![]() ![]() I had not responded to the book’s empathy with any of my own-I had been annoyed. I remembered my nearly opposite experience reading this book which had dragged me, as if through slime, into the depths of someone’s relentless pursuit of death. Slowly, the book, and my experience of it, resurfaced. ![]() Beth pushed on, articulating her admiration of a story so tender toward someone who so seriously wanted to die. ![]() It took prodding to even remember the basic plot point of one of the sisters’ suicidality. It took digging through the recesses of my brain to remember that there was something about sisters. Time slumped I couldn’t remember a single thing. I watched the water slip around my fingers and down the drain. I stood washing dishes at her little house in Oakland as she enthusiastically asked for my take. Beth was eager to hear what I thought of one of her favorite books, which I excitedly told her I’d finally read. “She wanted to die and I wanted her to live and we were enemies who loved each other.”Ī few months back, I visited the Bay Area for a friend’s birthday. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |