As you know, I've had a rough patch with my book choices lately. I thought my luck was changing yesterday, when I discovered a newish little bookstore around the corner from my house. I wandered in, and Alice Sebold's memoir, Lucky, caught my eye.
I knew it wasn't a happy book, but I didn't expect it to be unendingly grim. Naively, I thought there just might be a happy ending - an idea I should have put to rest when the bookstore clerk looked at my choice and said, "This book will destroy you."
This book will destroy me???? Um, no. It won't. If it's too gruesome, I decided, I'll simply put it down.
It wasn't, and I didn't. It was so well written that I didn't even notice the writing; I was too caught up in the story. But as the pages flipped and the chapters passed, I started wondering, When does the happy part start? When does she reclaim her life? She's married - when does she tell me about her wonderful husband?
Nope, none of that. The afterward is simply a whirlwind trip through years of heroin use, bad waitressing jobs, and fear of windows left unlocked. All understandable, given what happened. I just wasn't prepared.
So now, dear readers, I need your help. PLEASE, Please, please...tell me about your happy books - the stories that make you smile, that fill you up with warm fuzzies and bring joy into your life. Tell me what, tell me why. But most importantly, tell me soon, cause I need some happy here in the land of Trish!
I'm off to read At Home In Mitford for the seventeenth time - things always work out for Father Tim :)
Postscript: I just dropped Mitford in the tub...So sad!