I always have several books going at once so that I have choices when I climb into bed at night. I love all things reading, so it might be fiction, nonfiction, memoir, essay, poetry, or professional reading about reading, writing, dyslexia, or engagement. I might read journals, even my own journals. I’m not yet choosing graphic novels for myself, and I don’t often choose fantasy, but I don’t fully exclude them either.
When I was sick earlier this week, I started reading The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah. I loved another book by her, The Nightingale, so I was looking forward to more. I’m about halfway through the book (I’m not a very fast reader). Typically, as a reader, if I own the book, I fold down the corners of pages that have passages which hit me powerfully. There’s a special satisfaction for readers, especially readers who write (I think), when a passage is crafted in a way that you suddenly realize you are holding your breath, or you wish with all your soul that you had penned those words. Or, when you realize you have just read truth.
Such was the case when I read these words of 16-year old, Leni, on p. 117:
She saw how death impacted people, saw the glazed look in their eyes, the way they shook their heads, the way their sentences broke in half as if they couldn’t decide if silence or words would release them from sorrow.
Wow, just wow. I don’t know about you, but in my view, Ms. Hannah nailed it.