A Sad Stack

Hello friends who are also family.

Here's an interesting post from Metaxucafe. It's a list of what the poster considers the saddest books.

I would agree with Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton (uff-da), haven't read The Awkward Age by Henry James or The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford or To The North by Elizabeth Bowen. I would probably agree with The End of the Affair by Graham Greene, too.

He mentions making space for Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin and I gotta agree there, too. That Marquez is a beautiful writer - gets to you at a gut level with his vivid descriptions.

Does sad seem more real than happy? If a book is too happy, it feels like fantasy or fluff. Know what I mean? Or am I just morbid or at least pessimistic?

Is our book club in a summer hibernation? Can we start tickling it awake?