*book spoiler alert*
I finished reading Jessica McHugh’s Rabbits in the Garden last night. (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10504227-rabbits-in-the-garden)
The last thing I would want to do is spoil this book for other readers.
But I can’t not talk about at least a little fluffy bit of it.
Generally, I run from anything where animals are in agony. I still have this mental image of the poor kitten in one of…Poul Anderson’s?…book, I believe. I read it when I was somewhere between ten and twelve.
But I couldn’t not continue to read this book.
It’s Harry Potter for adult women.
Wonderfully, painfully, heartbreakingly thrilling horror.
After I finished Rabbits in the Garden, I wanted fall asleep with it cuddled in my arms. But I’m a book nerd, and I didn’t want the pages to get bent. So I didn’t. But I wish I had. Because I had a non-Rabbits-in-the-Garden-inspired nightmare.
It’s a horror book, but I found so much solace within the pages. Light-in-the-darkness, beacon-of-hope, life-put-right kind of solace. It’s a terrifying read, but so dang beautiful as well.
I took this book to heart, symbolically speaking.
I’ve been downsizing my books, but this one I won’t let go of for a while, if ever. Maybe I’ll even re-read it tonight, and fall asleep with it as my pillow as I bask in the aftermath glow of the book’s ending.
Check out Jessica McHugh’s blog here: https://mchughniverse.wordpress.com/.