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Oh my god, two posts in one day. Don’t worry, it’s just a Book Challenge post.

I was, I must admit, stumped at the fourth Book Challenge question because it’s supposed to be about a book that made you cry. I’m usually pretty non-emotional when I read; it takes a lot to get me going.* Then I realized that the book’s contents themselves did not have to make you cry, it just has to be a book that provoked waterworks. Okay, I can do that.

I’ve mentioned it here before, but in case anyone hasn’t read that post you should know my dad died about a year and a half ago. It was extremely sudden and even looking back on it no one can really see any warning signs, it just happened. Yes, before anyone asks: it was the worst day of my life. Anyway, what does this have to do with books? Well, I was in the middle of reading one of my favorite young adult novels, Sabriel by Garth Nix, for probably the millionth time when I got the call. I was a complete mess, as you may have guessed, and didn’t really do anything for a day or two, other than mope around and bake cookies. When R and I drove to my mom’s house to start preparing for the funeral the day after I’d heard the news, I naturally packed the book I was reading.

Unfortunately for me, in the chaos and emotional turmoil I’d forgotten exactly what book I was reading and where I was in it. Sabriel, for anyone who hasn’t clicked my handy little Wikipedia link or read the book, is about *CRAPPY FANTASY NOVEL ALERT* necromancy. And, even more importantly, there is a highly dramatic scene in which our eponymous heroine, who has been searching high and low for her father who has been imprisoned by some nasty undead creatures, finally finds her daddy only to have him fucking die on her about a minute after they’re reunited. Guess where I was in the book? For those of you who don’t live lives filled with awful coincidences: I was about thirty pages away from the death scene. In my complete haze of emotional numbness that first night at my mom’s house, I picked up the book, read about fifteen pages, went oh fuck I can’t handle this and promptly burst into tears. Luckily for me I’d been doing that intermittently for the past two days, and R pretty quickly swooped in for some sympathy and cuddles so it wasn’t too bad. Oh wait: yes it was. Fuck sudden death in the family.

It’s been a full year and a half since then, and I still haven’t finished the book. The first six months I just kinda shelved it with no hope and for the six months afterwards I would look at it and get all upset and not be willing to pick it up. It’s on my shelf because it is, fundamentally, a fun book to read and I don’t have the heart to donate it, but I just don’t know what will happen if I pick it up. We’ve reached a bit of a standoff now: I leave it alone, it doesn’t make me cry like a bitch. I think we can keep this up for another year or so before I’ll have to either read it or Goodwill it. We’ll see.

* Although I will say I’m more susceptible to movies. Also, if you don’t cry during the first ten minutes of Up you have no soul.