I remember the very first book I read that made me cry. It was Where the Red Fern Grows. I took it with me on our family vacation to the Jersey shore and had to hide in the little bedroom I shared with my sister so that no one would see the tears tracking down my cheeks and make fun of me for crying at a book.
Since then, I have a compulsion for books that make me cry. I don't read a lot of them because I just can't take it, but I find myself sobbing and reaching for a couple of squares of toilet paper at least once a month. I cried when I read Remains of the Day. And most recently when I read The History of Love. These books I temper with "cozy" mysteries and trash romances so I don't run out of tears. But the stories that stay with me are the ones that make me cry.
1 comment:
Not sure why, but films are much more likely to make me cry than books are. More visceral experience, somehow?
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