Depressing Books

Some people might say that I have a tendency to enjoy books that have a tinge of "darkness" to them. Yeah, okay, typically I like depressing books. Not tearjerkers, exactly. More of the I-wanna-pull-the-covers-over-my-head-forever genre of sad. I like them because they provide a (at least to me) more realistic view of the world and it's intriguing to discuss the matters of fiction within that realm. But I have started to read The Memory of Running. Amazon.com told me I would like it. Thankfully, I didn't buy it, just borrowed it. I am only about a hundred pages in, so I won't judge it just yet, but good Lord. It's been making me sad just reading it.

Is it the end of an era? Am I done being content with the artistic beauty that is the depressing side of life? I mean, I am torn here. On the one hand, I'd like to enjoy some new perspectives into life, but on the other... I mean, there's something beautiful about being able to describe the ugly so well.

Sigh. Maybe I should just give it a chance. Maybe this book will end well and take me over to the positive side of literature. Shudder.

SIDENOTE: Okay, as I was linking the title to the review of the book, I realized they are commending this author on his impeccable sense of humor. I might just not get it. Shoot. See previous entry about patterns.

PS: It's Kimmie's birthday (again, the date up there will lie because it's the day after here)! I don't think Kimmie reads this, but I will not deny her the shout out! Happy Birthday!