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This book. Oh my, this book.
This book wrapped around my brain and sent out tentacles.
It was not a good time to be consumed. I needed my brain quite a lot for work;
it’s one of the busiest times of the year for me.
I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that it is 820 pages, or that the subject matter
is deeply thought-provoking, or that the writing is so well-crafted that each page is
a lesson in story-telling.

I’m not saying there weren’t a hundred pages or so that could have been left out. Well……
maybe 50. Or that I enjoyed all of the technical jargon related to the space program.
But the author picked me up and dropped me on an air base in Canada in the 1960’s.
She made me read when I was sleepy, when I was hungry, and when I was running late.
I was not here. I was there. And like most really good books, 24 hours later, I haven’t quite
recovered and I’m still recovering fragments of myself from the story and fragments of the story from
inside of me.
Now I am in that strange place of not having a backup book ready to go. I just couldn’t think about getting another one ready before finishing this one. I was in love with that book. And I still love it, even though I read the cover right off it and it left me without a happy ending. Even though it had some dark stuff and some real stuff that I’d rather not think about. Now it’s over and I’m alone. Time to go looking for book love on the rebound. This time I want to smile and not think too hard. My brain has been “rode hard and put up wet” as my mama would say.


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"A biography of any literary person ought to deal at length with what he read and when, for in some sense, 'we are what we read.'" --Joseph Epstein, quoted in Proust and the Squid, by Maryanne Wolf ******************************************
June 2018
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What Flower Are You?

I am a

What Flower
Are You?