Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales

It's hard to sum up what an extraordinary read Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales really was. I started off a little sceptical, doubtful that Sales would find the right tone to keep me interested, but I was wrong. Very wrong. 

I thought I knew what the book would be about thanks to the generous media and online coverage it had been receiving in Australia in the lead up to Christmas. I also had Nancy's unequivocal admiration for the book ringing in my ears. I was expecting to read about some of the (sadly) well-known names in Australia who had survived tragedies such as the Lindt Cafe siege, the Port Arthur massacre and the Thredbo disaster; I wasn't expecting to read about an acquaintance of mine though.

Any Ordinary Day was a riveting read. Heart-breaking at times, but so full of compassion, kindness and a desire for genuine understanding, that it melted my cynical side completely. But when I reached Chapter 6 and suddenly realised that this section was Leigh's interview with Hannah Richell about the surfing accident that took the life of her husband, Matt a few years ago, I was pulled up short.

Suddenly it felt very personal and very close to the bone. 

As Sales' said early on, the idea behind this book was to explore how we cope with not being 'exceptional' when we discover that we're as 'vulnerable as the next person' to being blindsided by life and death moments. Matt's accident, and Hannah's extraordinary blog about her journey with grief and sadness, have left me pondering this idea often. How do we develop resilience? How do we learn to let go the idea that we have complete control over our lives? How do we cope with the randomness of life? Can we become a better person for having gone through something so traumatic?

Sales' spends some time within each interview discussing these ideas, as well as bringing in various facts and stats from current research findings. Every interview was thoughtfully conceived and executed. She discussed the personal as well as the bigger picture stuff. She considered why it is that we're all fascinated by these traumatic events and why we participate in mass displays of grieving like those that happened after Princess Diana died and the floral tributes in Martin Place after the Lindt Cafe siege.

The role of journalists, media and social media are explored, as well as the negative and positive outcomes experienced by individuals caught up in this kind of craziness when they're at their most vulnerable.

Sales says,

because we don't have enough conversations about the big stuff, about life and loss and fear, we end up approaching death with morbid fascination, like it's some dark awful secret or some big heroic event.

This book is all about reminding us that the big stuff can happen at any time and that we should remember to be grateful for, a savour, the everyday, ordinary moments, for 'they're not so ordinary, really. Hindsight makes them quite magical'.

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

I had planned to read The Goldfinch over my summer holiday break. A chunkster, lazy days lying by the pool & late, wine-infused nights sounded perfect to me!

But then I began to read and hear the rumblings of unhappy readers. Disappointed reviews because The Goldfinch didn't live up to The Secret History. Concern over the unnecessary length - the drawn-out, self-indulgent, repetitive passages.

Was The Goldfinch sumptuous or inert? Lavish or a flight of fancy? Exquisite or uneven? Triumphant or tedious? Dickensian or dishwater?

I couldn't risk packing such a big book for my holidays to have it flop.

So I started it last week.

And I wish I'd saved it for my holidays!!

It's the kind of book that deserves long, lazy days completely devoted to reading. The kind of uninterrupted, distraction free, immersive reading days that fuelled my childhood.

I think that's where the negative reviews may be coming from - reviewers unable to immerse themselves into the world of this book, unable to let go & allow themselves to go along for the journey, but instead, caught up in a busy schedule with demands on their time and unable to lose a week of their time to a chunkster.

I get that.
There are times and there are books that I can't get into or get lost in myself because of the other stuff going on around me.

But luckily for me, and for The Goldfinch, I was ready to get lost in a good book. I wanted an excuse to escape the crazy, busyness of the pre-Christmas rush. I needed another world to disappear into.

The early sections of The Goldfinch where Tartt re-imagines another 9/11 style terrorist strike on the Met are stunning with their horror, randomness and chaotic slowness. The following chapters detailing Theo's grief are authentic and heart-wrenching.

The tale of the post-traumatic orphaned boy and what would become of him had me in it's grip completely.


Well almost.

Out of the blue, my interest began to wane.

The stay with the Barbours in NY was just stretching out a little too long, when suddenly bam! something happened.

Then Theo's alcohol & drug crazed time in Las Vegas with Boris was just starting to feel a little ridiculous when bam! something happened.

Then we suddenly jumped 8 years and bam! Theo meets someone from his past on the streets of New York. Instead of being in the grip of the story, I'm becoming aware of the writer and the writing process. The magic dust has worn off.

My early concern for Theo is beginning to ebb away. With every shoddy deal, with every drug snorted, my care factor is slipping away.

How am I going to summon up the energy to finish this book?

*****************************************************************************

I wrote the above last night & planned to post it on my way to work this morning after giving it one last edit.

But I've done something drastic in the meantime.

I gave up.

I tried to read a little more before going to bed  - about Theo's unrequited love for Pippa  - and I realised I couldn't care less.
But I needed to know that Hobie was okay, since he was the one believable character in the whole thing.
So I jumped to the last chapter - where we suddenly find Theo philosophising to his unknown future reader about life, death and art!!!!!

Hobie was okay, disillusioned, but okay.
And Theo? To be perfectly frank, I don't give a shit anymore!