Story Bereavement

There should be a better term for this strange feeling of loss and melancholy as you finally finish the story that you have lived in for every hour you have been reading it. A good book draws you in and makes you feel so immersed in the characters and their lives that when you finally look up from the page you are surprised that they are not sitting there with you in your living room. When I find a good book I can’t put it down and for the next couple of days, every spare hour (and often quite a few stolen ones) are immersed into it.

I carry my Kindle with me – I love real books, but having a disability means I can’t carry weighty books around with me all day so I finally bought myself a Kindle. Considering I often used to take 8 books on a week’s holiday it was a good investment, and now I can take more clothes with me! The disadvantage of the Kindle is that sometimes, because it is so portable, I rush stories. I so want to know what happens that I can’t leave it for quality time, and find myself snatching a few pages between work, on the train, in the doctor’s waiting room and even in the gap while waiting to be served in a shop. This really defeats the purpose of savouring and enjoying the book properly but I still can’t help myself from reading just a paragraph, or just a few pages and then before I know it I have raced towards the end and now I don’t want it to be over.

This strange push and pull between finishing the story and wanting to stay in it forever has been with me since I was a little girl. When I was eight, I had finished the reading scheme at school. It was a fairly boring scheme which for some strange reason seemed to involved pirates. I was never happier than when I was in a book and I raced through them, sometimes 3 or 4 a week until my teacher finally gave up and during reading time let me have the run of the school library. I chose to read Louisa M.Alcott’s Little Women and was entranced with this story of sisters, balls, dancing, and all their clothes, theatricals and romances. I remember feeling very proud of the fact that while  everyone else was reading to the teacher or one of the visiting mums I was allowed to lie in a bean bag and read this amazing story. Of course when it was over I moved on to the next in the series and then I followed by reading series of books such as ‘What Katy Did’ and the Moomin series by Tove Jansson. In this way the separation from my beloved characters was not so harsh, but then I discovered Jane Eyre. I was around 10 because I remember there was a series on the BBC on Sunday teatimes with Timothy Dalton as the dark and mysterious Mr.Rochester. I didn’t know the term ‘Byronic’ then but I thought he was the most exciting and handsome man. I was enthralled by the woman in the attic who may, or may not, be the servant Grace Poole. I was reading alongside the series and remember throwing a complete hissy fit when the series showed the eve of Jane’s wedding and the ghoulish Bertha comes into her room and rends her veil in two. I knew I didn’t have to wait to following week for resolution because I had my book, so when my Aunty Doreen took it from me so I couldn’t sneak a peek I sulked for hours. Those characters stayed with me long after I found out the ending, and I had to take a short break from reading for a few days to exorcise the literary ghosts!

More recently one book that completely sucked me in was David Nicholl’s ‘One Day’. Again it was a romance between Emma and Dexter that was at the centre of the story and I identified with Emma immediately. They studied at the same time as me so the fashions and the music were the same, I recalled the books that she studied and loved as much as I had when I first discovered them. I understood Emma and I too had a Dexter, a male friend I fell in love with – although mine love was mainly unrequited. I raced through the novel feeling like I was reading about my friends, and it took me two days. Towards the middle of the second day I reached the point of Emma getting on her bike to come from swimming, she and Dexter had argued that morning, but I knew it would be okay because these two were meant to be together. Then (SPOILER ALERT) I reached the devastating sentence:

‘then Emma Mayhew died and everything she thought or felt died with her’.

-and I was devastated. I immediately burst into tears. Nicholls was such a talented writer that he had made me believe in this character so completely. Now I had lost her and along with Dexter I grieved for this funny, loyal, intelligent and forgiving woman. I had to seek out someone else in the house and tell them Emma Mayhew was dead. I finished the book in state of grief. I had to keep going back to the sentence and re-reading. I couldn’t believe that life would be so cruel as to take her away from Dexter just as they had found each other. I couldn’t believe he would take her away from me!!

There are books that have absorbed me so much I could cry when they’re over. Michael Faber’s version of Victorian London was a version I wanted to stay in forever. More recently Alice Hoffman’s new novel was extraordinary and I knew that I would feel this strange sadness when it was over. I know I have read a really good book when I have to put the book to one side and think quietly for a while. There needs to be a respectful gap between the end of that book and the beginning of another, because I have to come to a new book with a fresh mind. I can’t have old characters hanging over me and haunting me.