Finding a book you love is a blessing. It’s gift from the muses to the mind of someone brilliant enough to craft it into something that will alter your being.
Being in the middle of a great book is like falling in love for the first time. You want to put everything else on pause while you stare into the i’s (and a’s and b’s and c’s, etc.) of this thing in your arms that is transporting you to place where your synapses are sparked and the cauldron of your emotions is perpetually stirred, as if by magic.
I just finished reading two FABULOUS books. Here they are:
Shrill by Lindy West (Non-Fiction)
If you know Lindy from her work at Jezebel, GQ, the Guardian, and a million other places, chances are you love her. (If you don’t love her, you can see yourself out. Feel free to let the door hit you on the caboose when you leave.) She has perfected her writing voice, able to make you shriek with laughter and burst into tears while viewing the world in a new way with a single sentence. Shrill is a compilation of essays about body image, feminism, comedy, writing, and life.
The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You by Lily Anderson (Contemporary YA)
This is a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing with a cast of nerdy geniuses who go to a school for gifted kids. The characters are beyond loveable and the smattering of pop culture references played a chord on my heart. I wanted to speed read it and read it at a snail’s pace simultaneously so that I’d finish it/never finish it.
…But what happens when you DO finish a book you love? For me, I hit a book hangover. Symptoms include:
- watery eyes
- a desperate need to whine about finishing the book I love
To make matters worse with this double hangover I’m experiencing, I also finished season two of Grace and Frankie on the weekend.
Everything I love is ENDING!!!
In short, if you see me over the next few days, I will resemble something like this:
Save me, Sandra Bullock!