![]() So when I read The War That Saved My Life I had to explain to her, at length, that in spite of the premise, cover (again with the kids staring out into nothingness), and time period this isn’t the bleak stretch of depressingness it might appear to be. Still, that 10-year-old self is always with me and I confer with her when I’m reading new releases. Happily I got over this phase and eventually was able to go back to those books I had avoided to better see what I had missed. Books picturing kids staring out into the vast nothingness of the universe were of little use to me. Lord only knows what caused a book to be labeled “depressing” in my eyes before I’d even read it. Jacob Have I Loved? Not in this lifetime. ![]() Bridge to Terabithia? I’ll have none please. Selective in that I studiously avoided any and all works of fiction that might conceivably be considered “depressing”. ![]() ![]() As a child I was what one might call a selective reader. ![]()
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