I love to read. I always have. I read non-fiction for the most part. Not textbooks, but biographies, memoirs, books on whatever topic I'm currently interested in (and those topics really vary). I read fiction occasionally. I love Michael Crichton's books (and was sad when he died recently) and a handful of other fiction authors. I've never given a whole lot of those to the types of books I read.
Until, that is, Hilary made a disparaging remark about my taste in books one day. I don't even remember what we were talking about at the time, but she made some snide comment about "always reading those depressing books".
Depressing books? Me? I didn't know what she was talking about.
Well, since then, I've begun to really notice the books that I bring home from the library, and couldn't help but wonder what Hilary would think of my selections this last visit:
Damaged Angels: An Adoptive Mother Discovers the Tragic Toll of Alcohol in Pregnancy
Beautiful Boy: A Father's Journey Through His Son's Addiction
The Alchemy of Loss: A Young Widow's Transformation
Head Cases: Stories of Brain Injury and It's Aftermath
These were the four that caught my eye. I highly recommend Damaged Angels, Beautiful Boy and Head Cases. I can't offer any insight on The Alchemy of Loss, since I haven't read it yet.
So there you have it. Grab a cup of coffee, and curl up with a good book. That's what I'm doing.