Monday, May 04th Selena is 28 years old,
Selena: I wake early , 8am on a bank holiday Monday and get out of bed leaving my husband wrapped in a warm duvet. Unsually, I leave him sleeping whilst i, restless, make tea, shower and go downstairs to pick up the book. I find it exactly where I had left it the night before, tired and trying not to sucumb to the final pages at around midnight last night. I read for a while until i hear footsteps above me. When i reach the top of the stairs I see Matt making Stan (the cat) dance. Stan looks un impressed as he is forced to stand on his back leggs and have his for-paws jiggled up and down in time to a track by Bowie. Now the book has to compete with the music for space inside my imagination.
I don't want to keep reading. It's gone wrong somehow. I've spent the last few days reading and enjoying; comparing Henry and Clare to to my own husband and I, believing in them, recognising them in my own relationship. Wondering whether I'd want Matt to visit me when I was 6 and to know me as a child; whether I'd want to know him as a fully grown adult before I met him in my early twenties. I decided it wouldn't be good and that, less like Clare and more like Henry, I'd probably get annoyed that my life had been decided and rebel against the truth and the love of my life. I've laughed at the mis-haps, gasped at the candidness of the intimacy between the characters; sometimes feeling slightly awkward, visualising what is being described.
I can't take it any more. It's gone dark, little red, bloodied monsters have haunted Clare and although I know she now has a child, with that elated news comes the vision of Henry's passing. I know it's coming and I can't stop crying. I keep putting down the book and walking away to hug my own husband; perhaps I'm afraid that he'll disappear. I have to return to the book though compelled....When the party is organised i know it's coming. Tears stream down my face and I can barely read the words through the blurred screen infront of my eyes. I dread the phone ringing, Matt finding me like this and although I am mortified I can not remember a time a book moved so much in such a serious way and in only 520 pages. I struggle to the end, I wait with Clare to see him again and then it's over all too soon.
Thank you Ms Niffenegger. That was amazing.
I don't want to keep reading. It's gone wrong somehow. I've spent the last few days reading and enjoying; comparing Henry and Clare to to my own husband and I, believing in them, recognising them in my own relationship. Wondering whether I'd want Matt to visit me when I was 6 and to know me as a child; whether I'd want to know him as a fully grown adult before I met him in my early twenties. I decided it wouldn't be good and that, less like Clare and more like Henry, I'd probably get annoyed that my life had been decided and rebel against the truth and the love of my life. I've laughed at the mis-haps, gasped at the candidness of the intimacy between the characters; sometimes feeling slightly awkward, visualising what is being described.
I can't take it any more. It's gone dark, little red, bloodied monsters have haunted Clare and although I know she now has a child, with that elated news comes the vision of Henry's passing. I know it's coming and I can't stop crying. I keep putting down the book and walking away to hug my own husband; perhaps I'm afraid that he'll disappear. I have to return to the book though compelled....When the party is organised i know it's coming. Tears stream down my face and I can barely read the words through the blurred screen infront of my eyes. I dread the phone ringing, Matt finding me like this and although I am mortified I can not remember a time a book moved so much in such a serious way and in only 520 pages. I struggle to the end, I wait with Clare to see him again and then it's over all too soon.
Thank you Ms Niffenegger. That was amazing.
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