What Remains: A Memoir of Fate, Friendship, and LoveA stunning, tragic memoir about John F. Kennedy Jr., his wife Carolyn Bessette, and his cousin Anthony Radziwill, by Radziwill’s widow. What Remains is a vivid and haunting memoir about a girl from a working-class town who becomes an award-winning television producer and marries a prince, Anthony Radziwill. Carole grew up in a small suburb with a large, eccentric cast of characters. At nineteen, she struck out for New York City to find a different life. Her career at ABC News led her to the refugee camps of Cambodia, to a bunker in Tel Aviv, and to the scene of the Menendez murders. Her marriage led her into the old world of European nobility and the newer world of American aristocracy. What Remains begins with loss and returns to loss. A small plane plunges into the ocean carrying John F. Kennedy Jr., Anthony’s cousin, and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy, Carole’s closest friend. Three weeks later Anthony dies of cancer. With unflinching honesty and a journalist’s keen eye, Carole Radziwill explores the enduring ties of family, the complexities of marriage, the importance of friendship, and the challenges of self-invention. Beautifully written, What Remains “gets at the essence of what matters,” wrote Oprah Winfrey. “Friendship, compassion, destiny.” |
Other editions - View all
Common terms and phrases
afternoon Anthony’s apartment beach bedroom Bobby Muller breath bump Caldor Calvin Klein Cambodia can’t cancer Carole Carole Radziwill chair chemo chemotherapy creatinine CT scan didn’t DiFalcos dinner doctors doesn’t door drive everything eyes father feel fibrosarcoma friends front girl Grandma Binder hair hand he’s head hear hospital husband Hyannis ifosfamide John and Carolyn John’s Khmer Rouge kids Kingston kisses knew later laugh leave living look lungs Martha’s Vineyard Maryann morning mother move never night okay Peter Jennings Phnom Penh pick Pinky plane pull Radziwill sister sitting sleep smile someone stay stop story Street Suffern summer surgery talk tell there’s thing thoracotomy thought tonight trip trying tumor Vineyard voice waiting wake walk watch wedding week weekend what’s York
Popular passages
Page 182 - TURNING and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Page 118 - So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow.
Page 256 - And another regrettable thing about death is the ceasing of your own brand of magic, which took a whole life to develop and market — the quips, the witticisms, the slant adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears, their tears confused with their diamond earrings, their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat, their response and your performance twinned. The jokes over the phone. The memories...
Page 160 - Who can turn the world on with her smile? Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?
Page 10 - Where to start is the problem, because nothing begins when it begins and nothing's over when it's over, and everything needs a preface: a preface, a postscript, a chart of simultaneous events. History is a construct, she tells her students.
Page 124 - The challenge, offered by the National Cancer Institute — a branch of the National Institutes of Health...
Page 198 - For every bear that ever there was Will gather therefor certain because Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.
Page 95 - She played with my hair, absentmindedly, when she was making a point. It took me some time to get used to all the touching. She dismissed the barriers, the walls of politeness, the invisible personal space we protect. There was no awkward embrace with her, no hesitation. She hugged you tight, as if she might never see you again.
Page 95 - John was reading the paper when she walked out of the bedroom, blonde and ten stories high, in a white cotton nightgown with eyelet trim.