Here’s what’s happening, y’all. My sister has been in town, and I am moving house. I have been doing lots of cool, fun stuff with my sister. We went to see the coolest ever exhibit at the Museum of Arts and Design the other day, this thing about small worlds, which was so unbelievably beautiful. And we went a-picnicking on Governors Island on Sunday, wearing flapper dresses. Then also I am moving house. I’ve finally found a new apartment (yay!) in an area that looks like I’m going to like a lot, with roommates who seem terribly nice, and a lovely sunny front room, and everything. I’m glad that the apartment search is over, because it’s been hellish and a time suck, but now I have to think about moving, and I have a very hard time with moving. I am ferociously stressed by the idea of moving. I’m not good at change, and the move is looming in the future like the Abominable Snowman in Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. If I haven’t been posting and commenting as much lately, it’s because I’ve been spending time with my lovely, wonderful Indie Sister, wandering the boroughs on an apartment-hunt, and watching Say Yes to the Dress because I am overwhelmed by the idea of moving. But here is One Day.
Dexter and Emma spend a night together after graduation, and they become the best of friends thereafter. One Day drops in on their lives once a year, every year on 15 July. Dexter, a child of privilege, falls into TV presenting almost by accident; Emma, an idealistic Northern girl, searches for the way that she can change the world. They see different people, they grow apart and grow together, they fall in love and out of love, and they have jobs and family problems and relationship problems and all sorts of things.
I read this book very fast, because I was considering getting it for a friend for her birthday (her birthday being 15 July), and I wanted to check to see if it was something she would like. I also read it fast because I had an afternoon to kill, and I suppose I partly read it fast because it was a fun read and I was curious what would happen. But mainly the birthday thing and the afternoon-killing thing. It was well-enough-written and relatively engaging, and I didn’t object to anything in it particularly.
Some books are like skipping stones, you know? They go dashing across the surface of the water, and it’s fun to watch; and then the stone sinks in and you forget about it immediately. I doubt I will ever give a thought to this book again. There wasn’t enough to it. Oh, except I will probably go see the Anne Hathaway film with someone from work, because, well, it’s fun to go out for drinks with the girls from work and then go watch a chick flick. Don’t judge. Other times we watch Shakespeare.
(Well, no, we have never watched Shakespeare yet. But we would.)
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