I just finished the last pages of her latest book. I took my time with this book, only allowed myself one story at a time, every few days so I can stretch the pleasure further.
Every story in this collection is a heartbreaker. Even her short childhood recollections, despite having been written in a clear prose devoid of sentimentality, have an impact of such magnitude that I ended up closing the back cover with wet eyes, panting for air. Who cries when reading a book anymore? Well, turns out I do.
In these lines she manages to compose her music of words so concisely, light in style but heavy with content, dense with life meanings, and never simple. She makes me want to write her a letter. Maybe I will.
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