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Essays, excerpts and other interesting stuff

Excerpt from My Mother Ruth: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Art
A daughter returns home after twenty years
My Mother's Legacy
An essay from Victoria magazine
Meeting E. B. White, author of Charlotte's Web
An essay from Victoria magazine
"The Why"
A speech about "chronic fatigue syndrome" in London

Bio

Hillary Johnson, author, 2006
Hillary Johnson is the author of My Mother Ruth: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Art, a memoir of the complicated relationship she had with her unusual mother, the artist Ruth Jones. The book was selected as one of the top ten non-fiction books of 1999 by the New Yorker magazine. (see reviews)

Johnson has been a journalist since working as the Berkeley stringer for the San Francisco Chronicle while a student at U.C. Berkieley. She received her Masters in Journalism from Columbia University in New York, and has worked as a staff reporter at the Mineapolis Tribune, Congressional Quarterly, Women's Wear Daily, W, and at Life magazine. She was a contributing editor for Rolling Stone magazine for a decade, and has written for numerous publications, including the Wall Street Journal, the Christian Science Monitor, Vanity Fair, Vogue, Town & Country, US magazine, Harper's Bazaar, Mirabella, Elle, Working Woman, In Style, the British magazine Tatler and the Columbia Journalism Review. She has taught as both a professor of journalism at Marist College in Poughkeepsie, NY and a workshop leader in profile writing at Manhattanville College in Purchase, NY. She is also the author of Osler's Web: Inside the Labyrinth of the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome Epidemic, published in 1996 and updated in 2006.

From My Mother Ruth:

"When I was in my early twenties, many of my contemporaries claimed that feminism had saved their lives. Had they missed out, they said, they would have gone insane, killed themselves, ended up on the street. I believe I felt similarly at the time, although I think now we all would have found a way to live our lives without becoming bag ladies. In my case, feminism was like a tempest that blew the sand off a long-undisturbed memory. It roiled my recollection of the childhood I had spent with Ruth, the lilac-scented, pre-divorce years on Girard Avenue during which she told me again and again that I could be anything I wanted to be for the simple reason that she loved me, and most especially that I was already--though a child--a writer. Feminism returned me to that state of innocence. I discovered that I wanted to do good; I wanted to be a reporter and a debunker. I was, for the first time since those distant, enchanted years, full of hope and heart-pounding ambition."

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