Every year since my mom died, I buy myself a book for my birthday. I guess because it’s what she would’ve done. Or maybe it’s to make myself feel better, because every birthday since she died has been a little melancholy, a little lacking.
This year I bought Writers & Lovers, and I decided to start reading it right away.
At first, I didn’t really get it. I’ve heard so much praise for this book. How beautifully written it is! How relatable! How comforting! I felt entirely disconnected. To me, the book seemed slow, simply written and kind of… boring.
Yet, as I fell deeper and deeper into the plot, into Casey’s life and her struggle to get her novel published and feel loved and ease her grief, I couldn’t help but feel what everyone else felt. I graduated college in December and these last few months have been ridiculously hard. I’ve felt lost and lonely and purposeless. As someone who also writes, who also lost their mother, who also has a few issues with love, I couldn’t help but relate to Casey and her struggle to come of age (yes! I think you can come of age at 31!). I couldn’t help but burst with joy at every little triumph.
So while I do not feel that this book is perfect— certainly the beginning could use a little pruning— I do feel I was meant to read it right now. That it feels like finding a lucky penny on a rainy day. Like reaching into an old coat pocket to find a twenty just when you need it. Like a gift, just like I intended.