One of my classmates recommended the book “Tuesdays With Morrie”. I checked it out from the library, read it, loved it… it gave me an idea of how someone could die mindfully and with meaning, and sort of supplanted these ideas I had of what it would like to die of a terminal illness with ideas that were less macabre and seemed more real. I loved it so much that I bought a copy of it for my husband and my mother-in-law.
So then I was like, “Oh, Mitch Albom must be a cool guy and good writer– I see the library has another book of his called “For One More Day”– perhaps that also is a good book.” IT WASN’T. IT SUCKED.
It sucked so bad that I don’t even want to waste time looking up the particularly bad parts to share. I just want explain that I went from the glow of reading a touching and personally meaningful account of terminal illness to the cheesy fake-nostalgic retching I associate with the “Chicken Soup…” book series. I wanted to thwack Mitch Albom across the head. Why, Mitch? Why did you have to write it? I thought you were all awesome and stuff until I read your latest book.
It was while reading this book that I noticed a stylistic thing that some authors do which really irritates me. It’s when a writer is going along describing something and his character ends up at the gas station and the Asian guy hands him his change at the counter or the Mexican guy does something or other and I’m thinking… is that the defining characteristic of this person? He’s Asian? What is that even supposed to mean here? Could we at least get some real imagery? His mannerisms? They languorous way in which he pushed that beer across the counter towards you? All we get is his nationality, which is actually a guess based on physical appearance? That’s crap imagery and crap writing, and I know that even though I’m not a writer.
P.S. I would recommend “Tuesdays With Morrie” to anyone though, even though I no longer think Mitch Albom is totally awesome.
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