I am (we are) reading The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kunder and I’m not sure what to say about it yet. So far I could only categorize it as unnecessary and irritating, but it must be given a fair chance.
In the book there is the Evil Tamina who has recently misplaced err…outlived her husband.
Of course she is not evil, she is lovely and has not gotten remarried. All readers are made to love her and it does not help that in the first paragraph of her chapter (her very own!) he introduces her as the heroine.
She works (and weeps?) at a cafe. She is trying to patch up the fading memory of many years with her dead husband. (I mean she hasn’t spent sleepless nights next to his cold dead body, rather they were married for many years and now that he is dead she can’t quite put her finger on what was going on all that time. She hasn’t any specifics!)
Oh the interesting lives we can’t lead! Needless to say, I do not trust the melancholy character. It has left me with a strange desire to make normal, daily journal entries. I have not felt that silly pull in a long while. Maybe this is a sign of me getting better.
Getting Better= Doubtful/Hopeful
Hopeful= absurdy
<> I like what I have. No, I love what I have but I can’t help feeling that I might squeeze it too tight. What if I loosen my head (really, if we’re being honest here it is my head and not my hand or heart) and it slips away. I’ve not had anything I’ve wanted to keep. I’ve kept many things based on principal but not based on love. Stupid love, hopeful (absurd!) love, love that I am embarrassed to feel. Me, embarrassed! I mean if one can look people in the eye after putting this minefield of grammar and punctuation out for people to see…if one can commit this atrocity of spelling and still claim to be literate, then how could they be shy about something as natural as love?
Well jesus, it’s because I’m crazy.
