And if it’s any indicator, 2015 is looking good.

Forget family, fudge, and fa-la-las; the best part about Christmas break is staying up late to read.

And boy did I read—a few good books, in fact—but this is the one that kept me up til 2 am on several happy occasions.  My days may have been spent with a messy house and at-home kids, but my nights were spent with a throng of poor English villagers as we fought bravely against the Great Plague of 1665.

Doesn’t sound like a cozy holiday read?  Just wait, it gets better:  there’s fist-fighting, knife-fighting, evil-spirit-fighting, witch drowning, mining disasters, childbirth disasters, prayers to God, prayers to the Devil, betrayal, abuse, death, disease, poison, and poppies—the hallucinogen of choice for the Dark Ages.  (Plague victims have hard days, too.)

But there’s also compassion, courage, humility and hope.  There’s faith, fortitude, and a host of characters who are enchanting and evil and repulsive and relatable to our 21st century selves.  There’s romance and mother-love and the best of the best of friendships.  There’s ignorance and enlightenment, literacy and lunacy, regret and redemption.

And among all this there’s a housemaid named Anna who should (and will, I think) go down as one of the great heroines of modern literature.  (Did I say heroine?  Shoot: hero.  She’s that good.)

For the pleasure of meeting Anna—and reading this gorgeously gritty book—I am indebted to Ms. Geraldine Brooks, distinguished author and, of course, my future BFF once I meet her at Bella Voce this February.  And should you think, perchance, that my admiration for this book stems only from my anticipation in meeting its author, I invite you to read it yourself and give me a call.  We can then discuss Anna, her rector, his wife, their whole jacked-up situation, and how this book stands, dark and dignified, all on its own.

More importantly, you can tell me what to wear when I meet Geraldine.  It’s important, people.

You read it, didn’t you? You cried your eyes out, didn’t you?

I did.  I read it.  I loved it.  I cried my eyes out.

Don’t be fooled by the simplicity of this story; Wonder is a book for the ages.  I’m not quite sure how to describe it.  “Beautiful” is too dramatic a word; that makes it sound cheesy, and the book is anything but.  This author has the rare skill of developing simple themes without preaching them.  What could have been a sugary story emerges instead as both heartbreaking and heartwarming—but mostly heartwarming.  (And I just re-read that sentence and apologize for using the word “emerges.”  How annoying.  You deserve better.)

Right after you fall in love with “Auggie,” our disfigured hero, you will fall in love with his parents.  Oh, those parents!  I want to be that mother; I want my husband to be that father.  Parents who love and live for their children—and whose children actually love them back—is such a nice deviation from our Disney-soaked culture bent on pumping out kids’ shows with parents who are either a) stupid, or b) dead.  (Not sure which is more toxic, but I’d say they’re both pretty bad.)  And beyond that:  the sister loved the brother, the brother loved the sister, and they all loved the dog.  Love was a Big Thing in this book.  And I loved it.

The most impressive thing about Wonder is how its heavy themes are handled with such a light touch; I think that’s an overlooked skill possessed by the most adept writers.  The best thing a writer can do for his readers is to simply disappear, and through the stilted and fumbling dialogue of her young characters, the author of Wonder does just that (i.e., “he, like, totally cracked me up” and “I don’t know why but I just started bawling,”)  So when you hear Auggie talking, you hear your own ten-year old son talking (at least I did), and you care deeply about whether or not he gets hurt.  Too many books offer dazzling characters that fascinate us but don’t convince us that they’re real, and that makes it hard to truly care about the ends they meet.  In Wonder, you care.  A lot.

Wonder lived up to its hype.  I recommend this book to anyone of any age who has a heartbeat and tear ducts.  I loved it, my friends loved it, my teens loved it, and I can’t wait to read it with my fourth-grade son who will love it, too.  (Love is a Big Thing with this book.)

And I am praying—fervently, passionately, with a beating heart and beating chest—that Hollywood does not touch this book.  It’s too soft, too subtle, too tender to flesh out onto film.  Perhaps I’ll be proved wrong, but remember what they did to The Book Thief?   Spare us that fate, and leave Wonder on the bookshelf where it can keep spinning its magic and doing its good.

Or, as Auggie’s beloved principal would say, “be kinder than is necessary.”  I’m thinking that may just be my single goal for 2015.  Along with getting you to read this short, sweet, smart little book.

p.s.  Be sure to read the kindle edition, because it has “Julian’s Story” at the end.  You’ll understand when you start reading.  And you’ll thank me.

Don’t ask me what this book is about, because I’ll answer you all wrong.  I’ll try to explain how a young woman, Ursula, is born into a wealthy English family and is allowed the rare privilege of living and dying and living again until she “gets it right.”  And that will make the book sound tedious and confusing–like Groundhogs Day in print–and then you won’t want to read it and you’ll miss out on a fantabulous literary experience and it will be all my fault.  And really, between my looming pile of laundry and the king-sized Twix I inhaled while writing this, don’t I have enough to feel guilty about?

Life After Life is, for lack of a better phrase, just kind of about everything.  Choice, consequence, survival, selflessness, selfishness, love and the lack thereof.  All of this takes place against the backdrop of World War II—London during the Blitz, Germany during Hitler’s rise to power, or the English countryside during both—depending on which version of Ursula’s life we are witnessing.  (My favorite version is the one wherein Ursula becomes BFFs with Eva Braun.  Talk about an audacious author.)

When asked, Kate Atkinson said Life After Life is mostly about “being English.”  But I thought the book was also very much about family, as Ursula is born into the same stable but imperfect one over and over again, and every road she takes leads her, ultimately, back to them.  Through the failures and triumphs of her varied lives, Ursula’s family remains the one constant.  The book doesn’t beat us over the head with this idea; it’s just there, like a welcome warmth through the sometimes chilly pages.

This book is unique and fascinating and superbly written, and it challenges the reader in a good way.  I read more for mood and impression than a linear plot line, so this book worked for me.  I’ve been meaning to read Atkinson for a long time, and now I understand what all the hype is about; whether or not you like the mechanics of this novel, her writing is just fantastic.

Have you read it?  Did you love it?  (It’s okay if you didn’t.  Tell me here.)

Happy Friday!

p.s.  In the interest of full disclosure, I thought you should know that I will be attending a “Harvest Bazaar” this weekend.  It will be the first craft show I’ve attended in at least fifteen years, and the first craft show I’ve attended willingly in my entire life.  (My mom and sisters used to drag me every year.  It was almost as bad as going to the fabric store.)  I even called up my super-crafty sister and invited her.  I invited her!  I feel like Ursula, waking up to an alternate reality.  Maybe choosing to visit to a holiday bazaar is my way of finally “getting it right.”  (Oh gosh, I hope not.)

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