Inheritance E-Book

Dani Shapiro

• Herausgeber: Daunt Books
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

A New York Times Bestseller'Profound… Shapiro's account is beautifully written and deeply moving – it brought me to tears more than once.' -- New York Times'All my life I had known there was a secret. What I hadn't known: the secret was me.'In the spring of 2016 Dani Shapiro received the stunning news that her father was not her biological father. Months earlier, on a whim, she had submitted her DNA to a genealogy website for analysis. The results were astonishing, and revealed that everything she had believed about her life had been a lie.Shapiro's parents were no longer alive. With no one to turn to, and only a handful of figures on a webpage, Shapiro set out to discover the truth about herself and her identity.Inheritance is a genetic detective story; a memoir that reads like a thriller. It is a book about family secrets kept out of shame or self-protectiveness; secrets we keep from one another in the name of love. It is a book about the extraordinary moment we live in, where science and technology have outpaced both medical ethics and the capacities of the human heart to contend with the consequences of what we discover.'Reads like a beautiful, lived novel, moving and personal and true.'-- Meg Wolitzer, author of The Female Persuasion'A fantastic writer.' -- Dolly Alderton'A meditation on what it means to live in a time when secrecy, anonymity and mystery are vanishing. [Inheritance] encapsulates an ethical quandary with which our society has yet to fully grapple.' -- The New Yorker'Shapiro writes with poetic precision in prose that sometimes sings. And she knows how to tell a story... Fascinating.' -- Sunday Times'Those who like to insist that blood is always thicker than water should read Inheritance, and let their own hearts slowly and gently expand.' -- Rachel Cooke, Observer'An intensely personal story, and a beautifully written enquiry into belonging and self. So warm and deft. I envy those yet to read it.' -- Nigella Lawson'A compulsively-readable investigation into selfhood that burrows to the heart of what it means to accept, to love and to belong.' -- Anthony Doerr, author of All the Light We Cannot See'A writer of rare talent.' -- Cheryl Strayed, author of Wild

Leseprobe

A Washington Post, Vulture, Bustle, PopSugar and LitHub Most Anticipated Book of 2019

‘Profound … The true drama of Inheritance is not Shapiro’s discovery of her father’s identity but the meaning she makes of it … Shapiro’s account is beautifully written and deeply moving – it brought me to tears more than once.’ – Ruth Franklin, New York Times Book Review

‘Poignant … Origin stories are among the most powerful that exist because they shape people’s identities and anchor them – to a culture, a place and other people. When stories about the past change, Ms Shapiro argues, so does the future … In losing the genetic connection to the man who raised her, Ms. Shapiro gained new insight into their enduring bond.’ – Wall Street Journal

‘Fascinating … With thoughtful candour, [Shapiro] explores the ethical questions surrounding sperm donation, the consequences of DNA testing, and the emotional impact of having an uprooted religious and ethnic identity. This beautifully written, thought-provoking genealogical mystery will captivate readers from the very first pages.’ – Publishers Weekly (starred review)

‘Inheritance reads like an emotional detective story … Shapiro is skilled at spinning her personal explorations into narrative gold … Life has handed her rich material. But her books work not just because the situations she writes about are inherently dramatic and relatable. Her prose is clear and often lovely, and her searching questions are unfailingly intelligent … The relevance of Shapiro’s latest memoir extends beyond her own personal experience. Inheritance broaches issues about the moral ramifications of genealogical surprises.’ – NPR

‘An introspective mystery.’ – Elle

‘For all the trauma that the discovery put her through, Shapiro recognises that what she had experienced was a great story – one that has inspired her best book.’ – Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

‘Page after page, Shapiro displays a disarming honesty and an acute desire to know the unknowable.’ – Booklist (starred review)

‘Dani Shapiro can tell this story like no one else could … Smart, psychologically astute and not afraid to tell it like it is.’ – USA Today

‘An incredible work of investigation and self-reflection … A thrilling and emotional ride … The story’s beating heart is Shapiro herself … Written with generosity and honesty, Inheritance takes the modern phenomenon of casual DNA testing and builds a deeply personal narrative around it. The result is a vital, necessary read from a talented author.’ – Paste

‘A fascinating and pertinent look into the murky world of medical ethics, as well as the kind of profound, insightful look into the meaning of love and connection that we’ve come to expect from Shapiro.’ – Nylon

‘An unflinching, deeply personal [and] eloquent memoir.’ – Shelf Awareness

‘I devoured the memoir Inheritance in two days … Read this book.’ – A Cup of Jo

‘Inheritance is Dani Shapiro at her best: a gripping genetic detective story, and a meditation on the meaning of parenthood and family. It raises profound questions about the quandaries and responsibilities engendered by our newfound ability to know what – and whom – we are made of.’ –Jennifer Egan, author of Manhattan Beach

‘With Inheritance, Dani Shapiro tells a startling story of origins – their deep reach and their lasting reverberations. This book reads like a beautiful, lived novel, moving and personal and true.’ – Meg Wolitzer, author of The Female Persuasion

‘When Dani Shapiro discovers, purely by accident, that the father who raised her was not her biological father, she embarks upon a profound journey of understanding. What is ancestry? What is identity? Inheritance is a compulsively-readable investigation into selfhood that burrows to the heart of what it means to accept, to love, and to belong.’ – Anthony Doerr, author of All the Light WeCannot See

‘Identity is frail business, and in her searing story, Dani Shapiro makes the most disquieting discovery: that everything, from her lineage, to her father, down to her very own sense of self is an astounding error. How do we live with ourselves after finding we are not who we thought we were? The answer is not disquieting. It is beautiful.’ – Andre Aciman, author of Call Me by Your Name

‘Inheritance is an extraordinary memoir that speaks to themes as current as today’s headlines and as old as human history. With unflinching curiosity and candour, Dani Shapiro explores the mystery of her own lineage as she questions the notion of lineage itself: What makes a father a father? And how are we shaped by our family lore? This beautifully crafted book is full of wisdom and heart, showing that what we don’t know about our parents may not be as important as what we do.’ – Will Schwalbe, author of Books for Living and The End of Your Life Book Club

‘What do we inherit, and how, and why? Dani Shapiro posits what sits at the root of all our existence. Her magnificent journey of self-hood, arduous and awakening, makes our communal reflection in the mirror deeper and continually delving.’ – Jamie Lee Curtis

INHERITANCE

A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity and Love

Dani Shapiro

DAUNT BOOKS

This book is for my father.

Author’s Note

This is a work of non-fiction. In some cases, names and identifying details have been changed in order to respect and protect the privacy of others, and to keep a promise I made from the very start.

I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed. – Sylvia Plath, ‘The Colossus’

If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself. – George Orwell, 1984

Contents

Title PageDedicationAuthor’s NoteEpigraph PART ONE12345678 PART TWO9101112131415161718192021222324252627282930 PART THREE3132333435363738394041 PART FOUR424344454647484950 Acknowledgments Daunt BooksAbout the AuthorAlso by Dani ShapiroCopyright

PART ONE

1

WHEN I WAS A GIRL I would sneak down the hall late at night once my parents were asleep. I would lock myself in the bathroom, climb onto the Formica counter, and get as close as possible to the mirror until I was nose to nose with my own reflection. This wasn’t an exercise in the simple self-absorption of childhood. The stakes felt high. Who knows how long I kneeled there, staring into my own eyes. I was looking for something I couldn’t possibly have articulated – but I always knew it when I saw it. If I waited long enough, my face would begin to morph. I was eight, ten, thirteen. Cheeks, eyes, chin, and forehead – my features softened and shape-shifted until finally I was able to see another face, a different face, what seemed to me a truer face just beneath my own.

Now it is early morning and I’m in a small hotel bathroom three thousand miles from home. I’m fifty-four years old, and it’s a long time since I was that girl. But here I am again, staring and staring at my reflection. A stranger stares back at me.

The coordinates: I’m in San Francisco – Japantown, to be precise – just off a long flight. The facts: I’m a woman, a wife, a mother, a writer, a teacher. I’m a daughter. I blink. The stranger in the mirror blinks too. A daughter. Over the course of a single day and night, the familiar has vanished. Familiar: belonging to a family. On the other side of the thin wall I hear my husband crack open a newspaper. The floor seems to sway. Or perhaps it’s my body trembling. I don’t know what a nervous breakdown would feel like, but I wonder if I’m having one. I trace my fingers across the planes of my cheekbones, down my neck, across my clavicle, as if to be certain I still exist. I’m hit by a wave of dizziness and grip the bathroom counter. In the weeks and months to come, I will become well acquainted with this sensation. It will come over me on street corners and kerbs, in airports, train stations. I’ll take it as a sign to slow down. Take a breath. Feel the fact of my own body. You’re still you, I tell myself, again and again and again.

3

A SEPIA PHOTOGRAPH of my father as a little boy hangs just outside our living room, where I pass it dozens of times a day. He poses in a herringbone coat and bowler hat, white kneesocks and shoes, playfully holding a cane. His eyes are round, his smile impish. He was the oldest son born into a family obsessed with recording itself – a family conscious of its own legacy. Grandparents, great-uncles, great-aunts, even distant cousins from the old country are scattered throughout my house. But it is the portrait of my father that is my favourite. Who is that? friends will ask. My dad, I will answer. He has been dead more than half my life and still the feeling is the same: a warm, quiet pride, a sense of connection, of tethering, of belonging.

The portraits and sepia photographs can be traced to the Eastern Europe of my forebears. My ninety-three-year-old aunt Shirley – my father’s younger sister – has been the family archivist. Years ago, she entrusted Michael and me with the task of digitising the contents of a massive leather-bound family album. Jagged-edged photographs traced an evolution from the dusty shtetl to prosperous turn-of-the-century America. Michael took each one from the album and created an online version to share with the grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, now numbering in the hundreds. There’s Grammy and Grampy about to set sail for Europe. My grandparents were regal and glamorous next to a trolley piled high with their steamer trunks. There’s Rabbi Soloveitchik and Uncle Moe with Lyndon Johnson. There’s Moe with John Kennedy. Men in yarmulkes next to presidents, their faces proud and lit with purpose.

These ancestors are the foundation upon which I have built my life. I have dreamt of them, wrestled with them, longed for them. I have tried to understand them. In my writing, they have been my territory – my obsession, you might even say. They are the tangled roots – thick, rich, and dark – that bind me to the turning earth. During younger years when I was lost – particularly after my dad’s death – I used them as my inner compass. I would ask what to do, which way to turn. I would listen intently, and hear them answer. I don’t mean this metaphysically – not exactly. I’m not sure what I believe about where we go when we die, but I can say with certainty that I’ve felt the presence of this long-gone crowd whenever I’ve sought them. My dad, in particular, would come to me in an electric tingle running the length of my body. I was convinced that my father was able to reach me through time and space because of the thousands of people who connected us.

L’dor vador. These Hebrew words, one of most fundamental tenets of Judaism, translate into from generation to generation. I am the tenth and youngest grandchild of Joseph Shapiro, self-made industrialist, philanthropist, a leader of modern Orthodoxy: chairman of the presidium of the Mesifta Tifereth Jerusalem, treasurer of Torah Umesorah, vice president of the Lubavitcher Yeshiva, member of the national board of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations. I am the tenth and youngest grandchild of Beatrice Shapiro, his beautiful, gracious wife, who was admired and emulated by religious women of her generation the world over. I am the daughter of their oldest son, Paul. Everything I am, everything I know to be true, begins with these facts.

I woke up one morning and life was as I had always known it to be. There were certain things I thought I could count on. I looked at my hand, for example, and I knew it was my hand. My foot was my foot. My face, my face. My history, my history. After all, it’s impossible to know the future, but we can be reasonably sure about the past. By the time I went to bed that night, my entire history – the life I had lived – had crumbled beneath me, like the buried ruins of an ancient forgotten city.

A Zen meditation made popular by the twentieth-century Indian sage Ramana Maharshi goes like this: the student begins by asking and answering the question Who am I?

I am a woman. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a writer. I am a daughter. I am a granddaughter. I am a niece. I am a cousin. I am, I am, I am.

The idea is that eventually, the sense of I am will dissolve. Once we’re past all our many labels and notions of what makes us who we think we are, we will discover that there is no I – no us. This will lead us to a greater understanding of the true nature of impermanence. The exercise is meant to go on long past the most obvious pillars of our identity, the ones beyond question – until we run out of all the ways we think of ourselves. But what does it mean when the I am breaks down at the very beginning of the list?