I’ve always shied away from books that are classified as best sellers. I don’t read what my neighbors read. I don’t read what most of the general book clubs read. That’s because I prefer to read to escape reality. I like to disappear in make-believe worlds or in a good romance.
As a reader and a reviewer, aren’t we always trying to push ourselves to read new genres, try something new? Not too long ago, I did this with historical romances. I’d sworn I would never read a book with one of “those” covers 😉 After hearing how charming and funny they could be, I finally did it. And now I add those books in every once in a while. Not a favorite genre but I still like them.
So when I saw Jodi Picoult had a new book coming out, I checked it out. You see, all my neighbors LOVE Jodi Picoult’s books. My aunt is a HUGE fan of hers, goes to her book signings when ever possible. Now when your dear, beloved aunt begs you to read an author, you probably should eventually give the author a try. Maybe it’s time to push my reading boundaries.
But as I read Small Great Things, I realized something about myself…
I don’t like to be told to feel a certain way.
I want to get there on my own.
You see, Small Great Things is about the extremely relevant and electrically charged topic of race relations. So as I was reading, this story is told from two points of view. Facts are dispensed by the points of view but then at 6% in to the book, I noticed that some details are left out. I wanted to know how the white supremacist’s older brother died. Doesn’t matter if it’s not relevant to the story, I need to know. It’s my stupid need for closure, or something like that. I want to know EVERYTHING!
It’s as if the author feeds out only certain facts in such a way that they purposely lead you one way when, if all the facts were out in the open, you never would have had all this trouble in the first place. If you had all the facts, you never would have made the same conclusion the author wanted you to. Am I making any sense at all?
I also don’t want to be reminded of all the stupid people out there in the world.
There are enough of them living near me, I get enough reminders every day. I watch local Detroit news occasionally. There’s my reality check.
Honestly, Small Great Things is probably a fantastic book. It has a 4.3 rating in Goodreads.
I am not the norm, I am the exception to the rule.
There’s also this pesky thing that my mom’s side of the family has passed down to me and it is called depression. I mildly suffer from it and take medication. I notice when I don’t take my medication (or, should I say, my husband notices?). Because of what I call my “sensitivity” to emotional books, I’ve learned to just say, “No!” One very realistic book I recently wanted to read but I know I can’t is Beth Revis’ A World Without You. Oh, I so badly wanted to read this book but I know I physically can’t. It will rip me up and I will be non-functional for my family. It’s important I stay functional for my family 🙂
So what to do about my wonderful, dear Aunt Nancy? I’m going to try Picoult’s Second Glance. Apparently there are ghosts involved 🙂
As for the next genre I’m going to try? It’s going to be non-fiction in the form of a biography or an autobiography. I’m thinking Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things sounds right up my alley.