Wednesday, March 01, 2017
Today I am grateful for daring novelists. I can’t write much myself right now because I’m reading a book and I can’t put it down. It’s screaming at me from the arm of the chair as I type. I carry it everywhere in the house in case I have something cooking and can read for 5 minutes.
The author sucked me in, wrapping the story and sub plots around me like a bundle of barbed wire inside a down quilt. It’s prickly, controversial, enlightening, and oh so timely. This book holds a mirror up to my soul, forcing me to recognize parts of my dark upbringing, my societal privilege, my core, that I’ve either buried or never knew existed.
I had no idea about this author. None. But my friend who loaned me “Small Great Things”, by Jodi Picoult, was not kidding when she said, “She usually writes with deep social messages.” That’s an understatement. Himself is going to read it, too, because I need us to discuss among ourselves. He’s such a fast reader he’ll be done with this one in hours.
Can’t talk more. Can’t write. Can’t type. Can’t think of anything else. Have to read. Book Club is Sunday and I’ve rarely been so pumped to talk about a book. Riveting. Page 409. . .I’m baaack!