It's November again.
I am building a book fortress around me in my mind*. I just finished Tell Me Who You Are by Louisa Luna (Unlikeable female characters!** Out in June 2024! Sorry you have to wait, people-who-don't-get-future books-delivered-to-your-email.) Yesterday I read Self-Portrait by Trina Schart Hyman, one of my favorite illustrators, who lived a really interesting life and honestly I would like a full length memoir. I've had the book in question sitting on my library book table for several months now, hoarding it as the book dragon I am. The only reason I haven't bought it on thriftbooks yet is that it's just expensive enough to make me think about it before I put it in my cart. One of these days though...
I wish you were here, filling our home with more books. These days the packages from thriftbooks and abe are always mine.
Someone else finally requested Self-Portrait though, and so I finally read it so I could return it for the next patron. Only I forgot to bring it to work with me today, so it's just sitting on my kitchen table, oops.
Before that I read The Hungry Dark, by Jen Williams, who you might recall is the author of A Dark and Secret Place (but NOT Mirrorland, even though I always think she is for a moment. That’s Carole Johnstone. You read The Blackhouse a few months before you died. I came across it on your goodreads the other day. Even in death, you're still ahead of me in books. Only fitting I suppose.) and Games for Dead Girls which I read a few days before that. I've now read all of Jen Williams' books, and have to wait impatiently for her next one.
I wish you were here to hear 'okay the mountain really was just actually HUNGRY.'
Previously I mentioned I was saving Bright & Deadly Things by Lexie Elliott. I'm glad I did. I read it when I came back from England, and it was exactly what I needed. The grief parts didn't so much hit close to home as open the front door, walk right in and make a cup of tea.
“There have been a few disapproving faces who clearly feel I've moved on too quickly, but thus far I've managed not to get exercised about that; I can only imagine they are lucky enough to have never lost anybody they're close to. Otherwise they would know that you never move on exactly: you take the person you've lost with you. And nobody else can ever tell you how you should grieve.”
Obviously, losing a spouse is different than a sibling, but you know. I will make new friends since losing you, I already have. But there is no replacing you. There will never be another sister like you. I know we said it all the time, I know we were aware of how lucky we were, and I’m fucking glad of it. I’m so glad we were sisters. I take you with me wherever I go, and so I am not just sitting alone on the couch with the cats, you are still there too. If I could, I would lean my head on your shoulder and say it again. I love you, Eames.
*I can just imagine someone casually pointing out that technically I could build a physical fortress of books too, and believe me, if I could, I would live in it and never leave.
**I mean, I enjoyed them obviously.