Back and forth, back and forth to Manhattan to work on that little studio apartment. Of course it is taking much longer than I thought. I am kind of under the gun because College Daugher is finished with her finals tomorrow and has to move out of her dorm by the end of the week. We could just move her back here to Brooklyn for a few days of course. But nah! I don't relish the idea of bringing her stuff here just to schlepp it back to Manhattan.
What does all of this have to do with John Irving? I have been catching up on my reading on the subway. John Irving's " Widow For A Day" has me wishing that my ride would take longer. It's that good. Great literature? Well, no. But so moving that I am sitting on the train fighting back tears.
Years ago, when I was a teenager, my mother gave me Irving's "The World According To Garp" to read. It had just come out and it was on the bestseller list at the time. I loved it. It is still one of my favorite books. "Widow" is almost as good. Some passages are simply heartbreaking. The subject of loss, of regrets, of growing up...the choices we make which define our lives...Irving is a master at story telling. Insignificant details on one page are woven in so subtly that they take the reader by surprise when they reappear pages later to become a turning point in the novel. Maybe Irving just plays off my own deep rooted fear that the small things are the catalysts that change one's life forever. (Yes, I do sweat the small stuff, compulsively)
I am already regretting the fac that this book has to end.
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