I suppose I should admit I finished this a week ago. Sitting in my favorite cafe, eating organic greens, tears careened down my face.
The night before, I had cried so hard and tried so valiantly to not disturb the roommate that a high-pitched whistle (much like a tea kettle when it sings) arose from some place deep inside.
I don't have much to say about the book. It was pure poetry. Brilliantly written.
It was difficult to get into because I wanted to understand the logistics of the time travel. And other times I had a hard time falling into the images because another part of my brain was going, my god--that turn of phrase--how did she just do that?
It was heart-wrenching in all the right ways. And it got me thinking about time and life and our different ages: sometimes I feel like I'm failing my eight year old self--the little girl who has yet to get to this point--the little girl who is still out there in the world (back in 1993). I want to be better for her.
Yes, it may be hard to get into. But it's worth it.
Want to know the moment I fell into the book--the exact moment I fell in love:
After an interval of tickling and thrashing around, we lie on the ground with our hands clasped across our middles and Clare asks, "Is your wife a time traveler too?"
"Nope. Thank God."
"Why 'thank God'? I think that would be fun. You could go places together."
"One time traveler per family is more than enough. It's dangerous Clare."
"Does she worry abut you?"
"Yes," I say softly. "She does." I wonder what Clare is doing now in 1999. Maybe she's still asleep. Maybe she won't know I'm gone.
"Do you love her?"
"Very much, " I whisper. We lie silently side by side, watching the swaying trees, the birds, the sky. I hear a muffled sniffling noise and glancing at Clare I am astonished to see that tears are streaming across her face toward her ears. I sit up and lean over her. "What's wrong, Clare?" She just shakes her head back and forth and presses her lips together. I smooth her hair, and pull her into a sitting position, wrap my arms around her. She's a child, and then again she isn't. "What's wrong?"
It comes out so quietly that I have to ask her to repeat it: "It's just that I thought maybe you were married to me."
Now I'm onto The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. The woman I babysit for said it's one of the best things she's read in years. It was sitting on her shelf. We're doing a book trade. She gets The Time Traveler's Wife for a while and I get The Namesake (one has to figure out ways to save money you know). I'll be sure to let you know what I think.
Keep the suggestions coming. My list is growing long and I'm loving that. And my pile of books on the windowsill is climbing. I will update the post on books soon enough to include all your fantastic suggestions.
image via ffffound