Sue Monk Kidd

Author of The Secret Life of Bees and 10+ Books

Sue Monk Kidd


SUE MONK KIDD grew up in Sylvester, Georgia, a small town. She graduated from Texas Christian University in 1970 and later studied creative writing at Emory University and Anderson College, as well as at Sewanee, Bread Loaf, and other conferences for writers. In her forties, Kidd turned her attention to writing fiction, winning the South Carolina Fellowship in Literature and the Poets & Writers Exchange Program in Fiction in 1996. When Viking pub... lished her first novel, The Secret Life of Bees, in 2002, it became a genuine literary phenomenon, spending more than 2 years on the bestseller list of the New York Times. It was translated into 36 languages and sold over 6 million copies worldwide in the U.S. and 8 million copies. In 2004, Bees was named the Book Sense Paperback Book of the Year, long-listed in England for the 2002 Orange Prize, and won numerous awards. The Mermaid Chair spent 24 weeks on the New York Times hardcover bestseller list, reaching #1 position, and spending 22 weeks on the New York Times trade paperback list. She is also the author of several acclaimed memoirs written with her daughter, Ann Kidd Taylor, including the New York Times bestseller Traveling with Pomegranates. Kidd is living with her husband in North Carolina. Sue is working on her fourth novel, The Longings Book. For more information, please visit Follow @SueMonkKidd and Facebook on Twitter & InstagramREAD MORE

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    Fiction, Literary Fiction, Adult, Non-Fiction, Young Adult, Memoir, Spirituality, Feminism, Romance, Biography & Memoir









Popular quotes by Sue Monk Kidd


Knowing can be a curse on a person's life. I'd traded in a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn't know which one was heavier. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because once you know the truth, you can't ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.

I wondered what it was like to be inside her, just a curl of flesh swimming in the darkness, the quiet things that had passed between us.

I marvel at how good I was before I met him, how I lived molded to the smallest space possible, my days the size of little beads that passed without passion through my fingers. So few people know what they're capable of. At forty-two I'd never done anything that took my own breath away, and I suppose now that was part of the problem - my chronic inability to astonish myself.

I hadn't been out to the hives before, so to start off she gave me a lesson in what she called 'bee yard etiquette'. She reminded me that the world was really one bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places. Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and pants. Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates while whistling melts a bee's temper. Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

I wanted to know what happened when two people felt it. Would it divide the hurt in two, make it lighter to bear, the way feeling someone's joy seemed to double it?

We are so limited, you have to use the same word for loving Rosaleen as you do for loving Coke with peanuts. Isn't that a shame we don't have many more ways to say it?

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