I know, most ordinary people think reading a book about walking is boring. Or should I write: Boring! If you've not noticed over at BookTeaCatDog, I've read a few books about walking, both historical and philosophical. I'm not sure why. I enjoy them, almost as much as I enjoy walking. Strange but true. And now, I can add a new genre--I am reading fiction about walking. And it is fantastic!
I am completely absorbed in and enthralled by The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce, and it is as wonderful as reviews--and its nomination for a Man Booker Prize--have said. She manages to convey how walking helps one refocus, deal with the past you'd rather not remember, hope for the future (well, I haven't gotten to the hope and future part, but I sure hope it's coming), see life, real life, not TV life or life as you think it is, but real life. Beautifully written, so sensitively drawn, with such compassion for characters living such quiet and surprisingly desperate and unhappy lives--and yet, it is not depressing at all.
I think Harold will be re-awakened by his walk. I hope Maureen is. I hope Queenie is waiting. My friend S is listening to the Audibles version at the same time, but we haven't compared notes yet. I hope she loves it as much as I do.
I wish I didn't have to work, but could just sit and read. How do I get a job just sitting and reading?
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