Breaks, cracks and fissures in the soul are the prerequisits for intimacy. I will remember this from this book. I loved the characters and how their lives were laid out like puzzle pieces. The author seems to know that this is crazy impossible - but it's the magic of fiction. You can make all circumstances of chance however you want when you are writing. I like it best when an author doesn't apologize for that.
Margaret's death didn't seem scary with her mother and young son visiting her from wherever dead people are. They hung out with her - other people couldn't see them and they sort of kept her company. That seemed so comforting.
They broke rigid precious things in order to rebuild something better and more meaningful. We hold onto the rigid precious things and keep them safe when maybe we should let them break. Maybe that is stupid and dead wrong and I am under the spell of fiction.
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