Ten Books

I have compiled a list of the top ten books that have created the largest impact in my life thus far. I will attempt to keep my explanations of each relatively short, so as to comply with the instructions of the assignment, but, just for the record, it should be known that I could easily (and quite surprisingly) willingly babble on for pages about each book. Keeping that in mind, I present (with great flourish, of course) a list of some of my dearest memories.

1. If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Joffe Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond

The story is adorable, without a doubt. It was my favorite book growing up.

2. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl

In fourth grade, upon finishing a chapter of this book, my class would indulge in rich chocolate surprises, which I later came to realize was a form of bribery.

3. The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo

On numerous occasions, I have sworn to burn this book in a dramatic bonfire. I put it on the list because of the emotion, albeit that of detestation, it evokes in me.

4. The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling

So, I sort of cheated by plopping a total of seven books into one slot, but regardless, the series taught how to read until dawn.

5. Anthem by Ayn Rand

I have read through this several times, seeing as it is such a quick read, but the most impressionable time was the first read, during eighth grade. I was to keep a journal of my thoughts for every chapter, and every once in awhile, I will flip back through it and add extra comments.

6. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

This is one of my favorite "thinking about the world" books. Almost every single page has some scribble or another on it, dating all the way back to ninth grade when I first opened it.

7. Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger

These were the first short stories that held meaning for me. "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" remains my absolute favorite short story for its subtlety.

8. Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

When I first read this, I was in a dark place, to say the least. Frankl's story has been revisited frequently in my mind as I have gathered far too much information about psychology in the past two years.

9. Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs

I have read all of Augusten Burroughs' books, save two, and of the lot of them, this is my favorite. After reading this book I began to search specifically for short stories.

10. I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley

Out of everything on this list, this is the most recent book of my choosing. I was in a rather dim place when I first came across it, and I am SO glad that I bought it and was able to indulge in the absolute hilarity that came neatly tucked inside, able to momentarily forget the world around me.

So, ta-da!

Delving into The Lovely Bones

It is certainly not an everyday occurrence that I come upon a book that holds my attention in tight suspense throughout the entirety of its pages. I actually became increasingly excited as the hours passed, waiting to write this blog. The word that kept popping into my mind was “ethereal.” I adored the way that Sebold’s writing style kept me adrift, as if I were floating beside the main character. But, as the reading continued, I became increasingly dissatisfied as the text adopted a distinct disjointedness, assuming the role of a faded memory.

The concept of the novel, the idea of following the life after murder seemed somewhat unconventional, though I am sure that it has been done before. It is a departure from the CSI’s and Law and Order’s, creating a surreal, yet emotional scene. Certain moments, passing words, clung to me, begging to be explored. The idea, the family behind the grief stung me. For the first fifty or so pages, I am fairly certain that approximately every two pages or so I shed a handful of tears. The children fit into my family, in terms of birth order, and so it became a very personal series of what-if’s. My mind reeled, and, somewhat embarrassingly, I was unable to continue reading this novel while in public.

About seventy-five pages through I began to dog-ear pages. Something about the innocence of Susie, coupled with a laziness only defined by summer, told me not take notes in the book. Around page one hundred and thirty, I began to observe as the characters complicated, my primary focus being on Mr. Harvey. I still find it difficult to imagine the murdered having a bit of soft compassion for the murderer. Susie’s ability to recognize and validate her murderer’s actions as somewhat helpless is equally astounding and puzzling. The strangest part, though, was when I began searching for the passages only involving George Harvey, eager to read into the mind of a murderer.

As I stated earlier, as the pages grew in number, I felt as if I were becoming detached from the characters, and, well, I didn’t like it. I wanted to know more. I still want to know more. I wanted, just like Susie, I suppose, to follow them through and live and breathe their lives. As the years became more and more vague, more and more sparse, I felt a bittersweet tug in my gut. I yearned for everything to come full circle, but instead, it became farther away, less tangible.

Although the text was distant as the ending neared, the last line absolutely pierced through me, completely out of place.

“I wish you a long and happy life” (328).

No! That last sentence angers me beyond belief. It bothers me to no end. I still cannot place quite what is amiss. Perhaps it’s the “La la la, everything’s lovely! The end,” feel to the line. That line haunts me, almost, just as the story sends shivers up my spine. Why?

Of one thing I am sure, Alice Sebold’s other novels are going to be placed on my reading list (520).