So, I finished reading The Shack by Wm. Paul Young a couple of weeks ago. The book had been recommended to me by several people within just a couple of days so I thought it must be a sign that I should read it. Obviously it was meant to have some special meaning for me. Right? Wrong.
Maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind when I was reading it or maybe my expectations were too high...or maybe...who knows. I just don't seem to get what all the fuss is about.
The first four chapters flew by. Even though the events were disturbing, to say the least, it still held my interest and seemed to flow pretty well. But once the fantasy section began I knew it had lost me. It wasn't that I didn't "get it" and it's not to say that I didn't glean a few insights, but I just couldn't get past the cheesy dialog and excessive imagery. All I wanted at that point was for the story to end. But still, I held on. With each page I held out hope that I would have some "aah-ha" moment...some great insight into why bad things happen and how to turn it all around...some grand desire for a re-examination of my own faith. And yet, that moment never came.
I don't know. Maybe my mind is too literal. Or, maybe my love of non-fiction books has let my imagination atrophy. Whatever the case, I was relieved to finally reach the end.
Yesterday I started reading Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks. It's one of my all time favorite movies (despite the ending!). One of the things I love so much about the movie is the contrast between Chicago and the Outter Banks. SO...imagine my surprise when I find out she lives in Boston in the book! Urgh! Oh well, I'm trying to have an open mind. Usually the book is so much better than the movie...so I'll hang in there.
What has gotten into me? This is the 2nd work of fiction that I've read in the last couple of months. It's so unlike me. I'm a non-fiction girl at heart. Who knows, maybe I just need an escape.
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