I’m a teary bitch. I cry at the drop of a hat. And then I cry some more when you pick the hat up. And even more when that hat is put on the right head.
EVERY strong emotion makes me cry. Ecstatic? I cry. Extremely sad? I bawl. Frustrated? Tears. Beaming with pride? Yep, you got it.
It’s not like it’s an hormonal thing, or not just a hormonal thing. I’ve been crying forever. My mom can tell you, I’ve always been teary. Yes, it probably did get worse when I was a teen, but red puffy eyes were kind of a thing for me even when I was younger. AND I was a swimmer, so my eyes were ALWAYS red.
And I hate it–DESPISE it–when people tell me not to cry. “Don’t cry,” “Stop crying,” and “calm down” are a few examples. It doesn’t work. This is the manifestation of my emotions, whatever they might be. In other words, this is how I get the feels out.
A good cry is cathartic, especially for someone like me. Some people rage when their emotions overwhelm them, some take it out on other people. But I cry.
I don’t want to yell (I do yell sometimes, and I hate it), and I hate being mean or snide to others. Tears are part of my personality. They keep me on the sunny side most days, helping me continue to be an optimist.
So please don’t tell me, or my daughter (who got my teary genes) not to cry, or to stop crying. It doesn’t work — in fact, it usually makes me cry harder — and it just makes us both feel like crap. Let me cry. I try to do it on my own, away from everyone. I usually don’t even like it to be noticed. It’s just me, it’s how I emote.
So let me cry it out, and then we’ll all go about our day in peace and happiness.
Okay, onto a beautiful book that made me cry: The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George.
There are some books that touch that place in your heart: romantic without smarmy, smart without preachy, sweet without saccharine. Nina George’s The Little Paris Bookshop is all that, plus the whole thing revolves around literature!
Fifty year-old Parisian Jean Perdu lives a quiet, compact life; no emotions, nochanges, no feelings for himself. Using his intuitive gift, Perdu prescribes books for those who cross the threshold of his book barge, a bookstore on a boat docked in Paris on the Seine. Through literature, Perdu fixes hearts and souls. But he doesn’t let that gift stretch to his own dry, dusty soul.
But it’s his own that needs the most work.
When a woman with a broken heart moves into his building, Perdu feels something shift in his heart. He makes a choice to face the demons of his past, namely the love of his life who left him twenty years earlier with a broken heart and a letter, which he hasn’t been able to read. He’s forced to read the letter, and his world changes.
Perdu undocks the book barge and takes off on a journey to the South of France, to find his love and unlock his heart. With the help of an acclaimed young author searching for himself and a wanderer searching for heart-soaring love, he just might do it.
Adventurous and heartwarming, those are my first thoughts about this book. Originally written in German, this book has been translated into many languages, finally coming to America this week.
I loved this story in so many ways. George’s slowly opening of Perdu’s heart parallels his trip out of the city and into Provence, a slow trek filled with wonderful people and heart-rendering experiences. The Little Paris Bookshop made me laugh and smile, cry and sigh.
I give this one 5 stars. It’s a wonder.