I'd be lying if I said that I didn't buy this simply for the title. I mean, come on. With a title like that, I just had to buy the book regardless of what it was about. Sometimes, you just have to buy a book based on a ridiculous cover or an elaborate title. Sometimes, they turn out to be really fantastic books. After my massive memoir kick last year, I opted to not read one for a little while. I'm glad that this was the first one I read this year. While also simultaneously being wildly depressed over the subject matter.
She makes it abundantly clear that a baby dies in this book, but one is also born. She takes you along for the ride of her first pregnancy while living and writing just outside of Bergerac, France. Recounting the moments before, during and after learning she had a stillborn child are hard to read. A pain like that is, I'm sure, unbearable and eloquently translated onto the page in an effort to make you understand just how hard it is. Between discussing the loss of her first child and dealing with the world in the aftermath, she details the joy and anxiety over her second pregnancy.
It's written in a completely honest way that it's almost scary. It's serious when it needs to be and humorous at just the right moments. Not to say that this is a situation to take lightly, because it's not. I'm just saying that when it's dark, you need to make a joke here and there to remember that you're still alive despite the devastation. It's an incredible read but should be kept on the pile for a rainy day, not the summer heat.
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