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stephaniejanereading's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
sad
medium-paced
5.0
Breathtakingly honest and real. Grief and life so beautifully written.
eunicek82's review against another edition
5.0
This is a beautiful and honest book about love, loss, grief and hope written after the author's first child was stillborn. I think this book is relevant to anyone, as loss, while feeling singular to those experiencing it, is, after all, a universal experience. This book came at a very timely point in my life, and I read it in just a couple of sittings. I can't wait to read her other works as her writing is just gorgeous.
sammantha's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
4.25
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child death, Grief, and Pregnancy
marybeth77's review against another edition
5.0
I'd like to give Elizabeth McCracken a huge hug for writing this book. Her memoir reflects my own similar story--every emotion she writes so succinctly and exactly matches mine. I am so grateful to her for writing this book.
I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has experienced stillbirth--whether first hand or via a friend or family member. This is practically a manual of what to say and do--although there really is nothing to say or do.
Elizabeth's story of her love for Pudding is authentic and well-told, and a true testament to a mother's love for her baby--as well as her love for her husband and living child.
I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has experienced stillbirth--whether first hand or via a friend or family member. This is practically a manual of what to say and do--although there really is nothing to say or do.
Elizabeth's story of her love for Pudding is authentic and well-told, and a true testament to a mother's love for her baby--as well as her love for her husband and living child.
maggie_stiefvater's review against another edition
5.0
I think Elizabeth McCracken must be a gritty sort of person.
I don't mean gritty as in eyeliner and dark poetry, mean streets and minor chords. I mean gritty in the sense of another book I've been reading lately, [b:Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance|27213329|Grit The Power of Passion and Perseverance|Angela Duckworth|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1457889762l/27213329._SY75_.jpg|45670634], about stick-to-it-ness. Supposedly grit is the greatest predictor of future success, even more than education, resources, intellect, etc. And I think McCracken must be gritty. Emotionally gritty. Resilient.
I go on like this because this memoir could have felt very different than it does. It's a memoir about losing a child, specifically the peculiar and difficult to articulate pain of losing a child to a late stillbirth, and it doesn't flinch away from the details of it. But it's also a resilient, happy book. Of course it's miserably sad as well, and by the time it reaches its third act climax, it's truly tear-jerking. But the joy of this volume and of McCracken is that grit, that resilience, that sort of nosing-toward-happiness that pervades even the darkest moments. Over all it feels like a volume that celebrates emotional survival. True emotional survival: not simply the cross-stitching of inspirational phrases but the ability to feel light again after extreme pain.
And finally, I found McCracken's prose wry and self-deprecating and clever in [b:The Giant's House|136216|The Giant's House|Elizabeth McCracken|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1436028418l/136216._SY75_.jpg|374973] and her keen wordplay continues here.
A joy. A tragedy. In equal measure. I am inspired toward grit.
I don't mean gritty as in eyeliner and dark poetry, mean streets and minor chords. I mean gritty in the sense of another book I've been reading lately, [b:Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance|27213329|Grit The Power of Passion and Perseverance|Angela Duckworth|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1457889762l/27213329._SY75_.jpg|45670634], about stick-to-it-ness. Supposedly grit is the greatest predictor of future success, even more than education, resources, intellect, etc. And I think McCracken must be gritty. Emotionally gritty. Resilient.
I go on like this because this memoir could have felt very different than it does. It's a memoir about losing a child, specifically the peculiar and difficult to articulate pain of losing a child to a late stillbirth, and it doesn't flinch away from the details of it. But it's also a resilient, happy book. Of course it's miserably sad as well, and by the time it reaches its third act climax, it's truly tear-jerking. But the joy of this volume and of McCracken is that grit, that resilience, that sort of nosing-toward-happiness that pervades even the darkest moments. Over all it feels like a volume that celebrates emotional survival. True emotional survival: not simply the cross-stitching of inspirational phrases but the ability to feel light again after extreme pain.
And finally, I found McCracken's prose wry and self-deprecating and clever in [b:The Giant's House|136216|The Giant's House|Elizabeth McCracken|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1436028418l/136216._SY75_.jpg|374973] and her keen wordplay continues here.
A joy. A tragedy. In equal measure. I am inspired toward grit.
hollywfranklin's review against another edition
5.0
I love books about loss. It can be incredibly comforting to have someone put feelings that you have felt into words that can be explained and shared. McCracken was so incredibly poignant at times. This is one of the best (and saddest) books I've read in a while.
sisterofscreams's review against another edition
2.0
Elizabeth McCracken is a great writer, but this one is a little all over the place. It feels a bit like diary entries or vignettes, but she has a few beautiful things to say. I wanted to like it, but I couldn't love it.
melkelsey's review against another edition
3.0
I wasn't a fan of the author's writing style and I set the book aside. I only finished reading it because I ran out of books to read. It's hard to not read a short book about a sad experience, though.