It was a bright and sunny Saturday morning. I had decided that I was going to take the day to do things that I wanted to do: no running errands, no cleaning the apartment, just relaxing, taking some pictures for bookstagram, and generally taking a “me” day.
Lately I have been a tiny bit overwhelmed by the amount of books that I own, yet remain unread. (I am not really sure why I feel this way, isn’t that the main requirement of being a bookworm, owning all of these books that we will never find time to read?) So, in an effort to knock off a few of these owned/unread books, I picked up a short read that I could get started on while I took a bath that morning.
A Monster Calls was a book that I had grabbed at Target several months ago, and have just been putting off reading because I was told that I would undoubtedly cry. I don’t often seek out books that will make me sad, I don’t particularly enjoy crying, but I thought “what the heck, lets see what happens”.
Let me be clear: I don’t plan on reviewing A Monster Calls in this blog post, it is a really short read and I highly recommend anyone and everyone take 2 to 3 hours out of their day and read it. What I do want to focus on is not necessarily the book itself, but the buried feelings and hurt this book brought to the surface for me.