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The Beauty of Dusk: On Vision Lost and Found
From New York Times columnist and bestselling author Frank Bruni comes a wise and moving memoir about aging, affliction, and optimism after partially losing his eyesight.
One morning in late 2017, New York Times columnist Frank Bruni woke up with strangely blurred vision. He wondered at first if some goo or gunk had worked its way into his right eye. But this was no fleeting annoyance, no fixable inconvenience. Overnight, a rare stroke had cut off blood to one of his optic nerves, rendering him functionally blind in that eye-forever. And he soon learned from doctors that the same disorder could ravage his left eye, too. He could lose his sight altogether.
In The Beauty of Dusk, Bruni hauntingly recounts his adjustment to this daunting reality, a medical and spiritual odyssey that involved not only reappraising his own priorities but also reaching out to, and gathering wisdom from, longtime friends and new acquaintances who had navigated their own traumas and afflictions.
The result is a poignant, probing, and ultimately uplifting examination of the limits that all of us inevitably encounter, the lenses through which we choose to evaluate them and the tools we have for perseverance. Bruni's world blurred in one sense, as he experienced his first real inklings that the day isn't forever and that light inexorably fades, but sharpened in another. Confronting unexpected hardship, he felt more blessed than ever before. There was vision lost. There was also vision found.
One morning in late 2017, New York Times columnist Frank Bruni woke up with strangely blurred vision. He wondered at first if some goo or gunk had worked its way into his right eye. But this was no fleeting annoyance, no fixable inconvenience. Overnight, a rare stroke had cut off blood to one of his optic nerves, rendering him functionally blind in that eye-forever. And he soon learned from doctors that the same disorder could ravage his left eye, too. He could lose his sight altogether.
In The Beauty of Dusk, Bruni hauntingly recounts his adjustment to this daunting reality, a medical and spiritual odyssey that involved not only reappraising his own priorities but also reaching out to, and gathering wisdom from, longtime friends and new acquaintances who had navigated their own traumas and afflictions.
The result is a poignant, probing, and ultimately uplifting examination of the limits that all of us inevitably encounter, the lenses through which we choose to evaluate them and the tools we have for perseverance. Bruni's world blurred in one sense, as he experienced his first real inklings that the day isn't forever and that light inexorably fades, but sharpened in another. Confronting unexpected hardship, he felt more blessed than ever before. There was vision lost. There was also vision found.
Editorial Reviews
"The Beauty of Dusk isn't the sad story of a man who lost his sight; it is the generous narrative of a student who sought wisdom when trials appeared in his life. . . . The volume curates an extraordinary collection of miniature profiles in courage and perseverance-a college friend with Parkinson's, a blind Rhodes scholar turned lieutenant governor and many more. As Bruni walks alongside those who have heard the unwanted news, suffered the terrifying and somehow found intimacy, purpose and joy, he metabolizes his own loss into a muscular wisdom. . . . There is mental and physical agony in this life, and Bruni does not judge anyone's decisions; rather, he grieves the losses and appreciates the grace. . . . Bruni persuades us to adapt out of loss. To do this, he relies on his writing weapons: He names the issues, asks the knotty questions, then writes toward the truths that the reader may need." -Min Jin Lee, The New York Times
"Moving and inspiring . . . Readers can discover through this memoir the inner strength to face their inevitable challenges, a renewed understanding of what others would say on their invisible sandwich boards, and a deeper well of compassion and kindness." -Stephen Petrow, The Washington Post
"Frank Bruni is one of my favorite people in the world. . . . Man, he can write . . . The Beauty of Dusk is a positive message, a powerful reminder that with great vulnerability also comes great reward." -Oprah
"Bruni's beautifully written, reflective memoir is riveting." -Good Morning America, Must-Reads for March
"In this eloquent meditation on aging and resilience, journalist Bruni recounts his journey to acceptance after a stroke robbed him of much of his vision in the right eye. Instead of despairing, he sets out to learn how others navigate sight-impaired worlds-and rediscovers the gifts in his own life." -People
"A book about vision loss that becomes testimony to human courage, a moving memoir that offers perspective, comfort, and hope." -Booklist (starred review)
"Exquisitely written-smart and funny and a joy to read. I love this book!" -Ina Garten
"[An] affecting, illuminating memoir . . . With compassion and grace, Bruni guides us along a literal pilgrimage between light and darkness, a tender meld of science reporting and philosophical investigation." -Oprah Daily Most Anticipated Books of 2022
"Weaving together his own story of diminished eyesight with the stories of many other people, Frank Bruni constructs a philosophical narrative of resilience: how we can d...
"Moving and inspiring . . . Readers can discover through this memoir the inner strength to face their inevitable challenges, a renewed understanding of what others would say on their invisible sandwich boards, and a deeper well of compassion and kindness." -Stephen Petrow, The Washington Post
"Frank Bruni is one of my favorite people in the world. . . . Man, he can write . . . The Beauty of Dusk is a positive message, a powerful reminder that with great vulnerability also comes great reward." -Oprah
"Bruni's beautifully written, reflective memoir is riveting." -Good Morning America, Must-Reads for March
"In this eloquent meditation on aging and resilience, journalist Bruni recounts his journey to acceptance after a stroke robbed him of much of his vision in the right eye. Instead of despairing, he sets out to learn how others navigate sight-impaired worlds-and rediscovers the gifts in his own life." -People
"A book about vision loss that becomes testimony to human courage, a moving memoir that offers perspective, comfort, and hope." -Booklist (starred review)
"Exquisitely written-smart and funny and a joy to read. I love this book!" -Ina Garten
"[An] affecting, illuminating memoir . . . With compassion and grace, Bruni guides us along a literal pilgrimage between light and darkness, a tender meld of science reporting and philosophical investigation." -Oprah Daily Most Anticipated Books of 2022
"Weaving together his own story of diminished eyesight with the stories of many other people, Frank Bruni constructs a philosophical narrative of resilience: how we can d...
Readers Top Reviews
Carolyn
This is an excellent read. Frank Bruni is an extraordinary writer and a brilliant story teller. I learned so much from reading this. I can’t recommend this book enough. He addresses brilliantly the positive aspects of aging and the power of people with disabilities to move forward and appreciate life. Thank you for writing this Mr. Bruni
I am not from the NYC area, and while I get the NY Times digitally, I had never read any of Frank Bruni's columns or books. At the recommendation of my NYC sister-in-law, I just finished listening to "The Beauty of Dusk: On Vision Lost and Found" on Audible. I've now bought it on Kindle so I can find in print some of his insights and phrases. This book is beyond beautiful - cosmopolitan yet so down to earth and from the heart. I will start following Frank Bruni's columns. Through his narration via Audible, I felt like I was taking a long walk with a first cousin whom I didn't know existed. So real yet so uplifting.
Gary Moreau, Author
The man can write. If you love the written word, as I do, that alone is worth the trouble to take in his prose. It’s witty. It’s profound. It’s succinct. And you never need to open a dictionary. It doesn’t get much better. Bruni lost the sight in one of his eyes, or at least all clarity of sight, to a non-arteritic anterior optic neuropathy, which, to his credit, he only writes out once. Recovery was unlikely and there was always the chance that the same thing would eventually besiege his other eye and he would be essentially blind. He was fifty-two. There are two major themes to the book, but a lot of context around each. The first is that with catastrophe can come perspective, but he goes out of his way to note that it’s not a zero-sum exchange. This is not a book about silver linings. It is more a book about our ability to grow as people if we have the tolerance to do so. “Someone somewhere has probably floated the proposition that for every loss there’s a commensurate gain, but that’s not what I’m peddling here.” The second theme is the central core of Buddhist belief and what every therapist, without exception, will tell you – life is suffering. Sometimes, however, it takes a little suffering to see it around us, a sad reality that can be a further catalyst to more of that personal growth. He suggests we all wear sandwich boards detailing our suffering to spare us the time and awkwardness of discovery. A good idea conceptually, I think, if not quite practical on a crowded urban sidewalk. There are digressions. About his partner. About a dog. About the many people he has met in his work and the places he has been. He ultimately wraps them all up in a bow, however, and you ultimately realize that digression is his ultimate theme, although even he may not agree with that assessment. In 1962, at the age of eight, with pediatrics in its infancy, my parents were told that the frequent seizures I was experiencing would likely be permanent and that they should plan accordingly. I spent a year in isolation because although there was nothing wrong with my thinking our public schools were not so enlightened in those days as to allow me to attend. (Seizures would be too disruptive.) And when I was allowed out of bed I was forced to wear protective headgear to protect my head in case it came into contact with the corner of the coffee table. (Childproofing a home wasn’t an industry yet.) Not long after the dire diagnosis was delivered, however, the doctors ran what was to be a strictly diagnostic test involving draining all of the fluid from around the brain and replacing it with gas, without anesthesia, a procedure which modern neurologists who have looked at my file routinely refer to as barbaric, but I haven’t had a seizure in the sixty years hence. My existence at the time, in fact, prepared me well for lif...
