What are your 10 favorite books of fiction written so far (not including Buddha’s Wife, written by yours truly)?
Mine are (in no specific order):
Beach Music by Pat Conroy
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Feral by Deena Metzger
Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
The Street by Ann Petry
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Crossing To Safety by Wallace Stegner
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende
On the other hand…
The 10 best books for living with loss are (nonfiction) CLICK HERE
Following, is a brief excerpt from one of the greatest books EVER written. Do you know the title and the author? Read a slice, before going to the bottom to find the answer.
The years took all the fight out of Janie’s face. For a while she thought it was gone from her soul. No matter what Jody did, she said nothing. She had learned how to talk some and leave some. She was a rut in the road. Plenty of life beneath the surface but it was kept beaten down by the wheels. Sometimes she stuck out into the future, imagining her life different from what it was. But mostly she lived between her hat and her heels, with her emotional disturbances like shade patterns in the woods – come and gone with the sun. She got nothing from Jody except what money could buy, and she was giving away what she didn’t value.
Now and again she thought of a country road at sun-up and considered flight. To where? To what? Then too she considered thirty-five is twice seventeen and nothing was the same at all.
“Maybe he ain’t nothin’,” she cautioned herself, “but he is someting in my mouth. He’s got tuh be else Ah ain’t got nothin’ tuh live for. Ah’ll lie and say he is. If Ah don’t, life won’t be nothin’ but uh store and uh house.”
She didn’t read books so she didn’t know that she was the world and the heavens boiled down to a drop. Man attempting to climb to painless heights from his dung hill.
Then one day she sat and watched the shadow of herself going about tending store and prostrating itself before Jody, while all the time she herself sat under a shady tree with the wind blowing through her hair and her clothes. Somebody near about making summertime out of lonesomeness.
This was the first time it happened, but after a while it got so common she ceased to be surprised. It was like a drug. In a way it was good because it reconciled her to things. She got so she received all things with the solidness of the earth which soaks up urine and perfume with the same indifference.
THE ANSWER IS:
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (Copyright 1937)