Don't Make Me Release The Flying Monkeys

Last night beowabbit and I went to a reading night at a friend's house, and someone read us a chapter from a wonderful book I'd not heard of before: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo. It's a beautiful and moving novella for children, equally enjoyable for adults. I fell absolutely in love with it. Once it got passed around to me, the book's owner eventually had to ask for it back because I was completely absorbed in it and ignoring the next readers.

It's the tale of a dearly beloved china rabbit doll, who needs to learn how to love back. The miraculous journey in the title takes him there.

It was a journey to Chinatown this morning with my own beloved r/wabbit that led us to the book kiosk in South Station, where there was a lone copy of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane that he wanted to buy for me as a gift. I asked him to sign it for me. He did, and this copy of the book will be my treasure forever. We each went home in our own directions on the Red Line, and I spent the afternoon inhaling the whole novella cover-to-cover.

Those who have been reading my LJ for a while know that I don't generally do book reviews. Usually, I'm glad that you're reading what you're reading, and I'm glad that I'm reading what I'm reading, but it's seldom important to me if our reading lists interface or not. This is a rare-beyond-rare instance wherein I genuinely hope that you do read this book, or read it to your children, or have your grown children read it to you, at some point in your life before you're gone. Things take time, as our china-and-wire protagonist shows us.

I think beowabbit knew it was my time to read this story.