Twilight
Losing Sight, Gaining Insight
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5.0 • 1 Rating
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- $12.99
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- $12.99
Publisher Description
In 1992, when Henry Grunwald missed a glass into which he was pouring water, he assumed that he needed new eyeglasses, not that the incident was a harbinger of darker times. But in fact Grunwald was entering the early stages of macular degeneration -- a gradual loss of sight that affects almost 15 million Americans yet remains poorly understood and is, so far, incurable. Now, in Twilight, Grunwald chronicles his experience of disability: the clouding of his sight, and the daily struggle to overcome its physical and psychological implications; the discovery of what medicine can and cannot do to restore sight; his compulsion to understand how the eye works, its evolution, and its symbolic meaning in culture and art.
Grunwald gives us an autobiography of the eye -- his visual awakening as a child and young man, and again as an older man who, facing the loss of sight, feels a growing wonder at the most ordinary acts of seeing. This is a story not merely about seeing but about living; not merely about losing sight but about gaining insight. It is a remarkable meditation.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Described by the author as "an autobiography of my eyes," this engrossing meditation--which will be of particular interest to those with failing eyesight--reveals what sight means to him. Since he was diagnosed with macular degeneration in 1992, Grunwald (One Man's America), who was formerly editor-in-chief of Time magazine and the U.S. ambassador to Austria, has been learning how to live with serious visual impairment. Despite some laser surgery, the vision in both of his eyes has continued to deteriorate. Although Grunwald can still identify buildings, people and such natural events as sunrises, he now sees through a "half-veiled" haze and is no longer able to enjoy art museums or to recognize the faces of close friends. He reminisces about images that have been important to him, such as nursery wallpaper and particular colors, and the pleasure he has derived from looking at women's faces. As someone who has been a prodigious reader, Grunwald has had to make a radical readjustment: he listens to recorded books, dictates what he would have formerly written and enlists his wife to read to him on a daily basis. He has visited the Lighthouse in New York City in order to keep up with the latest visual aids and to discuss with a therapist the depression resulting from his vision loss. Although he now accepts his condition, he is not resigned to it: he has thus far refused to learn Braille even though such a skill would be useful to him, because he believes that it implies total blindness, a possibility he struggles against.
