It’s not that I haven’t been reading. I read every night for at least 20 minutes or so. I try to sneak in reading wherever I can — at the doctor’s office, in the car waiting to pick up my son, sprawled out on the couch for a quick work break.
Lately, I have been reading a lot of nonfiction: a book on introverts, books on gender, an essay collection. Nonfiction seems substantial and important. Worthy of my precious time. They are books that say look at me, look at the important things I’m reading.
And then I spotted a hardcover copy of Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl on a rack in a thrift store for $2.25. I bought it. I had heard from another writer that the writing was good, exceptional even. Besides, the book only cost as much as an 8 ounce can of Red Bull. What did I have to lose?
I knew Gone Girl had appeared on various best seller lists a few years ago. I didn’t let this stop me. I’m usually not a fan of mainstream books. My name is Middle-age Butch, and I am a book snob.
Gone Girl isn’t even the genre that I typically read. I’m not big into mysteries or thrillers. Sorry, Agatha Christie.
But Flynn had me in the palm of her at the get go.
Gone Girl is about a suburban wife who goes missing. That’s where the story starts. Is the husband the killer? I found my allegiance switching from the wife to the husband and back again a whole bunch of times.
Flynn writes beautifully. I couldn’t put this book down. I started to pace myself near the end, because I didn’t want the ride to end.
Thank you, Gillian Flynn for reminding me that books don’t have to be heavy and serious to be worthy. They can be fun.
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Have you read Gone Girl? What are you reading right now?