“Uhhhhh”, that’s the only thing that I could say after finishing Dear Mr. Knightley. That book was an emotional twister. Not a roller coaster, a Ferris wheel, a storm. Nothing so mundane as that. I can’t even give my heart ten seconds to process because I’m flooded with emotion after emotion and I want them to stop almost as bad as I want them to continue – because if they stop then reading that book won’t be real, and it was the most real thing I have read. Honestly. There will never be another book that will make me feel the way this one did. Raw, trembling, like a book was a part of my soul and if I tried to put it back on a shelf I was putting a part of me away with it. That book was maddening, and wonderful, and goose bumpy real. It shook my world. Can a book do that? I guess so.
You know how people say that movies are better than books because you see them. Well I see Sam better then I see myself. This writer is the singular most brilliant person on the face of the earth. She should write everything, is my new motto. I’m even writing this at the desk I saw a cockroach (there was one in my room, on the place where I write for goodness sakes). I would write this in a pool filled with cockroaches, because it has to be said. It has to have some way of being verbalized, because if it isn’t I don’t think I could contain it inside of me. That book is what writing should be.
I can’t belittle this book by trying to summarize it. I refuse to. This book entraps the heart, it brings warmth, sunshine. tears. cookies, the Muirs, and sweet beautiful wonderful Alex, that I will forever love. It’s impossible to be a reader and not love this book.
I order you to read it. This instant. It’s $6.00 for kindle, but it is worth one hundred times that. There’s no price for emotions like the ones this book gives.
Thank you Katherine Reay for giving me Mr. Knightley. It is forever a part of my life and heart.