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In Mourning

The advent of World Book Night finds me in mourning. Earlier this week I finished David Nicholl’s One Day, one of the 25 titles that will be given away tonight, and I remain devastated. The friend who recommended it told me that she hadn’t read a book since. What she failed to mention is that she hasn’t been able to pick up a book since: how do you follow it? (Seriously, if you have faced the same dilemma, do please let me know! I set myself the challenge of reading one book a week this year, and it has being going very well up until now.) 

As Marian Keyes eloquently put it, ‘I finished it last night and I’m still quite wobbly and affected by it. It was BRILLIANT. . . the jealously nearly made me puke. I wish I’d written this book.’

It is difficult to describe the premise – borrowed from Thomas Hardy – without giving away the ending (do not, I repeat NOT read the reviews on Amazon), so I will limit myself to the strap line taken from the front cover: Two people, twenty years, One Day. Simple. It is the writing that sings. Over the space of a week (and the twenty years that the novel spans – years in which I was similarly aged to the main characters), Emma and Dexter had become my best friends, and now they are gone. A deceptively light read, its emotional impact is enormous.

Do yourselves a favour, get hold of a copy and lock yourselves away. It is only £3.99 on Amazon – ridiculously cheap for something that has had heart and soul poured into it. (Or, if you are very lucky, you may even be given a copy today). Let’s face it, reading remains the only legitimate excuse to be quietly anti-social. If you feel guilty about this you can always join a book club.