A Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, the prolific Murray (A Writer Teaches Writing) has,since 1987,written over 650 installments of "Over 6o," a weekly Boston Globe column. Now 75, he has reworked his Globe columns into a remarkable autobiography of aging; "Now, rushing forward but living backwards in the evening of my life, I appreciate the texture of my life, the wonder of the ordinary as never before." He begins by describing his heart attack, at age 62 during a Florida business trip. Returning to Durham, N.H., after surgery, he pondered retirement but instead started to write, adhering to the ancient Roman advice he had followed for many years —"nulla dies sine linea, not a day without a line." In the early chapters, he contrasts his lonely childhood and other events in his life with "the journey of aging, a rafting trip down a river I thought familiar but that became more unfamiliar- and faster— the further I traveled." He recalls his first night jump as a paratrooper, winning a Pulitzer Prize at the Boston Herald when he was 29, fatherhood, fears, family tragedies, depressions, deaths and near deaths. War stories from "the surreal confusion of battle" in WWll trigger associations with violent memories of civilian life. Meanwhile, health problems mount—his own and those of his second wife, Minnie Mae; "eventually," he acknowledges, "old age becomes a grim business." And yet, "as the horizons grow closer;" he concludes, "I will always have narrative as my companion." So will the fortunate reader of this poetic and magical memoir.
Agent, Michael Rosenberg. (June)

Forecast: Murray's Boston Globe columns have won him fans who will buy this book but its appeal is potentially much greater. Advertising in the New York Times Book Review, as well as New England bookstore appearances, should help Murray find —and expand— his readership.

Ten minutes after I finished reading My Twice-Lived Life: A Memoir on Aging by Donald M. Murray, my sister sent me an e-mail noting that she had just spent 40 long, painful minutes on the phone with her aging mother-in-law, who apparently has a leaky basement.

"Donald Murray's book will make you feel better," I advised. I know my sister agonizes over her in-laws' declining physical condition and financial resources. Watching people you care about grow old can make you sad. You pity them. You're frustrated by them. Then, often, you feel guilty.

Certainly alleviating boomer-generation guilt was not Murray's intention in penning these essays that offer insight into the mind-set of the elderly. The book is, rather, the essential work of a writer who feels the need to make sense of experience by putting it in narrative form.

As the Pulitzer-prize winner journalist writes, "I saw aging as another adventure, and armed with the reporter's ability to focus on the revealing details, I was prepared to live the experience twice —in the moment, and, as is the writer's habit, in the greater reality of reflection afterwards."

The narrative, which mirrors the chatty style of Murray's "Over Sixty" column in The Boston Globe, gently tugs the reader through some of the most intimate thoughts of a man smack in the middle of his seventh decade. Murray tackles such subjects as shame (which occurs as the aging bodying betrays), stuff (which accumulates and crowds), work (which serves as therapy) and solitude (which becomes delightful). His thoughts are straightforward glimpses into the inevitable, scary experience of aging.

Most of all, they're great stories. Some of the most visually compelling chapters involve Murray's reflections on his time as a military policeman in World War ll. The horror and chaos of war —utterly striped of Hollywood Private Ryan-style heroisms and fraternity— pervade his memories, and he tells the stories here, he notes, because "[they] manufacture meaning even when there is no meaning."

The quest to assign meaning to life makes this personal account a page turner for people of all ages. In the last third of the book, Murray gets closer still to the emotional center of his world by delving into the relationships in his life -exploring fatherhood, his 20-year-old daughter's unexpected death, the companionship of aging friends and, most beautifully, the love story that has been his 49-year marriage to Minnie Mae, for whom his is "one moment her caretaker, another her partner, still another her husband, her friend, her lover; the roles extend and interact."

In the final chapter, Murray grapples with the process of giving up control and "letting go," the final challenge of age. While the topic might be heart-wrenching for those of us who consider ourselves lucky enough to be far from the horizon Murray is exploring, his attitude is that of the adventurer. He treasures his twice-lived live, and the clarity that comes from retelling the stories of the past.

Aging becomes something to look forward to. Sure, we may have our leaky basements and dwindling resources —and as Murray chronicles, a host of medical problems— but, apparently, we'll also have (if we pay attention, as Murray has) more. A twice-lived life brings a gift —an ability to celebrate the ordinary and find send and comfort in the paths we've all too rapidly traveled.