One of my favorite accidents: I’m strolling through Target; I only have 62 things in my cart, so I’m on the hunt; I somehow end up in the book aisle even though I swear I was looking for … well, I don’t know what, but it wasn’t needed and it wasn’t a book; I pick up something I’ve never heard of on a whim and I love it. It’s super convoluted and kind of weird — it's got a librarian and some circus freaks — and it’s just right.
As someone safely on the “ish” side of 40, I listened to a dear, dear friend and regular contributor to the book list talk about this one half checked out. Then, for her birthday (because she’s that friend) she sent me a copy of fun short stories written by ladies running the gamut from pretty young to almost old to one foot in the grave. (those might all be exaggerations.) It sits on my nightstand, all pink and little and cute, and it’s the perfect thing to read when you just need something lovely and relevant and sometimes bittersweet and sometimes hysterical.
My take on that old cliche, as it applies to Jodi Picoult: She could rewrite the phone book and I would read it. There’s just something so inherently readable about her to me. This one’s the story of a mother, her autistic son who’s accused of a terrible crime, her non-autistic son who has his own uphill battles to climb, and how you cope with not having all the answers. Which is motherhood in a nutshell.
This is not a book about
- politics
- Barack Obama
This is a book about
- a freakishly smart, incredibly gracious, humble, stylish, funny mama chick
- okay, sort of politics
- hope
If you’re politically inclined and lean left, read it. If you’re not at all politically inclined, lean right, want to feel slightly in awe and inadequate, and/or just think amazing women are amazing, read it.
Needed another spontaneous plane book. Have a propensity to gobble up page turners. This one fit the bill just fine: semi-creepy easy reading. Husband wants me to include a note that if anything mysterious happens to him, someone should check my Dateline notes.
Needed a spontaneous plane book since my copy of Becoming is hardback and heavy.
I admit to getting a little judgy — there are a few spots she tries a little hard for the, I don’t know the word (see why I write book reviews and not books) — the mood? (“The grass is brown. No longer green.” Thanks. Got it.) And also I figured out the ending really super early on, which I never do. But it was a fine choice for a mindless page turner. Plus apparently she went to Miami of Ohio so she’s got to be kind of cool.
Lemme start right here, right at the beginning: I'm not a self-help kind of person, book or otherwise. It's weird; I feel like I should be. I'm pretty introspective. I like improving as much as the next lazy person. But most self-help seems a little eye-roll worthy to me. A little ... much. But when your yoga teacher/girl crush/friend hands you a book — doesn't just give you a recommendation, I mean actually physically hands you a book — you take it. You say thanks. And you read it out of obligation.
And if you're lucky you end up loving it, in spite of yourself.
It's a little much. In the best way. Think The Secret, but with F bombs.
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