I read this book when I was eleven years old (ten years ago). I have thought about it a ton of times because I absolutely loved it. I became so close to Owen and even started to adore Parsley. I recently looked it up to purchase this book for a friends ten year old son and I am amazed that it is out of print...

A wonderful read aloud! Clever use of time travel with a bookmark. I wanted to order for my new library! I cannot believe it is out of print! Kids love it!

I loved the adventure in this book. The charachters were interesting, and I loved the cats!

This book was amazing in content, the author is a genius, one of those books I could read and read and never tire of!!!!

I write today to order three more copies of The Unicorn. You see, I keep giving my dog-eared, margin-scribbled copies away to friends who I hope will be as inspired and comforted by Lindbergh's words as I am.

When my spirit is troubled, I do not need to muddle around in some author's clever obscurities. I need A.M.L. who has "been there" to talk with me in her honest, beautifully fluid way.

If I could "do lunch" with any woman in history, it would be Anne Morrow Lindbergh. She would be herself and I could be me. But "two citadels stand fast."

Anne Morrow Lindberghs' The Unicorn and other poems is simply beautiful; a refreshing contrast to other, more modern poets whose readers are left to ponder the signifigance of a piece. Such is not the case with The Unicorn. Near every poem is clear enough not to need explaining or deep interpretation, yet retains a subtle element of elegant simplicity. (My comments pertain most specificly pieces such as to The Man and the Child or Elegy under the Stars, but could pertain to any number more.) In a phrase: subtly awesome.

A wonderufl companion for Anne Morrow Lindbergh's 5-book collection of Diaries & Letters. A great introduction to Mrs. Lindbergh's work. :-)

Ms. Dickson has thoughtfully put together a collection of inspirational quotes by Mrs. Lindbergh and elaborated further giving new insight and relevance for today's reader.

I couldn't put this book down! A must for ANY fan of Anne Morrow Lindbergh!

I am anxiously awaitng Ms. Dickson's webiste dedicated to Mrs. Lindbergh's legacy.

Ms. Dickson has taken the already inspirational writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh and made them more meaningful. Through biographical information about Mrs. Lindbergh and her own personal experiences, Ms. Dickson gives them new insight and a contemporary relevance. Anyone already familiar with Mrs. Lindbergh's writings will find this book a welcome addition to their library. For anyone unfamiliar with Anne Morrow Lindbergh, this is a delightful and inspirational introduction. I highly recommend Gifts of the Spirit as a source of spiritual inspiration.

This is a wonderful book wherein the reflections are intelligent and meaningful for any reader. It is one that you can come back to again and again and find something you may have missed in your first reading. I loved it and could not put it down! It's a great addition to anyone's book collection.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh's own description of her life, and that of her husband Charles Augustus, is as great a love story as has ever been told... ...and "North to the Orient" but a mere chapter!

They seemed destined to be at each other's side, living tales such as this.

Anne describes best her attempt to chronicle this aerial and literary journey for her reader:

"I have not written a technical account of a survey flight on the great circle route from New York to Tokyo. I do not know enough to write one, and if I did, the time for doing so would be past. Aviation moves a long way in four years. No geographical knowledge can be gained from reading my story. We constructed no maps or charts, and I have not even kept a scientific record of all the territory passed. It is not in any sense a guidebook. Our stops were so short and hurried that only a superficial picture remains. Nor is each point on our route portrayed, but only those which seem to warrant description for the vividness of impression."

She adds pointedly that, "It was not that we arrived in Baker Lake on August third by plane, but that three hours of flying had brought us from the modern port of Churchill to a place where no white woman had ever been before...", concluding that:

"One has only to see the chasm between accessibility and isolation--narrow, so one could reach across, but deep as time--to appreciate what can bridge it."

In "North to the Orient", we gain the opportunity to see air travel pioneered "first person"--through the eyes of a woman--yes:

...riding along...

...but not as baggage or ballast, but rather, as a working participant in an important expedition.

...one who crews not only a primitive, tandem-cockpit aircraft of wood and fabric, but also operates its radio of tubes and coils where transmissions are made via a Morse Code key.

...and one who also flies this wooden wonder into the unknown, as her companion silently rests--trusting, and not fearing--while she takes him to places he too, has never known.

I think that is where the beauty lies--not in the journey or the adventure itself--but how she somehow manages to remain side-by-side with her companion in life; how he responds and thrives just by being in her eyes; and how she is needed.

How no one dares question this soulfully-dependant relationship between the two!

Rather, all the world endeavors in its attempt to understand these two lovers and adventurers...

...and in understanding her, in particular.

One marvels at her words from the confines of the cockpit, as they embark from North Haven on the first leg of their dangerous journey, leaving friends, family, and even their baby behind, on this remarkable, selfless quest:

"The day was hard and clear and bright, like the light slanting off a white farmhouse. The island falling away under us as we rose in the air lay still and perfect, cut out in starched clarity against a dark sea. I had the keenest satisfaction in embracing it all with my eye. It was mine as though I held it, an apple in my hand. All the various parts of it were mine at the same moment; the crowd on the pier, the little rocking boat in the harbor where my family waved, the white farmhouse on the point where my baby was. What a joy to hold them all in my eyes at once, as one tries, saying good-by to a person, to possess all of them in one look."

She, this tiny Columbus, venturing out toward the excitement of the unknown, and yet--stopping for just a moment to glance back, longing for one more memory of the present day, before advancing toward the night.

On this day--and on this journey--no longer were mankind's accomplishments to be measured by the acts of hundred-man crews in vessels of wood and sail, to be led by a single commander.

Nor would an "Eagle" venture forward in a small, frail craft, alone.

For now a woman was unconfined...untethered...rendered equal.

On this day, a husband-and-wife team would dare brave the worst of nature's elements--fragile in the moment--as they were but two souls alone in uncharted skies, living both a love and an adventure...ethereal.

Thus, here is where Anne's story truly begins:

"Our route was new; the air untraveled; the conditions unknown; the stories mythical; the maps, pale, pink, and indefinite, except for a few names, far to the east of our course, to show that someone before us pointed his ship, also, 'North to the Orient'."

And as Anne re-lives this modern-day "Odyssey", descriptive images follow, taking us on a journey not so much involving destinations, but rather, a journey of adventure; a journey of rare natural and human gifts that she came to experience, and of an even rarer selection of people they met along the way.

Thus, "North to the Orient" becomes a reiteration of "life lived at its fullest"...

...an awakening for those who read this story, and no doubt...

...a hope within Anne that--by having written this masterpiece chapter in the love story of her life--she will inspire others to go forth!

"North to the Orient", along with all the writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, come with the highest recommendations of this reviewer.

I consider all her works to be a "must-reading" for men in particular, if one should ever hope to comprehend the true beauty that exists within women...

...those who, like Anne, possess their own sense of liberty, and who follow their own paths of maturity to womanhood, while rejoicing in the adventure that is the human experience.

Three years after her marriage to Charles Lindbergh, Anne Morrow Lindbergh left her infant son with her mother and a nanny in North Haven, Maine, strapped herself into the open cockpit of a Sirius floatplane, and flew with her husband to the Orient, following the Northwest Passage through arctic Canada and Alaska that her husband was surveying for the airlines. Her literate, supremely controlled prose is remarkable quite beyond the adventure itself. A year after her return, Anne Morrow faced the horror of her child's kidnapping and its aftermath and quite understandably fell into a prolonged depression. She wrote "North to the Orient" partly to rescue herself from the isolation and despair of those circumstances. The memoir went on to win the National Book Award and launch a celebrated career. You will not believe how gracefully she writes, what suspense she contains in her tight chapters. Finishing it, Anne Morrow Lindbergh not only contributed a literary adventure tale on a par with Wilfred Thesiger's "Arabian Sands." The writing of the book itself was a courageous act. This is one of the great neglected works of American nonfiction.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh's own description of her life, and that of her husband Charles Augustus, is as great a love story as has ever been told...

...and "North to the Orient" but a mere chapter!

They seemed destined to be at each other's side, living tales such as this.

Anne describes best her attempt to chronicle this aerial and literary journey for her reader:

"I have not written a technical account of a survey flight on the great circle route from New York to Tokyo. I do not know enough to write one, and if I did, the time for doing so would be past. Aviation moves a long way in four years. No geographical knowledge can be gained from reading my story. We constructed no maps or charts, and I have not even kept a scientific record of all the territory passed. It is not in any sense a guidebook. Our stops were so short and hurried that only a superficial picture remains. Nor is each point on our route portrayed, but only those which seem to warrant description for the vividness of impression."

She adds pointedly that, "It was not that we arrived in Baker Lake on August third by plane, but that three hours of flying had brought us from the modern port of Churchill to a place where no white woman had ever been before...", concluding that:

"One has only to see the chasm between accessibility and isolation--narrow, so one could reach across, but deep as time--to appreciate what can bridge it."

In "North to the Orient", we gain the opportunity to see air travel pioneered "first person"--through the eyes of a woman--yes:

...riding along...

...but not as baggage or ballast, but rather, as a working participant in an important expedition.

...one who crews not only a primitive, tandem-cockpit aircraft of wood and fabric, but also operates its radio of tubes and coils where transmissions are made via a Morse Code key.

...and one who also flies this wooden wonder into the unknown, as her companion silently rests--trusting, and not fearing--while she takes him to places he too, has never known.

I think that is where the beauty lies--not in the journey or the adventure itself--but how she somehow manages to remain side-by-side with her companion in life; how he responds and thrives just by being in her eyes; and how she is needed.

How no one dares question this soulfully-dependant relationship between the two!

Rather, all the world endeavors in its attempt to understand these two lovers and adventurers...

...and in understanding her, in particular.

One marvels at her words from the confines of the cockpit, as they embark from North Haven on the first leg of their dangerous journey, leaving friends, family, and even their baby behind, on this remarkable, selfless quest:

"The day was hard and clear and bright, like the light slanting off a white farmhouse. The island falling away under us as we rose in the air lay still and perfect, cut out in starched clarity against a dark sea. I had the keenest satisfaction in embracing it all with my eye. It was mine as though I held it, an apple in my hand. All the various parts of it were mine at the same moment; the crowd on the pier, the little rocking boat in the harbor where my family waved, the white farmhouse on the point where my baby was. What a joy to hold them all in my eyes at once, as one tries, saying good-by to a person, to possess all of them in one look."

She, this tiny Columbus, venturing out toward the excitement of the unknown, and yet--stopping for just a moment to glance back, longing for one more memory of the present day, before advancing toward the night.

On this day--and on this journey--no longer were mankind's accomplishments to be measured by the acts of hundred-man crews in vessels of wood and sail, to be led by a single commander.

Nor would an "Eagle" venture forward in a small, frail craft, alone.

For now a woman was unconfined...untethered...rendered equal.

On this day, a husband-and-wife team would dare brave the worst of nature's elements--fragile in the moment--as they were but two souls alone in uncharted skies, living both a love and an adventure...ethereal.

Thus, here is where Anne's story truly begins:

"Our route was new; the air untraveled; the conditions unknown; the stories mythical; the maps, pale, pink, and indefinite, except for a few names, far to the east of our course, to show that someone before us pointed his ship, also, 'North to the Orient'."

And as Anne re-lives this modern-day "Odyssey", descriptive images follow, taking us on a journey not so much involving destinations, but rather, a journey of adventure; a journey of rare natural and human gifts that she came to experience, and of an even rarer selection of people they met along the way.

Thus, "North to the Orient" becomes a reiteration of "life lived at its fullest"...

...an awakening for those who read this story, and no doubt...

...a hope within Anne that--by having written this masterpiece chapter in the love story of her life--she will inspire others to go forth!

"North to the Orient", along with all the writings of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, come with the highest recommendations of this reviewer.

I consider all her works to be a "must-reading" for men in particular, if one should ever hope to comprehend the true beauty that exists within women...

...those who, like Anne, possess their own sense of liberty, and who follow their own paths of maturity to womanhood, while rejoicing in the adventure that is the human experience.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh looked to the sky long before she met Charles Augustus Lindbergh.

Cloudscapes as pastel vistas; marvelling at the wings of a gull in flight; nights lying in bed, looking straight up through a tree to the celestial panorama overhead.

A young girl's vision of her future?

In "Bring Me A Unicorn, the Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1922 - 1928", we get to meet the joyful, sweet adolescent, and watch her grow into the young, mature woman, she quickly becomes.

One marvels in seeing her through her own eyes...

...eyes that are discerning: artful, considerate, contemplative, and forever searching.

Eyes that are always examining her "new" and hidden self, for some inner truth.

She reflects upon her "arrival," lacking confidence at first, before finding herself expressed within the petals of lavender flowers:

"I kept looking at the flowers in a vase near me: lavender sweet peas, fragile winged and yet so still, so perfectly poised, apart, and complete. They are self-sufficient, a world in themselves, a whole--perfect. Is that then, perfection? Is what those sweet peas had what I have, occasionally in moments like that? But flowers always have it--poise, completion, fulfillment, perfection; I only occasionally, like that moment. For that moment I and the sweet peas had an understanding."

Daughter of Dwight Morrow, U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, Anne was living in an upper-class world of regal elegance, and experiencing that world in style. Anne describes a dinner on board J.P. Morgan's steamer "Corsair", with the great man himself greeting her and the Morrow family at the ship's entrance.

"The joy of being there almost invisible in this sparkling world, able to watch and listen to the most brilliant, charming men in the world, and a sense of the utmost fairy-tale luxury--everything done in exciting, magnificant style, so much grander than a party of young people."

Anne then travels to Mexico City, where her father serves as U.S. Ambassador to Mexico. On the eve of destiny, she ascends a staircase and turns toward the receiving line that awaits her and her family, where she sees "him" for the first time:

"I saw standing against the great stone pillar--on more red plush--a tall, slim boy in evening dress--so much slimmer, so much taller, so much more poised than I expected. A very refined face, not at all like those grinning 'Lindy' pictures--a firm mouth, clear, straight blue eyes, fair hair, and nice color. Then I went down the line very confused and overwhelmed by it all. He did not smile--just bowed and shook hands."

Awkwardness sets in, as the mature young woman disappears, and the young waif returns anew, seeking one moment, her entrance; the next, her exit; and thereafter, a direction on a parallel course with his life.

This lanky boy, over whom most fawn in adulation, is a curiousity:

"He is very, very young and was terribly shy--looked straight ahead and talked in short direct sentences which came out abruptly and clipped. You could not meet his sentences: they were statements of fact, presented with such honest directness: not trying to please, just bare simple answers and statements, not trying to help a conversation along. It was amazing--breathtaking. I could not speak. What kind of boy was this?"

This boy--already known as the "Lone Eagle"--was beyond "alone"; he was isolated and trapped.

Charles Lindbergh had withdrawn into himself.

Charles was surrounded by admirers living in the "make-believe" world of the Press, and still, had no one to talk to in his own, real world...

...no one to share with, until Anne arrives compassionately to his rescue:

"We talked of going to Xochimilco. We all wanted to go--would he go? He wanted to, but then he said he was afraid he might 'spoil our day'--a crowd would gather. It was quite pathetic, for he wanted to go. I said, 'I feel as though the nicest thing we could do for you would be to leave you alone.' He smiled so kindly but said, 'No, I'd like very much to go--very much indeed.' We were off!"

When they return, he takes them flying, and for Anne--like her sisters--the experience is as much a revelation as it is a first!

"Let me be conscious of this! Let me be conscious!"

Joy and exhilaration overtake her:

"We were high above fields, and there far, far below, was a small shadow as of a great bird tearing along the neatly marked off fields. It gave me the most tremendous shock to realize for the first time the terrific speed we were going at and that that shadow meant us--us, like a mirror! That 'bird'--it was us."

She watches him as well, observing his movements and features:

"He was so perfectly at home--all his movements mechanical. He sat easily and quietly, not rigidly, but relaxed, yet alert. One hand on the wheel--one hand! He has the most tremendous hands."

Man and machine have made their impression. She bids Charles farewell, believing she will never see him again, then watches as he departs Mexico City in his Ryan Monoplane, the "Spirit of St. Louis".

...though Anne's love for him has already begun:

"The feeling of exultant joy that there is anyone like that in the world. I shall never see him again, and he did not notice me, or would ever, but there is such a person alive, there is such a life, and I am here on this earth, in this age, to know it!"

In the months that followed Charles' famous trans-Atlantic flight, Anne was probably the only person he had met who spoke to him with any sincerity...

...and she had simply offered to leave him alone.

Weeks go by in pages, and they meet again. Her love of his world solidifys the bond between them. Enamored with her, Charles Lindbergh falls for the girl that refers to him as:

"That boy."

I first read this book when I was sixteen and it touched me in ways I could not explain. When I suffered through a tragedy last year Anne Lindbergh's writings helped me survive I can never thank her. But I can encourage you to read this book and experience life through her young but wise eyes

I had read of the Lindberghs and of the famous kidnapping before reading this book, but wasn't prepared for the poignant and honest writing by Anne. To read about her life as a newlywed who flew with her husband in the early days of aviation was enthralling, and to read of their problems being pursued and photographed reminded me of Princess Diana being hounded by the paparazzi. The Lindberghs were pioneers in aviation, and were public figures without wishing to be ... how sad that their first child was stolen and then found dead. I was moved to tears reading Anne's descriptions of her son while mourning him; I can't imagine living through such a horrible experience. Her writing is true and beautiful and honest ... a rare treasure.

This is one of the most wonderful books I've ever read. Being only 23 years old the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby was before my time however, this story is timeless. Beautifully written complete with diary entries and family pictures. This book is a true literary classic to be enjoyed by every generation. An honest journey into the heart of a young girl, wife and mother.

Jerimiah is mad when Pineapple Place moves to Athens, Conneticut. When he meets Ruby things start to change. Even though the People of Pineapple Place are invisible, they become friends and they have many adventures.

After watching _The Spirit of St. Louis_ one afternoon, my boyfriend (who is also a pilot) told me that Anne Morrow Lindbergh had written a book, which, as he was told, "every woman should read." The next time I went to his house, _Gift from the Sea_ was waiting for me.

What amazed me about this book was its timeliness, or should I say, timelessness. That a middle-aged Caucasian woman, writing during the 50's, could strike such a deeply-felt chord of sisterhood with me, a 30-something African-American woman living at the brink of a new millennium, is truly the mark of a gifted writer. We "enlightened, liberated" women of the year 2000 think, with a fair amount of condescension, that we have "progressed" so much from that time period. And yet, the issues Mrs. Lindbergh addressed are still very much with us today: how does a woman fulfill the roles of citizen, artist, wife/partner, mother, career person, friend, sibling/relative, and balance all of that with the time and self-commitment for spiritual/emotional nurturing?

I have a quote from this precious gift posted on the wall at my workstation; it is a state of being I seek as a humble pilgrim on life's journey:

"...I want first of all...to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact - to borrow from the language of the saints - to live "in grace" as much of the time as possible...By grace I mean an inner harmony, essentially spiritual, which can be translated into outward harmony...I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God..."

This is a must read for women everywhere!

I had no idea, when I found this book in a little beach bookstore recently, that it was written in 1955. Had I known, it probably would have dissuaded me from buying it. I now know how fortunate I am to have not known!

I believe that books, words and people come into our lives at the time they are most needed, and Gift from the Sea certainly fits that bill for me. While small bits of it may be dated, most of it speaks as clearly and truly to modern day woman as it would have to 1950s women. In fact, with so many women in search of their most authentic self these days, it may even be MORE relevant to today's woman! It is a delicate and thoughtful essay on solitude, couplehood, inner peace and the wonder of nature. I can't imagine anyone not being inspired and uplifted by reading it. Truly, a gift for the soul.

"I begin to understand why the saints were rarely married women," Anne Morrow Lindbergh writes. "The problem is not merely one of Woman and Career, Woman and the Home, Woman and Independence. It is more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one off center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery."

Using the illustration of shells from the sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh clears away the clutter of life, pares it down to its most simple form, that of an internal life that lends clarity to the externals. Each section of the book is a different shell, and a different lesson learned. Peace within one's self, simplicity, clarity, joy, the validity of each cycle and era of a lifetime, strength, and wholeness are just some of the lessons she imparts.

In about 50 years things have not become any less complicated, and this short, simple little book is even more relevant to our busy and noisy modern lives. The lesson one takes away from the book is not how to get rid of all the things, but how to find a calm, still center within one's self to maintain sanity, and that need never change, no matter what the distractions might be.

Throughout my teens, I devoured each installment of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's journals. Then I read Charles Lindbergh's memoirs. A few years ago, the Notable Trials Library published the trial transcripts from Bruno Richard Hauptmann's kidnapping and murder proceedings. Now, Reeve Lindbergh, Charles and Anne's youngest daughter, has published a memoir concerning her aging mother's final months. These works have left a lasting impression upon me -- No More Words included.

This accomplished, literary family has shared so much of their private lives in so many ways. It is fitting that Reeve Lindbergh (who has her mother's rare gift of perception and expression) shared these final months of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's life with us. As was true of nearly all of the Lindbergh diaries (Bring Me a Unicorn was the upbeat exception), reading No More Words left me emotionally-drained at times. Ms. Lindbergh weaves memories of her strong, wise mother into the story of her mother's frail final years. Each chapter begins with an excerpt from Anne Morrow Lindbergh's works which somehow puts the upcoming chapter into perspective. This book falls within the "couldn't put it down" category -- it is easily finished in a couple of sittings.

I have read Reeve Lindbergh's work before in her memoir, "Under A Wing". I was surprised at her candor regarding her father, and what was equally clear was her fondness for her mother. "No More Words", which records the last 17 trying and rewarding months of her mother's life, is a tender tribute that is notable for what it includes and for what it omits.

The only photograph of Mrs. Lindbergh is the one that appears on the cover. The photograph depicts a young woman at the start of what would prove to be a life as fascinating as it was lengthy. The closing months of this woman's life are chronicled above all else with a great deal of respect. This is a most private family event, and just as the book is devoid of any pictures for the voyeur, the narrative too is informative without taking away any of the dignity of her mother. This would seem to be an obvious manner to write of one's parent, but a person does not have to look far to find books written with sales as the first goal, and exploitation of the subject left unconsidered.

Reeve Lindbergh is a poet, she is reflective, and these aspects of her personality provide a narrative that is unique. This book is not simply a diary; it is not a chronological description of the systematic health decline of her mother. It is more of a story that is driven by the limited interactions she was able to have with her mother, and the memories that were either hers or recollections of her mother's life. This is not a sugarcoated story of what was a very trying time. The book is a balanced memoir about how difficult it is to deal with not only the death of a parent, but also the very real difficulties and frustrations that caring for an elderly, ill parent involves. Mrs. Lindbergh had the best care available which took much of the moment-to-moment care off of the family. It did not remove many of the difficulties, and the reader can easily imagine what it would entail to care for a parent with little, or no outside help.

This is a very contemplative book that moves at an associated pace.

I had the opportunity to meet Reeve Lindbergh last week at an author event at our local bookstore - she read excerpts of this book and spoke with great joy and humor about her relationship with her mother (and father) despite the difficult few years before her mother's death. This book is a MUST READ for anyone who felt a personal connection with Anne Morrow Lindbergh through her published diaries and letters, or other books.

This is NOT a bedpans, nurses, feeding tubes story filled with morose details about the decline of an aging parent, rather a tender, bittersweet, and often humorous recollection of a much-loved mother and the impact of her life and death upon her daughter and those who surrounded her in her final months and days.

Having adored Anne Morrow Lindbergh's writing, and felt a deep personal connection with her through that writing, this book helped to bring a sort of closure to me. Thank you, Reeve, for sharing your deeply personal reflections of the final chapter of your mother's life.