The Gate at the Stairs--finished

I should have known the gate at the stairs wouldn't protect anybody.

Not Tassie, the babysitter.

Not her parents or her brother.

Not Sarah or Edward.

Not Mary Emma.

And, no, it didn't even protect me.

All fall down! as the children's nursery rhyme goes. Have you ever watched as someone you loved took a tumble down the stairs and you were helpless to stop them, catch them, keep them from getting hurt? All you could do was watch.

At three o'clock this morning, I couldn't stop watching as this sweet domestic novel took a turn to to the dark side of life. Everybody fell. It hurt. How it hurt to see these people fall. I couldn't stop it but I had to keep reading as if I could at least help them up. No, of course, I couldn't; but I read to see that they picked themselves up as best they could.

And they did. Followed by a weather report. A lyrical moment followed a tragic moment. And then a wise moment.

and then

The End.

Two books down from my list. I'm way behind and now I move onto 500 pages of Orham Pamuk's The Museum of Innocence. A Nobel Prize winner, no less. I'm intimidated.