Last night I sat on the porch swing and cried my way through to the end of The Fault in our Stars. I don’t make it a practice of crying when I read books (unless I’m reading them out loud—then I’m completely worthless), but this one shot my record all to smithereens.
Actually, “cry” isn’t the right word. I sobbed, complete with snot, chest-heaving, and guttural sound effects. My older daughter kept peering out the window and saying, “Gosh, Mom,” and then yelling to the rest of the family, “You oughta see her! She’s really crying!”
It was all good though. There was no trauma in the emotional turmoil, no fear or angst, just a piercing sadness mixed with profound peace. Cleansing therapy, it was.
Then I made my husband stay up until midnight watching Her with me. Poor guy was crawling out of his skin, but he stuck with it.
So today I’m in recovery. I baked a pie, fed the kids leftovers for lunch, supervised some deep cleaning, and just finished off a piece of boozy chocolate cake. I’m contemplating curling up and doing some more reading—exactly three books are calling my name, lucky me—but I’m trying to balance all the reading with a small bit of writing output.
Which I just did, so now I’m done, good-bye.
PS. Photo: courtesy of Just Because.
This same time, years previous: walking through water, the quotidian (6.19.12), refried beans, what I got, cabbage apple slaw with buttered pecans, swiss chard rolls, and strawberry margarita cake.
Thanks for telling me about this book! I read it, and the results of my research:
BTW, lovely picture of C and baby. That girl is a natural with the tiny folks… learned that Sunday.
I cried buckets from about the half way through. At one point, I remembered thinking, if I'm only half way through and already crying, this was going to be quite a wet book.
I must be a monster. The book seemed pretty lightweight to me and not at all tear-jerking. Predictable. Characters not in-depth. I don't know. I finished it, but it felt like finishing a bag of potato chips – easy to eat and not very satisfying. I'd rather give my girls a copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Everyone is raving about it, though, so I assume I am wrong.
This is interesting. From my (very) informal Facebook survey, nine out of ten people who read the book cried rivers (regardless of their life stage). Based on these finding, I can only assume that blog readers are stoic and Facebook readers are … not.
Haha. I found it a lot more moving than I expected, and I am generally wary of books that force weeping. Suburban, I know how you feel in the margins there: I hated Kite Runner with a deep and violent passion.
I didn't cry either. Probably different when you have children that aren't grown up yet.
I think the library has a waiting list of more than 15-20 people for that book! I managed to borrow one from a friend, being movitated by Abi reading it and declared her intent to see the movie. (That and her incessant watching of John & Hank Green YouTube videos.) So I read it in three days and we plan to see the movie this week. Probably you shouldn't go to the movie unless you do take a whole box of tissues. I've heard it's pretty much a weep-fest.
Just ordered the book. Good grief. As if I don't have enough to sob snot over already!
Better order a box of tissues while you're at it.
Is there something wrong with me? I don't remember crying. I want to know, Q, if you cry. Call me and tell.
You bet I will, sk. I'll call you either way. In fact, if I cry before I read the book, I'll call. Q.
And here's the truth, sk…I just cried (pretty many tears) about an hour ago. But it was only because I was chopping red onion for a salad for the potluck meal at church tomorrow. (Sorry, I told you I would call, but it's so late at night) Q.