I read a book that made me cry last night. It was only the second book to have provoked such an emotional response. The first was Days Between Stations by Steve Erickson, which contained a description of a man’s journey to see whether the love of his life loved him back. Those pages are the finest example of pomo magical realism I’ve ever read, and packed an emotional punch that Butterbean would be proud of.
The book I read last night was Wrong Rooms which had me weeping for a good twenty minutes. If you bear in mind that I can count the number of times I’ve cried in the last decade on my fingers, and only one of those times involved the shedding of more than a couple of tears, last night was something of an odd one. It’s an astoundingly honest book, which deals with love, loss, grief and the complexities of family relationships. If you know me IRL you may well be getting it for Christmas. Possibly not the most joyful gift, but a long hard weep is good for the soul.