This was a stupid book to read on Christmas Eve. I finished it at 4AM, right around when I’m sure Santa was making his Edmonton rounds, and I’m still mad at myself for being an idiot. Now I’m watching my cat play with his Christmas presents (catnip, catnip, more catnip), and that’s helping a bit.
First of all: this is a really good book. The structure (a series of letters from a woman to her husband about their son) works perfectly for the subject matter. The tone and cadence are spot on – I had a clear picture of all of these people from the first page on.
Second: Jesus, it’ll wreck you. Nobody’s really sympathetic in this book, but it still made me cry at 4AM.
Third: I can’t decide if I think the ending is a cop-out. Kind of. Not really. Maybe I want it to be.
Learnings: don’t read a book about a school massacre on Christmas Eve.
Books read: 24