You know those books that you get into so much that you can't read fast enough? This is one of them. I found myself blowing through paragraphs at speed-reading rate, afraid that I would miss something, wishing that I could slow down and savor the prose, but powerless in the grip of the story.
The hours before midnight passed quickly, and we got a good place in line. Spottedstar (aka Sissy) read The Deathly Hallows to me as I drove us home, and I finished reading the first chapter to her when we got there. She made me promise not to read ahead, and I was okay with that, because I wanted to get back to Joe and Candy.
And I couldn't stop until 4 O'clock, when I was just on the verge of the climax. I think I was able to stop there because I was afraid of what was about to happen. That must be the reason, as I had been telling myself that I would stop after one more chapter for two hours, and then for another hour I told myself that, since I was so close, I might as well just finish it "tonight".
When books are this much of a rush, it can be disorienting. I'm sure Brooks' writing is some of the cleanest prose I seen in a long time. I'm sure that I love Candy like Joe does, that I totally get his feelings, and that the story caught me up as few stories do. And it took me deep within--where love smashes up the self with terrible tenderness.
I'm not sure about some of the ways the plot works in terms of probability and the way the resolution works. All novels are flawed, aren't they? But the whole thing has left me suspecting that this one might be almost perfect. Maybe it is my own fault-finding nature that wants to take it apart.
Complicating things is that the book was emotionally moving and that staying up all night messes with my mood. I love staying up late. But then I'm not a very good person in the daytime, and I need daytime hours to write. So I am going to have to quit this dissipated nightowl existence and become a righteous morning person, at my desk at five every morning.
Right?
oh, btw, here's the US cover, slapped on a characteristically shoddy Scholastic binding, guaranteed to fall apart on the second reading (if not the first):
