by Jo Robertson
I haven’t cried while reading a book in a long time.
My grandchildren, absolutely.
My daughters and their babies, all the time.
Okay, this is probably more the funny stuff that leads to crying while I watch my girls try to fit their babies into the Swaddler. Ezra's got the hang of it, Annie not so much.
But that sheer, close to the edge, can’t stop bawling kind of crying? Not so much any more.
It isn’t that the writing in the books I read isn’t better – in fact, authors now are producing much stronger books than the ones I read in my twenties – or thirties. It’s just that I’ve been reading mystery/suspense or sexy romance lately. Not a lot of room for unabashed weeping there.
So has crying over a good book out of vogue? Or is it just me?
But guess what? Recently I finished up Jennifer Donnelly’s The Tea Rose. (Jennifer guest-blogged here a while back; go to the archives if you’d like to read the interview.)
SLIGHT SPOILER ALERT!
I cried like a baby when a character in Jennifer's book died. I honestly -- gosh awful, snot running out of my nose, tears dampening my pillow -- sobbed. I covered my mouth in case my crying became louder than my husband’s snores.
It didn’t, by the way.
The passage where the character died was beautifully written, evocative and powerful and damned SAD! You know, the good kind of sad where you have hope and tenderness and resignation all rolled up into one good bout of weeping.
The character thought of those who’d passed before him that he loved and hoped to meet again and worried about those he would leave behind. He gave a little blessing before he slipped away. Sobbing, I tell you. I was sobbing!
So here’s my question to you. What kinds of things make you cry? What was the last book or movie or something in your ordinary life that made you break down and boo-hoo weep?