“From Operating Room to Oxygen Shortage: How a Young Doctor Discovered the Rhythm of Survival on Everest”
But I don’t have to be personally bereaved for Jewish deaths to feel personal, and you don’t have to share our faith to appreciate this memoir. In fact, the author never set out to write a Jewish book but a universal one, and (as is her custom) she succeeds. A triumph at the sentence level with its slap-you-in-the-face-awake phrases, Tap Dancing on Everest stuns — and Zieman’s lyrical voice shines — from the “slanted pink of morning” to the “hush of dusk” to the “strange warmth of thick darkness.” And this is true whether she’s remembering the “gray diaspora of clouds” over freezing “teal lakes,” detailing the “yawn of outstretched morning,” or praying to “the lifting veil…[of] inky black night” as though it could be her last.
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