Clark

Revised and Updated, September 2008
$18.95
Softcover, Nonfiction
ISBN: 978-0-9719934-3-3

Temporarily out of stock

 

Saturday Beans & Sunday Suppers and
The View from Mary's Farm


ABOUT THE BOOK
Writer and editor Edie Clark was not expecting love to enter her life in the form of a young carpenter named Paul Bolton. She was facing the realities of a failing marriage, while Paul was a shy, gentle but sometimes troubled man. Yet together they nurtured a love and built a married life as beautiful and enduring as the places Paul restored, the cabinets he crafted. And in the time they shared, they would find extraordinary grace and strength, and see their lives transformed by the power of love. The Place He Made follows in the distinguished tradition of Death Be Not Proud as one of the most unforgettable personal memoirs of love and loss in many years.

The Place He Made has been reissued by popular demand and updated with an all-new chapter, written nearly twenty years after Paul's death, giving perspective to this enduring story.

REVIEWS
"A triumph of the human spirit (that) may take its quiet place among the best of literature."
The New York Times Book Review

"A compelling and sensitive story of the endurance of love and the spiritual journey of a marriage."
– Elizabeth Marshall Thomas

"A graceful tribute to a brief but intense relationship that can only be summed up as true love."
Kirkus Reviews

"A tragic but affirmative hymn of death as transformation, as a new birth. An honest and courageously soothing book."
– Andre Dubus

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edie Clark has written for 17 years for Yankee Magazine about "Mary's Farm," her home in the Monadnock Region of New Hampshire. In addition to her column and her books, her work has appeared in The Boston Globe Sunday Magazine, Northeast magazine, The Christian Science Monitor and others. She has received numerous awards for her work.


EXCERPT
This is a story I never thought I would tell. It is a story of love, the love I shared with a man who came into my life almost surreptitiously, a man who loved me in the most complete way and then died. If he had not died, I would not be telling this story. It is either the way he loved me or the way he died that compels me to write this, but I cannot divide the two.

In truth, I have been writing about him since I first knew him. When I first started writing about him, there was no story. I wrote about Paul in much the same way an artist pulls off to the side of the road to sketch a scene that has captured her. Mostly descriptive passages, in my journals and in letters to friends who lived far away. "Jeff is working with someone new," I would start out and then go on to tell of this carpenter who had come to work with my husband.