Normally finishing a book is quite satisfying. You just feel accomplished or complete or some other satifying emotion. I just finished The Birthday Boys by Beryl Bainbridge, and really I just feel… awful. The book is so sad. I feel uncomfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book where EVERYONE dies. The book ends with the person giving the narrative going outside to die, and you know the rest of them die as well. I knew this would happen because we discussed it in class beforehand but my goodness, I didn’t think it would shake me up this much. I have enough sadness in me to make me feel awful, but not enough to cry.
It’s like…
An itch I can’t scratch.
10,000 spoons when all I need is a knife.
A craving that can’t be satisfied.
A thirst that can’t be quenched.
..etc.etc.
Why can’t we read normal books for lit. class?
… Like Harry Potter
;) Just kidding.
(‘arry pottah is awesome though.)
PEACE.
