Friday, July 13, 2007

The Lovely Bones

Back in my high school days, I was relentlessly involved in the journalism program, newspaper and yearbook was my life. I loved writing satirical articles, book reviews, doing layout, and I felt like I was in control with a grease pencil in my hand. One particularly drizzly February afternoon while I was a sophomore, I was reading The Lovely Bones for the book review that week. It wasn’t particularly fantastic, but it was an interesting story, I had to give the author that much.

I finished with school and one of my neighbors gave me a ride home. I stepped out of the car into the cold moist air that was so unlike the Utah I knew. I remember the stark blue cover of the book looking particularly striking against the yellow grass that was covered in snow only hours before. I walked up to my house and noticed the light coming out the window from my brother’s room. He had a mobile of a self-portrait hanging in the middle of his room. I could see that swaying back and forth.

I’ve already told the story about finding my brother’s body, although I have always left out the detail that I was holding that book. The Lovely Bones. There was the only person that helped me feel grounded into my family, now just laying on the ground in the fetal position, a pile of lovely bones. I wonder if he was happy as he injected the heroin, or if he was scared like the little girl in the book.

I couldn’t finish reading the book. I wanted desperately to prove to myself that I conquer the feelings of loss and just finish that damned book. But a year later the book was still on my nightstand, mocking me. Needless to say I never wrote the review. Defeated, I gave the book back.

When I moved back to Provo, I was at Barnes and Noble with Stephalumpagus. Meandering through their bargain buys section I spotted it again: somehow the reduced price of five dollars and ninety-seven cents made it look weak.

The Lovely Bones now lies underneath my bed, please don’t tell it that I’m still scared to read. I don’t want that book to have any more power of my life.


Anonymous said...

I thought that was a stupid book and I can't believe Peter Jackson is trying to make it into a movie. You are not missing anything by not reading the ending.

salad said...

I read the book and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I wouldn't necessarily advocate that you finish it, but I'm a completionist, so I don't think I could go without finishing it. In fact, looking back, I think that's what drove me to finish it in the first place. *shrug* Go read "Twilight" instead. It will make you feel better ;)

Oh, and Happy Birthday!

Samantha said...

Not a great book, in fact, I sort of hated it. However, sometimes, years later, you do things to lay ghosts to rest. This book seems to have become a physical representation of how you are haunted by your brother's death. Someday, maybe when you're forty, you'll finish it simply because you're tired of being afraid. It's sort of like having lunch with a pedophile...okay, maybe not...

I love you.