First, a shout-out to my Bluestockings. You never cease to deliver. Looking forward to debriefing on 1.12.
This book is reminiscent of life in Manhattan; a central character interacting with countless others in a lasting, albeit brief, way. Reading about a full life in short stories also fits the Manhattan way of living; a bit here, a bit there ; when you choose to fit it in; allowing it to affect your life only as much as the attention you’ll grant during your otherwise consumed day. In short – I empathized with the style.
Our main characterista, Olive, is a hard gal to like but I adore the fragile fright she keeps hidden encased in her thick skin. She’s every reason I ever wanted to become a teacher – reaching students in ways I’d never hope to intend or comprehend, and exemplifying how lasting impressions somehow are beautifully quid-pro-quo. & yet she is more convincing and supportive of every excuse why I didn’t – I’m too questioning of my own life to have the confidence or audacity to lead others and too blunt to ever (wish-against-)hope to come across as caring; nevermind the good intentions.
The majority of my time with this book was spent in annoyance. The unapologetic disregard of connection and shirk of responsibility infuriated me. The remaining time was spent cheering on the release from obligations and choosing to abandon to the freedom of love. I chose to find the saving grace in the memorable question of, “[had we] known in these moments to be quietly joyful? ” Well yes, Olive, we have. Though I do appreciate the not-so-subtle reminder that life is truly about perspective, that it is best lived without apology, and greatest when loving as we will.
Class dismissed.