Ok, so I'm not going to tell you what happens. I don't know what happens in 752 pages.
I just know the last two pages.
Because I am weak.
I had to fly to Michigan and I did not have time to get to the bookstore. No, I didn't go at midnight, although I am sure it was fun. And I didn't go on Saturday. I bought the book today.
But I saw it in the airport.
And I walked over, picked it up, flipped to the back. And read. And smiled.
It was what I wanted.
Then I calmly put it back and got on the plane. Thinking about those two lovers, caught in all that fictional turmoil.
See, I don't like books with bad endings. It better end happy. If I am going to enter into an alternate reality (and I have a VIVID imagination) it needs to be better than my own life. This is why I am not so big on Faulkner or Andre Dubois or any other writer who doesn't wrap it up in a nice neat bow at the end. I can tolerate realistic fiction to some extent, like Jodi Picoult, who I think is amazing. But the loose ends need to be tied up and someone needs to smile and go on living at the end.
So I'm happy. Even if I cheated. And you'll never tell what I did. And you don't even know how it ends from what I've said. You don't know what I wanted.
But I got it.
Now, page one.
(yes, I know. there is only one label that's appropriate.)
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