Dear Felicia,
Last night, I forgot about the chilly world for fifteen minutes. You stood up there like a goddess in the café, reading scenes that became more and more harrowing, your voice strong and at the same time tender, vulnerable. Scenes. Such a strange word for real life, for memoir—but apt, too, and succinct at least. I saw your scenes so clearly: Two girls in a bathtub, best friends forever. Then wet lips, a shock, and then a wet floor. And then, a heartbeat later, both their mothers squaring off, bloodied and fierce. Like boxers in a ring. Like spirits fighting to dominate over one single space. Black magic, indeed.
When a reading is good—when it’s phenomenal, like last night—and when I know the writer, and am delighted by the talent and confidence coming out through the voice, I want to read the book from cover to cover, including the copyright page, including the permissions acknowledgments, including the name of the jacket designer. But I don’t have your book in my hands yet. Algonquin is so cruel to make me wait till the fall. But I shall be patient. Meantime, am eagerly looking forward to your next reading at the end of the month. Will you please read longer? A small request, but a big reward for everybody all around.
yrs with much admiration,
w
1 Comment
February 8, 2007 at 8:46 am
[...] feel so privileged to have such beautiful friends. when i read this early this morning, at home, sometime around sunrise, i wept a little. because it’s good to [...]