'A few minutes after that a car turned onto Magazine from Grapevine, a sleek dark vehicle that looked like a shrunken SUV. Laurie could sense Meg's excitement as it approached, and her disappointment as it rumbled past. She was all keyed up about seeing Gary, despite Laurie's many warnings not to expect too much from the encounter. Meg was going to have to learn for herself what Laurie had figured out over the summer – that it was better to leave well enough alone, to avoid unnecessary encounters with the people you'd left behind, to not keep poking at that sore tooth with the tip of your tongue. Not because you didn't love them anymore, but because you did, and because that love was useless now, just another dull ache in your phantom limb.'
The Leftovers
(Page 208-209)
I liked this book.
There's not much else to say.
Other than it put into words something i've tried to pinpoint for a long time:
'In the course of that same conversation, Aimee floated her suspicion that Scott Frost had a little crush on Jill, a possibility Jill had refused to take seriously at the time. Why would Scott have a crush on her? He didn't even know her, and she wasn't the kind of girl that guys got crushes on from afar.'
- (Page 288)
'He lay limply in an armchair, staring at a blank television screen. A mouse ran squeaking along the baseboard just inches from his hand. With a swift motion he straightened his arm, palm open, and his fingers closed over the small furry body. He could fee the tiny heart throbbing in fear. He remembered the fields, the wheel of the tractor startling the rats and birds concealed in the hedgerows.
He brought the animal close to his face and began to squeeze it gently. His nails dug into its silken coat. The squeaks became sharper. Then his gaze lighted upon the front page of the newspaper, on the boldface print, on his own image held prisoner by the columns of reporters' baloney.
He got to his feet, returned to the front steps of the house, and then with all his strength hurled the mouse away into the dark of the night.'
Tarantula
(Mygale)
(Page 22)
This is a very small book.
A novella.
It took me no time at all to read and not because it's a mere 124 pages long but because it's dizzyingly compelling.
Jonquet doesn't give you an inch throughout his tale of obsession and revenge, which is both infuriating and sustaining.
I did figure out the twist pretty early on but it didn't detract from the creepy story unfolding in front of me.
I couldn't recommend Tarantula more.
It'll take you a minute to read and days to forget.
Now for the movie adaptation.
Almodóvar, don't fail me now.
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