I don't think that anyone who knows me in person actually reads this blog. I kind of like it: a "secret" site. That said, I'll probably hear from several people saying, "Oh yes, we read all your incredibly long Journalish entries." Which would be okay, but unexpected.

I finished reading "The Namesake", finally. I was reading it, but I've seen the movie and knew how it ended, so it was easy for me to casually read a couple of other books and short stories inbetween reading it halfway and finally going back and finishing it. Once I had picked it up once more though, I craved time to sit and read it without ceasing to the end. Jumpha Lahiri is a truly talented writer. Every discription is beautifully exact, every emotion rendered in thoughtful detail. With some books, I find myself skimming over some paragraphs, some pages, to get on to the next piece of plot. With her work, everything she writes has a purpose, simply because she gives meaning to the little everyday things in life, showing them from a wealth of perspective. Her stories are sad ones, ones that leave the reader, at least myself, imagining other, happier future endings for her vibrant characters. At the same time, her stories are so full that you don't dare feel cheated by the ending, but merely very thoughtful. Her characters are still left with plenty of hope, and nearly always an abundance of new perspective, as is the reader. Her stories are gifts that should be passed along to all one knows.

I write sad stories also. I gravitate towards that, towards writing about grief and heartache, but with healing or at the least the beginning it, following. Not all my writing is that way, but the majority is. I wonder why.