On the perfect day of the year I finished the most perfect book I’ve read in a long while.
The History of Love is amazing.
But when I was trying to tell Miss Carol about it and why it was so excellent, I couldn’t think of why it was so perfect.
Did it have bombs and action and car wrecks? Miss Carol asked.
Nope, none of that. I said.
Were there a buncha love scenes that gave you a woodie? Miss Carol purred.
Nooooo, none of those either, I said, blushing.
Then what was it that made soooo great? Miss Carol shrieked, angrily flipping up her hands.
I don’t know. I said.
And that’s when Miss Carol looked at me the way she does when she can’t figure me out or like we’d just met or something, and said- Hmmm, like maybe I was lying or had done something wrong.
But it’s true and I can’t figure it out- it’s just one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. It’s not gonna change the world, it’s not the sorta book that would be a box office hard charger- were anyone ever to make a movie out of it- It’s just good.
It’s good like your first kiss. It’s good like hugging a puppy.
It’s a ten- I loved it.
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