Crushed

I’m reading an epically long, thick novel entitled Shantaram at the moment.  I’m on page 629…out of 936.  As I might have already mentioned, it’s not short.  Like at all.  And it’s sometimes very difficult to read because all the characters have unfamiliar foreign names that seem to consist entirely of Ks and Hs.

I’ll do the whole review thing later, when I finally finish this tome.  But, as usual, my impatience has gotten the best of me.  You see,  yesterday when I went to Panera while my buyers were doing their inspection thing of my apartment and I holed up in a corner with this book.  And well…it broke me.

I started sobbing.  Like ugly with a grimacing face and mucus caking on my lip kind of crying.  In Panera.  While the mommy mafia that always takes over the back room looked at me sternly when I couldn’t control the crying being at my table.  Because (SPOILER ALERT) one of the characters, my favorite character, died.  And after investing some 600plus pages with that character, I was heartbroken to see him go.   I had to stop reading completely, for several hours, before I could bring myself to carry on reading the book, knowing he would never come back, like we make the conscious decision to go on living when we lose someone we love.

And it didn’t help that the author crafted a heartwrenchingly beautiful passage where the narrator mourns this dear, departed friend, Prabaker.  I’m so haunted by it that I can’t wait until the official review to share it with you.  So here you go.   Be ready with the hankies.

At first, when we truly love someone, our greatest fear is that the loved one will stop loving us.   What we should fear and dread, of course, is that we won’t stop loving them, even after they’re dead and gone.  For I still love you with the whole of my heart, Prabaker.  I still love you.  And sometimes, my friend, the love that I have, and can’t give to you, crushes the breath from my chest.  Sometimes, even now, my heart is drowning in a sorrow that has no stars without you, and no laughter, and no sleep.


Was that good for you, too? Then click here and follow my Facebook page. Or even better, join the mailing list. Free pony with every subscription. Probably.

24 thoughts on “Crushed

  1. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to read this when there’s no one around. Last thing I need is to be a blubbering mess at my desk for something other than the sudden realization of how much my job sucks.

  2. That is some insightful honesty right there. Beauty.
    Characters in books mean so much to me too. The only solution for this heartache, I think, is to finish the book and vicariously experience how other characters cope with the loss.
    Or nachos with cheese. That always helps too.

  3. why were you at Panera? this was far more suited for some hole in the wall coffee shop… not the bright lights mustard sauce of fast but not fast food.

    Sorry… I’m crying about the whole thing.

  4. *sniffles* <—this is monumental for me because I'm supposed to be The Ice Queen.

    I'll wait for your review to be safe, but I'm fairly certain that this is a book I will read.

  5. When I saw the name of the narrator, I thought I might have to read this book. After reading this passage, I HAVE TO.

    Thanks sweetie. And the mommy mafia can kiss our asses. Are they shitting me? You are pregnant. You trump everybody in that room.

  6. (I scanned through the reviews on Good Reads: kind of fascinating how most of the guys who left a comments HATED this book… I’m chucking to myself now…)

  7. I loved that book…and yes it is super long, long, long and at parts sad but pretty amazing story. Fuck the mommy mafia or better yet throw that big ass book at them…when you are done reading it, of course.

  8. You are the first person I know to have read that book. The last two books I read had characters die that made me bellow with grief. I’ll not breathe again until your review. Damn, I’ve already taken a breath.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge