If you haven’t read Me Before You by Jojo Moyers, I’m not sure what you’re still doing on the internet.
I just finished it after a desperate binge read (I’m talking whipping it out at stop lights and in the drive thru kind of thing) and it was, in a word, magnificent. It appealed to everything in my life as it is now, especially with the main character being my age and going through the same “who am I, what am I doing, what’s the point of all this” kind of questioning. I think it’s the first book I’ve read that, at least partially, I just got it. I got what the character was thinking and feeling. Of course, there were aspects I couldn’t relate to, bigger themes in the book I could only sympathize with, but not fully understand. However, those things didn’t take away from the experience.
The book did it’s job and made me go through a torrent of “feels,” as the internet would say, and by the end I just “couldn’t even.” I find that with a really good book, even if you know how it’s going to end or you can guess, you have this anxiety building up in you, the thought that surely heartbreak is coming but you just can’t stop reading as these characters play it all out.
I liked that even though this story was about a 26 year old becoming a care giver to a quadriplegic, the story didn’t become solely about his disability. It didn’t turn into some monologue, it didn’t get preachy or try to present a “right” or “wrong” side of a moral debate. It was about someone who had lived, and no longer wanted to, teaching someone how to live, who had never thought to. It’s also about what that word even is, what is living, and when you are living, who are you doing it for?
Life kind of makes sense after a good book. Your brain starts getting backlogged with possibilities and plans. Anyway, if you’re into pages and ink and storytelling and thoughts and that sort of thing, read Me Before You.