Went to Seattle with the family to visit relatives today - trying to catch everyone before I head. Read Time Traveller’s Wife all day. Half way through, I was so moved that I was constantly tearing up and had to take breaks to prevent crying. I have 20 pages left and I can’t go on. It’s my favourite type of love story, tragically blissful with predetermined doom… I don’t know if I can watch the movie.

Call me an old soul, but I firmly believe that true, passionate, undying love that you see in the movies, once quoted by Kirstie Allie in that horrible movie, “It Takes Two,” as that “can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over- the-fence, world-series kind of stuff,” must be beautiful, brief, painful, tragic, and most of all, doomed. My favourite love stories always feature the latter. We have Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Heathcliff and Cathy, and now… Henry and Clare from the Time Traveller’s Wife (there are probably others that I just can’t think of right now..). True, ridiculously delirious love should involve suffering and the subtle, (obvious intervention) by a cruelly delighted Fate. Orpheus and Eurydice comes to mind. Othello and Desdemona, by the actions of Iago…
Ultimately, I love stories that can break my heart into a thousand pieces, over and over until it’s a glassy, sharddy mess and just when I’m almost through with the book - it stomps right into my heart-pile and crushes it just a little bit more.
This novel also strikes me, because I don’t remember another ‘recent’ novel that has struck me in this way. I haven’t blogged or had ’serious’ thoughts for a while on account of my upcoming move but… This was phenomenal. Still can’t bring myself to read the last 20 pages….