My 11th grade English teacher let me borrow this, as depressed the main character was throughout the whole thing, I couldn’t put it down!
Last summer Entertainment Weekly had a list of must-read memoirs, so I read quite a few of them but liked this one the best:
I see it right away: the marble end table collapsed on top of its spindly black legs. Off to the side, is the black vase, the smooth cylinder broken in half, the freesias strewn in a puddle of water.
And then I see my mother sitting by the open window, her dark silhouette again the night sky. She turns around in her chair, but I can’t see her face.
“Fallen down,” she says simply. She doesn’t apologize.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, and I start to pick up the broken glass shards. “I knew it would happen.”
“Then why don’t you stop it?” asks my mother.
And it’s such a simple question.
can i live here?
Reader Submission: Title and Redesign by Henry Schenker
Jane Austen: Mansfield Park
I feel this way about EVERY Jane Austen book EVER.