I posted my review of Forbidden the other day and this post is stemming off that. Please note that this post contains MASSIVE SPOILERS for Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma, do not read any further if you do not want the end of Forbidden to be ruined for you.
You have been warned...
I said that by the end of Forbidden I was a mess. I was...a crying, depressed, needed to be held and rocked to sleep mess.
Why? Not because Lochie and Maya fell in love with each other, not because they had a stupid mother, not even because of the incest. Nothing contraversial about the book actually affected me. It was the second last chapter...when they got caught.
Even that didn't affect me.
It was the detail with which Lochies arrest was described.
That affected me the most throughout this whole book...why? because it forced me to remember my own past.
It forced me to relive the day in which I watched someone extremely close to me get arrested for something I was willing to swear in court that they were innocent for. As Kit ran down the street after him it forced me to remember the fight I put up as I attempted to go after the police.
For the rest of the story I was a mess. Him dying didn't bother me, her nearly killing herself kind of bothered me...because I felt it was a waste.
I knew that was going to happen, I knew they were going to get caught...It was inevitable. I knew it was going to be sad, I will be honest and say that I didn't know it was going to affect me like it did...but I knew it was coming.
So I ask...
Why do we read books that make us sad? Why do we read books that make us question what we believe, bawl our eyes out or make us so angry that we are tempted to throw the book across the room?
If reading relaxes you, helps you get away from your daily life, makes you happy with all the wonder it holds, takes you on a journey to a new and magical place...why do we read books that make us sad?
Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of reading? Doesn't it defeat the purpose of doing something that makes us happy...if we need a box of tissues next to us because the story is so heartbreakingly powerful that we are going to end up snot faced and red eyed.
About halfway through Forbidden, I knew I should stop, I knew I should have just put it down and walked away because I knew it wasn't going to end pretty.
And yet I didn't.
I know I won't stop reading sad books...I don't know why, but I won't. It is why I deliberately keep a stack of "extra happy" books on hand. After Forbidden I have read two "happy" books one that was so funny I nearly wet myself laughing. I am still not over Forbidden, I still need that hug, and I am going to need a few more happy books before I go anywhere near another sad book.
Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers. - Charles W. Eliot
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