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Morris - All the way to the tigers: a memoir

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Morris All the way to the tigers: a memoir
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    All the way to the tigers: a memoir
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    Nan A. Talese;Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
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    2020
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    India;New York;Tiger
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All the way to the tigers: a memoir: summary, description and annotation

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A new travel narrative examining healing, redemption, and what it means to be a solo woman on the road.
In the tradition ofWildby Cheryl Strayed andInheritanceby Dani Shapiro, Mary Morris turns a personal catastrophe into a rich, multilayered memoir full of personal growth, family history, and thrilling travel.
In February 2008 a casual afternoon of ice skating derailed the trip of a lifetime. Mary Morris was on the verge of a well-earned sabbatical, months of travel and adventure. But her itinerary turned into three months in a wheelchair, two surgeries, and months of rehabilitation. On Easter Sunday, when she was supposed to be in Morocco, Morris was instead lying on the sofa readingDeath in Venice, casting her eyes over these words again and again: He would go on a journey. Not that far. Not all the way to the tigers. Disaster shifted to possibility and Morris made a decision. When she was well enough to walk again (and her doctor wasnt sure she ever would), she would go all the way to the tigers.
So begins a three-year odyssey that takes Morris to India in search of the worlds most elusive apex predator. Her first lesson: dont look for a tiger because you wont find it--you look for signs of a tiger. And all unseen tigers, hiding in the bush, are referred to as she. Morris connects deeply with these magnificent and highly endangered animals, and her weeks on tiger safari also afford a new understanding of herself.
Written in over a hundred short chapters accompanied by the authors photographs, this travel memoir offers an elegiac, wry, and wise look at a woman on the road and the glorious, elusive creature she seeks.

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ALSO BY MARY MORRIS Gateway to the Moon The Jazz Palace The River Queen - photo 1
ALSO BY MARY MORRIS

Gateway to the Moon

The Jazz Palace

The River Queen

Revenge

Acts of God

Angels & Aliens

The Lifeguard

House Arrest

The Night Sky

Wall to Wall

The Waiting Room

Nothing to Declare

The Bus of Dreams

Crossroads

Vanishing Animals

Copyright 2020 by Mary Morris All rights reserved Published in the United - photo 2

Copyright 2020 by Mary Morris All rights reserved Published in the United - photo 3

Copyright 2020 by Mary Morris

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto.

www.nanatalese.com

Doubleday is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. Nan A. Talese and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

Cover design by Emily Mahon

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Morris, Mary, 1947 author.

Title: All the way to the tigers : a memoir / by Mary Morris.

Description: First edition. | New York : Nan A. Talese, [2020]

Identifiers: LCCN 2019026131 (print) | LCCN 2019026132 (ebook) | ISBN 9780385546096 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780385546102 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH : IndiaDescription and travel. | SafarisIndia. | Morris, Mary, 1947 TravelIndia. | Novelists, American20th centuryBiography. | TigerIndiaAnecdotes. | Women travelersBiography. | New York (N.Y.)Biography.

Classification: LCC DS 414.2 . M 675 2020 (print) | LCC DS 414.2 (ebook) | DDC 915.404/532092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019026131

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019026132

Ebook ISBN9780385546102

ep_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

Contents

To Kate and Chris

And to wild things everywhere

He would go on a journey. Not far. Not all the way to the tigers.

THOMAS MANN, Death in Venice

India 2011 WE HAVENT MOVED in what seems like hours Its late afternoon in - photo 4

India, 2011

WE HAVENT MOVED in what seems like hours. Its late afternoon in January, and I can see my breath. Our jeep is at a crossroads where my driver and guide sit in silence. Ajay is listening. His eyes dart, skimming the woods. But mainly he listens. Im listening too. Though Im not sure what Im supposed to hear. Ive got two horsehair blankets across my legs, a hot-water bottle cooling in my lap, and a scarf wrapped around my head. Im shivering, not only from the cold but also perhaps from a fever, and coughing from a virus thats sunk deep into my chest. As the sun is going down, a family of langur monkeys gathers in the trees.

Something rustles the bush, and theres chatter above. A bird with turquoise-and-black feathers that look like an evening gown flits through the forest. Another with two long purple plumes perches on a low-hanging branch. Ajay points to the scat of an elephant in the road, but its a tame elephant, one of four used by the rangers to patrol these woods. A jackal bursts from the brush and crosses our path. But the tiger eludes us. It is the tiger everyone comes to see. Not the snake-eating hawk, the spotted deer, the wild boar. Its all about the tiger.

Sudhir, our driver, wants to push on, but Ajay motions for him to be patient. Ajay is still listening. It is almost dusk. The other jeeps have called it a day. In fact there were very few. Ive seen almost no tourists. I am alone with my driver and guide in this jeep that holds eight. Its getting colder, almost freezing as the darkness settles in. I am in the jungle, sick and cold, with blankets wrapped around my thighs, searching for tigers. Weve been out for days without a sign, but Ajay and Sudhir want to persist. It has become a point of pride. Ive seen beautiful birds, I tell them. White-spotted and sambar deer. Ive seen a jackal race down the road and monkeys, mocking us from trees. I dont need to see more. But it seems that I am the one thing in this jungle that they wont listen to. Slowly Ajay raises his hand. Hes whispering to Sudhir. He listens, then points, and now both men are pointing in different directions. What is it? I ask. As always I hear nothing.

Sambar deer alarm call. She is warning spotted deer.

Suddenly we are off as Sudhir zigzags along the twists and turns of the rutted dirt road. I bump up and down in the back, holding the frame as we approach a fork. Go right, go right, Ajay mouths, his hand waving Sudhir on. We race down into a big meadow surrounded by trees. Once more we stop and the men stand up. Ajay borrows my binoculars. He scans the meadow, focused on some movement in the brush. In there, Ajay says. Shes somewhere in there. Ajay explains that all unseen tigers are referred to as she. The tiger, hidden in the brush, is always she.

We wait for her to move while we stand still. Theres an eerie quiet in the air as we sit, watching. Using my hand as a visor, my eyes scan the woods as well. Shes out there. I have no doubt. My guide knows too. We are silent and the jungle around us is quiet as we wait for the bushes to rustle and the tiger to emerge. Shes crouching in the tall grass that hides her stripes. But Im willing to wait. In my own way Ive been waiting for a long time.

Brooklyn, 2008

ON A WINTER MORNING I turn to my husband over coffee. Lets go skating, I say. It is a clear, crisp daythe beginning of an eight-month sabbatical that Ive been looking forward to for a long time. My calendar is empty of obligationsdevoid of anything except the words JURY DUTY . It is jury duty that preoccupies me that morning. I received a summons the week before and I am obsessed with it. What if Im put on a case? I fear being tied down. Otherwise nothing stands between me and months during which I can do whatever I choose.

Ive spent seven years waiting for this sabbatical. Given that we change all the cells in our bodies every seven years, I am a different person than I was the last time I had a leave. And this is my first leave in more than twenty years when I dont have a child at home. Im looking forward to months of free time and travel. On sheets of paper Ive written wish lists of the things I plan to do, places Id see.

We are going to Rome, where Larry will run in the Rome Marathon and Ill take a watercolor classsomething Ive always wanted to do. Then on to a house swap in Spain. Our daughter, Kate, who is spending the year in Ireland, is going to join us for her spring break. Then well travel to Morocco. Soon well be taking a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar. These journeys are my lifeblood. And at times they are also my livelihood. Im contemplating a year of nomadic roaming. I have things to do. Adventures await. Time lies before me like an open road, and I want to begin by going skating with my husband.

Sure, Larry replies, seeing how eager I am, lets go.


Ice-skating is something Ive done all my life. I grew up on skates and skated as an adult for years. Childhood friends of minebrother and sister twinscompeted at the national level in pairs and I loved watching them practice at our rink. I have fantasies of my own. I love zipping around as the three tenors croon or the theme song from

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