I just finished The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy.
If you read the story, you'll understand when I say that as I read I imagined Mama Moss with a nice French volunteer helping her to write one last letter. Her very own Sister Mary Inconnu. When I got to the part where Harold Fry finally makes it to see Queenie as she lays dying, I imagined myself walking down the corridor and through my mom's door. I felt all of his pained awkwardness and fumbling. Except this time I imagined something else going on inside my mom's head. Not a Dante's Inferno as I previously thought, something more fluid. Pieces of her life being set adrift on a wide river. Or something.
That's the thing about a good story. It gives you another look inside a world you thought you knew. You move along with the characters down an unpredictable path and wind up stepping out a different door into a landscape that is fresh.
I love this photo of my mom. Snapped on a sunny afternoon in Spain 50 years ago. Who was behind the camera? Was that our cat or the neighbors? I think of all the photos that have gone missing or were never taken of her. A life before selfies. Before we documented every detail.
But I'm straying off course…
The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy. It's a good one. Who knows what it may remind you of…or who. And if you have yourself a little cry when it's over, well, all the better. I highly recommend rereading the end of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry when you get to the end of the Queenie book. It's so good to get the 2 different perspectives of Harold's last visit to see Queenie. I think it enhanced my own reader's experience so much!
Now I'm onto this:
See you soon. Let me know where your reading adventures are taking you.
As my school year draws to a close and I prepare for some blessed solitude and QUIET, these words from a beloved writer seem especially fitting to share…