Book review: We Are Not Ourselves
I just finished reading it. Thoughts:
1. I’m glad I read it. Wow.
2. I didn’t read any reviews of it or anything like that but there were many parts when I was thinking, “A man wrote this. This is not how a woman would think or describe things. Even an emotionally repressed woman like Eileen Leary.” I don’t mean it was insensitive, just that it wasn’t 100% credible to me. But it’s fiction so that’s fine. Besides …
3. The world and the ethos were eerily credible. Blunt force credible. My God, it was like the story of my family and those of my fellow second and third generation Irish Catholic American immigrants in NYC brethren, all wrapped into one familiar tragicomic tale. The feelings of love, dread and poetry.
4. And then you get to this point where you’re like …. SHIT! Is this it? Is it all misery? A tale told by an idiot signifying nothing? Like reading the obits as a twisted form of entertainment (Irish sports pages)?
5. But then you read the letter from Ed to Colin … and all is understood.
6. And you feel for Eileen and the fact that she could never fully love or appreciate what she had while she had it. That was her hamartia.
7. And you are reminded to hug your loved ones and treasure the moments… And read more.