I LOVE a good story. I’ve been entranced with good stories all my life. As a pre-teen/teen, I could easily spend all day in our living room (which was rarely used except by me), lying on the very comfortable love seat reading. In those days I read only mysteries – Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys and the like. As I’ve grown older and more, *ahem*, mature, I have learned to appreciate good writing no matter what it may be. One of my all-time favorite books is Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden) simply because of the world it took me to. In more recent years I have loved books like: The Kite Runner, The Time Traveller’s Wife, and more recently still, The Inheritance of Loss.
The point is, I’m constantly reading. I’m reading The Friday Night Knitting Club right now, and if you have not read it yet and plan to, OR are in the process of reading it and are not half-way through, then you probably want to ***STOP READING MY BLOG NOW*** ’cause I accept no liability for what I am about to write.
I love the characters of this novel. Georgia the self-sufficient one, Anita, her mother-like mentor and Dakota, the daughter who seems to be very ambitious. All the women in the club are interesting and each are facing interesting life challenges. The book is set in New York and I’ve enjoyed reading about that city as well. But here’s my question. Why does the story have to go where it’s going? It would have been a great little book had Georgia not been diagnosed with cancer. I haven’t gotten to the end yet, so for those that have read this please don’t speak of it until I get there (fingers in ears chanting “na na na na na na na” to prove point), but I think I can see where this is going. Not good. While I love a good book-cry, I’m really not in the mood these days to cry, so I suppose that I’m going to have to put this away until I come upon a day where a good book-cry is necessary. Sorry Kate, your book may be a while yet.