I’m having trouble finishing a book. It’s not a book that I’m writitng, it’s a book that I’m reading. It’s not a poorly written book, it’s well written book. It’s beautiful, it’s poignant, it’s sad and it’s killing me.
Every now and then I am lucky enough to find a book whose beauty is staggering. This is one of those books. I started reading it in the summer when my kids were around. I quickly became aware of the fact that I seemed to be tearing up every time I read this book. My kids noticed (some of them at least) and I became uncomfortable. I put the book aside figuring that I’d read it when they went back to school and wouldn’t be around to see their blubbering mother.
In the mean time I recommended the book to one of my sisters. She read it, loved it and told me that it was worth the tears. I knew that part. Then I recommended it to my niece. She loved it so much she lent it to her mother (my other sister) who also loved it.
I saw my sister over the winter break. She told me I really should finish the book. I knew she was right. I’ve been reading a lot of light hearted junk lately. It’s cute, it’s sweet but it’s still junk. It’s time to put on my big girl panties and “get ‘er done” (as they say in the north). So I turned on my Kindle and opened up the book. Two pages later I have tears in my eyes and my chest feels tight. I turned off my Kindle and turned on the computer and now here I sit, blogging, not finishing the book.
Have you ever been affected by a book in this way? If so, what book brought you to your knees?
By the way, the book in question is Tell The Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt. Read it and don’t cry, I dare you.