Before hearing what I’m going to say about this book, you should know I generally have no interest in reading extensive details. I don’t need a lengthy description of a character’s background or motives or personality. I like plot and dialogue, preferably those that move quickly.
So. This wasn’t my type of book, which I completely expected since it was the one chosen as my office’s book club book, and we hardly ever read something I would have picked on my own. To be honest I didn’t like it. It was a quick read, but I had no interest in any of the people or their stories. The ending seemed as though the author had a place in mind she wanted to bring the story and suddenly decided to give up taking an actual route to get there–literary teleportation, if you will. Plus, like I said, I have little patience for description in novels. Then, when I read the bio and saw for some reason the author’s birth year was included (to brag about how she’s so young and make the rest of the writers who haven’t yet published a book feel badly about their slower journey? Probably not, but it did a good job of accomplishing that), I felt even more turned off.
Yet, I cried during most of the first half of the book. To be fair, I was already in a heightened emotional state when I sat down to read it, but to be even more fair, I don’t cry over books too often. So something in it moved me, whether I liked it or not.
And that is all a writer can ask for, isn’t it? If you read a book I’d written, if you didn’t love it, I’d rather you hated it or cried over it than just gently put it down and never talked about it again. At least that means it affected you. At least the words lived on for longer than it took for your eyes to skim the page. At least there was some sort of connection, even if purely a negative one.
That counts for something, I think.