Read West with the Night By Beryl Markham
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Ebook About The classic memoir of Africa, aviation, and adventure—the inspiration for Paula McLain’s Circling the Sun and “a bloody wonderful book” (Ernest Hemingway). Beryl Markham’s life story is a true epic. Not only did she set records and break barriers as a pilot, she shattered societal expectations, threw herself into torrid love affairs, survived desperate crash landings—and chronicled everything. A contemporary of Karen Blixen (better known as Isak Dinesen, the author of Out of Africa), Markham left an enduring memoir that soars with astounding candor and shimmering insights. A rebel from a young age, the British-born Markham was raised in Kenya’s unforgiving farmlands. She trained as a bush pilot at a time when most Africans had never seen a plane. In 1936, she accepted the ultimate challenge: to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean from east to west, a feat that fellow female aviator Amelia Earhart had completed in reverse just a few years before. Markham’s successes and her failures—and her deep, lifelong love of the “soul of Africa”—are all told here with wrenching honesty and agile wit. Hailed as “one of the greatest adventure books of all time” by Newsweek and “the sort of book that makes you think human beings can do anything” by the New York Times, West with the Night remains a powerful testament to one of the iconic lives of the twentieth century.Book West with the Night Review :
This is a stunning book, with gorgeous sentences enough to stop you so you can catch your breath, only to read them over again and highlight them so you can go back and read them again once more. The remains doubt whether Beryl Markham wrote them, or if they were written by her screenwriter third husband Raoul Schumacher. Out of Africa, written by Karen Blixen under the pen name Isak Dinesen, had always been my favorite memoir. West with the Night, is equal in its beauty, and I hesitate to say, maybe more so. The romance with which we become infatuated, is Africa as well as hunting, horse training, and flying. In a sentence such as this one, how can it not:“It is still the host of all my darkest fears, the cradle of mysteries always intriguing, but never wholly solved. It is the remembrance of sunlight and green hills, cool water and the yellow warmth of bright mornings. It is as ruthless as any sea, more uncompromising than its own deserts. It is without temperance in its harshness or in its favours. It yields nothing, offering much to men of all races.”And in reading this passage, I can only weep. This is the writing Hemingway praised in his review, “she has written so well, and marvelously well, that I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer…she can write rings around us all…”“There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.”In understanding how Beryl Markham lived her life, this quote reminds me to aspire to the same. “It is no good telling yourself that one day you will wish you had never made that change; it is no good anticipating regrets. Every tomorrow ought not to resemble every yesterday.” And when she wrote about time and change, it grips my heart for its beauty is transcendent: “Life had a different shape; it had new branches and some of the old branches were dead. It had followed the constant pattern of discard and growth that all lives follow. Things had passed, new things had come.”Even Isak Dinesen didn’t write about an elephant as descriptively, “His gargantuan ears began to spread as if to capture even the sound of our heartbeats.”Or the way she describes her aeroplane in the cross-Atlantic flight. “She found a sky so blue and so still that it seemed the impact of a wing might splinter it, and we slid across a surface of white clouds as if the plane were a sleigh running on fresh-fallen snow. The light was blinding — like light that in summer fills an Arctic scene and is in fact its major element.” And her exquisite description of a brothel keeper, in a dirty cockroach infested, windowless building is a passage of stunning prose that is painfully beautiful. It must be one of the passages that Hemingway envied, and if I can dare include myself, that I can only aspire to write a character with such eloquence. “She had long since forgotten the meaning of a smile, but the physical ability to make the gesture remained. Like the smile of a badly controlled puppet, hers was overdone, and after she had disappeared, and the pad of her slippers was swallowed somewhere in the corridors of the dark house, the fixed, fragile grin still hung in front of my eyes — detached and almost tangible. It floated in the room; it had the same sad quality as the painted trinkets children win at circus booths and cherish until they are broken. I felt that the grin of the brothel keeper would shatter if it were touched and fall to the floor in pieces.”We can never go back again, begins one of the best lines from Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca, but this one about Africa is close, “Seeing it again could not be living it again. You can always rediscover an old path and wander over it, but the best you can do then is to say, ‘Ah, yes, I know this turning!’ — or remind yourself that, while you remember that unforgettable valley, the valley no longer remembers you.”I know I have written a long tribute to this exceptional memoir. Whether written by Markham, co-written, or ghost written, it is most certainly brilliant, and if you aspire to write, it is in my humble opinion a requirement. I will include one more, if only because its intrinsic truth has gripped my heart. “You can live a lifetime and, at the end of it, know more about other people than you know about yourself. You learn to watch other people, but you never watch yourself because you strive against loneliness.” I've never read a voice like this--not because of the style, though. Yes, the writing is good and beautiful in parts, but if Hemingway really did say that Markham was a better writer than he, I disagree. For me, the complex long sentences tripped over their own feet at times, overextending metaphor where Hemingway's simplicity would have done better. No--it was the workings of Markham's mind, her philosophy and decision process, that I found truly incredible.Paula McClain's book Circling the Sun is a fictional memoir of Beryl Markham, and West with the Night is her actual memoir. I wondered at first why McClain would choose Markham of all people to fictionalize, when Markham had already spoken for herself in this memoir. I was almost irritated. After all, Markham is dead. She can't speak up and say, "that's not how it happened. Read the book I ALREADY WROTE if you want to know." Now that I've finished West with the Night, I understand why Mcclain wanted to write Circling the Sun.Markham writes about how she came to hunt with the Masai tribe as a child in Africa, and how she came to love and train horses (when there were no other women doing it), and how she came to fly planes (when hardly anyone, let alone women, was doing it), but she dwells not at all on her personal relationships or feelings, which for the curious reader should provide context and explanation of Markham's unusual talent and viewpoint.She writes more about the moody, wise, indifferent nature of Africa than she writes about her own feelings. We have no idea, for instance, what it felt like when her mother left Markham and her father to return to England when Markham was four years old. You don't even know from West with the Night that Markham's father practically forced her into marrying an older man at the age of 17 because her father was moving and didn't know what else to do with her. These events undoubtedly shaped Markham's courage and ambition, but West with the Night doesn't tell us how.West with the Night is the end result of some strange fomentation within the person of Markham. She writes without arrogance and with plenty of humor about all of her 'firsts.' To Markham, they were simply good ideas. She cared nothing for, or even seemed to think about at all, what other people thought of her. She moved in circles that other women never entered, and was treated as one of the boys. In making life decisions, like the decision to move to Britain, for instance, she was pointed solely by the needle of her own compass. She was happy flying and scouting game in Africa, but wondered what she might be missing. So she moved. Apparently, men followed her. I admit to my morbid curiosity on this point, and I may read Circling the Sun for McClain's take on the other parts of Markham's life.On the other hand, I may not read it. Markham's critics accuse her of not writing her own memoir (it's too good, they say, to be written by her), and of being a home-wrecker. Her critics look for opportunities to criticize her, for of course she is too unbelievable to escape jealousy. Our curiosity about Markham's personal life shares also this unbelieving desire to justify, to show how the rest of us may have gotten from Point A to Markham's Point Z if only we'd been born into similar circumstances. Really, all you need to know is that she did these things, in spite of fear, and did them well. She was luminous and rare. You can sit back and be inspired by her story without having to justify, explain, or otherwise take away from its magnificence by delving into a personal life she preferred to leave private. 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