Book Review: The Aviator's Wife

by Melanie Benjamin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book was beautiful. It was raw, and heartbreaking in places; but beautifully done. It was real. It never tied itself up in a neat little bow. It was complex, and deep. It was unfair, and unresolved. It was life. I liked the stream of consciousness narrative. I fell in love with Anne, the main character, as she copes with the unexpected ups and downs of marriage, fame, and life, while trying to find herself, and figure out what it means to be a woman. Historical fiction has always been my genre of choice, so of course, I also loved getting to know more about that time period, and the Lindberghs and the many things they accomplished. This fictional story, left me wanting to go learn more about the facts. I would really like to read Anne Morrow Lindbergh's book Gift From the Sea. I will be buying a copy of The Aviator's Wife, and I will also be reading the other books Melanie Benjamin has written.

Here are a few of the pieces I loved:

“Who was this woman before me, her face imprinted with the expectations of others? I was Mom. I was Wife. I was Tragedy. I was Pilot. They all were me, and I them. That was the fate we could not escape, we women; we would always be called upon by others in a way men simply never were. But weren't we always, first and foremost -- woman? Wasn't there strength in that, victory, clarity -- in all the stages of a woman's life?”


“A woman's life, always changing, accommodating, then shedding, old duties for new; one person's expectations for another until finally, victoriously, emerging stronger. Complete.”


“Mother shook her head impatiently. 'You need to...stop looking for heroes, Anne.' Her speech was slow, slurred, but understandable. 'Only the weak need...heroes...and heroes need...those around them to remain weak. You're...not weak.' I remembered those words. I knew they were true, all of them. True about me, and true about Charles. I brought them out, every now and then, as I kept working -- on both the manuscript and myself. And, perhaps on my definition of my marriage. No, my prayer for my marriage; a marriage of two equals. With separate -- but equally valid -- views of the world; shared goggles no more, but looking at the same scenery, at the same time.”


“Jealousy is a terrible thing. It keeps you up at night, it demands tremendous energy in order to remain alive, and so you have to want to feed it, nurture it -- and by so wanting, you have to acknowledge that you are a bitter, petty person. It changes you. It changes the very way you view the world; minor irritations become major catastrophes; celebrations become trials.”


“Dana taught me that the ability to grieve deeply also meant that a person had the capacity to love deeply, laugh deeply, live deeply -- and that this was a capacity to be cherished.”


“And I knew, as I had always known but somehow forgotten to remember in these past years, that I could never have done it, that no one else could ever have done it. That I would never know anyone as brave, as astonishing -- as frustrating, too, but that was, I was forced to admit finally, part of his charm -- as the slightly stooped elderly gentleman standing beside me in the shadows, listening while schoolchildren read of his exploits. The man who was, for better, for worse, my husband. The man who I loved, in spite of himself.”


“I will fly, alone. Wearing my own pair of goggles, my view of the world just as unique, just as wonderful, as his was, but different. Mine.”