MY LITTLE DONKEY

Beasts of beauty.

Cooley, an American author, leaves the hustle of teaching and moves to Italy with her Italian-born husband. She finds a bestiary before her—local animals whose looks and behaviors prompt reflection on human longing, social life, and inner growth. A donkey lives on the borderlands between lagoon and landscape, a “little creature…neither horse nor human….Two different cultures were tugging on my sense of self, making me wobble.” Interspersed among these essays are brief critical reflections on words and things. “Vitriol” comes from a word meaning “glassy” in appearance, and this etymology leads to a meditation on the shiny, sulfurous crystals that are mined for detergents and detonators. Cooley’s grandfather was a professional musician. His memory prompts discussion of whether art can redeem us, or whether pettiness and anger fully coexist with the making of beauty. She quotes John Cage: “My favorite piece of music is the one we hear all the time if we are quiet.” These essays have a musical feel to them, at times improvisations, at times variations on a theme. But in her Eden, Cooley realizes that there is little quiet in the world, as war rages in the Middle East and Ukraine. The echoes reach her as she observes her cat sleeping, “the black pads of her paws less like the sheaths of swords than like licorice drops.” Beauty and violence, the trivial and the profound, come together here to make us see the world anew.

Essays that celebrate the sublime in the ordinary and the redemptions found in literature and family life.