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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.Born in England in 1902, Markham was taken by her father to East Africa in 1906. She spent her childhood playing with native Maruni children and apprenticing with her father as a trainer and breeder of racehorses. In the 1930s, she became an African bush pilot, and in September 1936, became the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west. -- Dieser Text bezieht sich auf eine vergriffene oder nicht verfügbare Ausgabe dieses Titels.
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Stunningly evocative of life in East Africa in the early part of the 20th Century, West With the Night carries the reader directly into Markham's life. If there was a person lucky enough to have truly lived more than Markham lived, we might in fact have to turn to Hemingway to find him. Having broken all stereotypes before they were known as stereotypes, Markham did 80 years ago what few women today would even imagine. Raised by her widower father, Markham was the only white child within 200 miles in any direction. Under the tutelage of native hunters, she learned to face down lions and elephants, and went on to become a professional horse trainer. But flying was her true calling. Learning the geography of the cockpit from no less an instructor than Tom Black, one of England's best-known bush pilots and an aviator who is still revered, Markham soon became the only woman pilot in East Africa, delivering everything from the mundane (gin for the white hunters) to the life-saving (tanks of oxygen for malaria victims).
Throughout the book, we are treated to some of the most vivid descriptions of an Africa that is long gone. Curiously missing, however, is any sense of her love interests as she grew and matured. We come close when we learn of her affection for Tom Black, but the affection feels brotherly in nature. And, then again, when she partakes of a transcontinental adventure with the dashing Baron von Blixen---one of the legendary characters of colonial Africa--we're never certain if passion played a part. Perhaps the absence of a love interest is a reflection of the more genteel times in which the book was written, or perhaps her true love was Africa and the sense of being truly alive that such a place seems to have imparted to every day of Beryl Markham's life.
But in fact, Markham is still alive--in a way. You cannot help but sense her presence after the first chapter. West With the Night is that good.
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