I'm reading The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. It's such a sad book. Sad like Flowers for Algernon. It is very sad, yet engaging. I wouldn't say it's a favourite of mine -- I'm not going to buy it. I'm interested in how the film will turn out.
That's why I'm reading it. Peter Jackson and his crew have adapted The Lovely Bones. The movie comes out Dec. 13 (I think). The book doesn't seem like it would make a good movie. Very curious to see it.
The movie adaptation of Flowers for Algernon, Charly, wasn't all that great. Although, it did have Claire Bloom whom I kind of enjoy watching. (She's in a lot of stuff including The Haunting.)
I remember the moment I connected wtih Flowers for Algernon. Those beautiful moments in a book or movie when you know exactly how that feels and for that wonderfully, horribly brief moment you transcend to this world where you're "gotten." (No feeling in this world is like that of being got.) Flowers for Algernon. Lars and the Real Girl. Those are a couple I remember. Those moments are so precious. And we cling like hell to something that was meant to last but a moment and is forever after tucked away into a crevice of our souls, always there, but never to be found on purpose. A moment only to be accessed by accident. All that's left is a faded memory like a carbon copy.
I've had a few moments reading my one and only's words, but perhaps that's all they were meant to be is moments; perhaps nothing more. But there is always hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment