Is it naff to describe this book as a celebration of life? It is isn’t it?
So instead (and running the risk of too many cringe worthy superlatives), lets just say this book is a collection of reflections, meditations on life, following wherever the author’s mind wanders. It is told in simple anecdotes, some only a paragraph on a page, most never more than one page long.
Each thought or reflection has a simple heading and then it is as if Abigail Thomas is having an intimate conversation with just you, the reader. She doesn’t need to paint a laborious back story so you understand networks of relationships, her artistry is such that with an economy of words you understand the currents of life and regard between people.
You don’t need to have read Thomas’ earlier work in order to appreciate the understated beauty of this book, although I have in fact read her earlier work and that was equally as beautiful. I kept turning to the back cover of the book to look at the author’s photo because even though she is clear about her age and stage in life, her writing has an ageless, timeless quality.
I feel as though it would be impossible to ever tire of reading Abigail Thomas, her train of thought, her reflections. She ignites a certain something within the reader, a sort of awakening or heightened sensibility where you look anew at the patterns and symmetry in life, celebrating both the harmonious aspects and learning to appreciate the quirks for their sheer awkwardness.
I think I want to own this book, and that is a big thing to say since I have long considered the library as my own outsized personal bookcase of my favourites.
Author: Abigail Thomas
Recommended by: Sue W
Sue W loves her fur babies equally but differently and uses time out to think about bad behaviours, she has been known to forget about the miscreant and then earns the title of worst-mother-ever.