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A review by kamrynkoble
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
5.0
Everyone and their great-grandmother has read Gone With the Wind. It’s iconic. It’s a rite of passage to be considered a book lover. And it deserves every accolade it receives. To prove my point, here is the hefty summary from Goodreads:
Margaret Mitchell’s epic novel of love and war won the Pulitzer Prize and one of the most popular and celebrated movies of all time.
Many novels have been written about the Civil War and its aftermath. None take us into the burning fields and cities of the American South as Gone With the Wind does, creating haunting scenes and thrilling portraits of characters so vivid that we remember their words and feel their fear and hunger for the rest of our lives.
In the two main characters, the white-shouldered, irresistible Scarlett and the flashy, contemptuous Rhett, Margaret Mitchell not only conveyed a timeless story of survival under the harshest of circumstances, she also created two of the most famous lovers in the English-speaking world since Romeo and Juliet
I am sitting here with tears rolling down my cheeks, completely flabbergasted. I have read hundreds and hundreds of books in my lifetime, but I have never cried more times (four, exactly) while reading a novel and never at something that was not a death.
Gone With the Wind is nearly magical. I attempted it once when I wasn’t ready, and everyone who knows me thought I was silly for attempting to finish it again. But I am so incredibly thankful I did, even if I got asked, “Is that a textbook?” while lugging my copy around.
Just as this book is magical, so is Margaret Mitchell. She must be an absolute genius, capable of making a 1,448 page book seem short, too brief. Along with that, I would normally hate Scarlett with every bone in my body; however, I wept for her many times over the course of her story. She was an idiot who deserves her comeuppance, a pompous fool, and yet I absolutely wept at her loss. After this novel I care about Scarlett O’Hara incredibly much, to the point where I would listen to her boast of her seventeen-inch-waist for all of an eternity.
I feel accomplished in a way, finishing this iconic masterpiece. It was the first book I had to hug after finishing it, the first book I didn’t want to sit on the floor after because it didn’t deserve that. The first book where romance made me whisper “oh my word” in excitement rather than roll my eyes in annoyance at the drama. It was odd and wonderful and I’m not sure why it’s so deeply affecting but I am wholly in love with Tara and Peachtree Lane.
Wish me luck as I beg my librarian to let me buy this copy, as I simply refuse to part from it. Good luck to all future readers because my heart has gone through the wringer.
Margaret Mitchell’s epic novel of love and war won the Pulitzer Prize and one of the most popular and celebrated movies of all time.
Many novels have been written about the Civil War and its aftermath. None take us into the burning fields and cities of the American South as Gone With the Wind does, creating haunting scenes and thrilling portraits of characters so vivid that we remember their words and feel their fear and hunger for the rest of our lives.
In the two main characters, the white-shouldered, irresistible Scarlett and the flashy, contemptuous Rhett, Margaret Mitchell not only conveyed a timeless story of survival under the harshest of circumstances, she also created two of the most famous lovers in the English-speaking world since Romeo and Juliet
I am sitting here with tears rolling down my cheeks, completely flabbergasted. I have read hundreds and hundreds of books in my lifetime, but I have never cried more times (four, exactly) while reading a novel and never at something that was not a death.
Gone With the Wind is nearly magical. I attempted it once when I wasn’t ready, and everyone who knows me thought I was silly for attempting to finish it again. But I am so incredibly thankful I did, even if I got asked, “Is that a textbook?” while lugging my copy around.
Just as this book is magical, so is Margaret Mitchell. She must be an absolute genius, capable of making a 1,448 page book seem short, too brief. Along with that, I would normally hate Scarlett with every bone in my body; however, I wept for her many times over the course of her story. She was an idiot who deserves her comeuppance, a pompous fool, and yet I absolutely wept at her loss. After this novel I care about Scarlett O’Hara incredibly much, to the point where I would listen to her boast of her seventeen-inch-waist for all of an eternity.
I feel accomplished in a way, finishing this iconic masterpiece. It was the first book I had to hug after finishing it, the first book I didn’t want to sit on the floor after because it didn’t deserve that. The first book where romance made me whisper “oh my word” in excitement rather than roll my eyes in annoyance at the drama. It was odd and wonderful and I’m not sure why it’s so deeply affecting but I am wholly in love with Tara and Peachtree Lane.
Wish me luck as I beg my librarian to let me buy this copy, as I simply refuse to part from it. Good luck to all future readers because my heart has gone through the wringer.