I don’t review books. I work at writing them, read tons of them, but except for the occasional comment on GoodReads, I do not review or critique.
Book reviewing, being able to encapsulate an experience within a book so that others can understand, is an art form. There is nothing finer than a good book review. It can make me stop what I’m doing, jump onto Barnes and Noble, or text myself for the next time I am in a book store.
Book reviewers are obviously voracious readers, but the exceptional ones are able to suggest great reads based on a mood or life moment. Book Club Mom is that kind of talent.
I wrote a post a few months ago. I’m not exactly sure what it was called, but it put to fantasy my world if I lived in a lighthouse. Barb (aka Book Club Mom) commented that my post reminded her of the book The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman.
I had never read the book, but I added it to my list. I finished reading it this morning because I fell asleep trying to finish it last night. I have been in a literary fiction mood lately, which is a nice way of saying, I’m moody. Barb could tell from my post, she felt the essence. Her recommendation was a gift.
I honesty don’t know how to put my feelings about this book together, but I will start by saying it is beautiful, stunningly beautiful.
As a writer, I can so appreciate the crafting of a story. I am in awe of this one. M. L. Stedman is a gentle, soft strands on a windy day, weaver of words. I loved this book, the images, and the way she fed me the story in pieces, unveilings. The pacing is morning light on an old wood floor, soft and easy while at the same time rich and layered.
Her words are simple narrative, plot driven, and yet I’m given enough of the characters to ignite my imagination and make them my own. The Light Between Oceans is my favorite book in my right now. Maybe that has something to do with where I am at in my life, but it will take something pretty spectacular to replace it.
I’ve purchased The Nightingale as my next read, but I need a few days. My heart is sore and I don’t want to leave Tom. I want to go back to Janus Rock and start all over again. Truly, everything I believe a book should be.
Thank you, Barb.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Goodnight, Lucy Grace.