The only thing worse than reading a book and loving it and then finding out that it’s the only book a writer has produced so far … is reading a book and loving it and then finding out that the author passed away hideously young. Reading the biography at the end of the book – and I’m glad it was at the end and not the beginning – came like a bolt from the blue: never saw it coming. Suddenly all the loving stories of her daughter made me want to cry.
Such is, I’m afraid, the case with Laurie Colwin. I enjoyed these essays immensely – and yay for the ability to highlight swathes of text on my Kindle, because I now have a cookbook gleaned from these essays. Funny, poignant, resonant, and – in terms of I’m making a grocery list as I read – inspiring… I can only hope her fiction “feels” the same. (Ooh! There’s a “More Home Cooking”! Excellent.)
The usual disclaimer: I received this book via Netgalley for review. Many thanks!