If I were you, I wouldn’t read Between Here and April by Deborah Copaken Kogan. It is overly dramatic, depressing and the ending… well, the book just stopped. It’s possible that they forgot to print the last chapter. I rolled my eyes a lot, which is not easy to do when you are reading. What can I say, I am a multi-tasker.
There is a big difference between a sad book and a depressing book in my mind. I like to be inspired by sad stories of overcoming perseverance, especially when they are true. But reading a fictitious novel about a yuppie who is unsatisfied and whiny about absolutely everything is just not really a good time. Especially when this woman has a never ending list of troubles that range from minor to extreme. Wow, really? That one time you were gang raped by a group of Eastern Europeans doesn’t even come up until the last quarter of the book? Ok fine, the complexities of your daughters bringing cupcakes to school just falls higher on your list. Boy did that come up a lot.
Last night I scrubbed my kitchen floor and read this book. The book part was better, but the mopping left me more satisfied. Burn!
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