Roses Comes up Roses

The trouble with finishing a good book is that it’s finished.  I have trouble; I finished a good book, a very good book.

Last time I wrote about a book, I said I was hard to please.  I certainly felt that way, having been disappointed by so many books in a row.  But this time, I was far from disappointed. 

Roses’ back cover promised to delight and thrill and at that usual stuff.  And boy did Roses deliver.  Leila Mecham’s book is described as a Texan Gone with the Wind.  This isn’t really fair to Roses.  Although there’s a bit in the novel that is reminiscent of GWTW, like the dark-haired heroine who cares more about her fathers land and is willing to sacrifice everything for it, Roses stands on its own as a great novel.

It’s over 600 pages long.  I started it on Thursday morning.  I finished it yesterday, on Sunday.  Four days.  Of course it helped that I had some long flights in there on which to read, but it wasn’t just the flights.  Whenever I had to put the book down, I found myself lost in thought about the story, wondering about the characters, thinking of them as real people.  No matter what I was doing, I couldn’t wait to pick up my book again and dive back in. 

Even now, even while listening to a different book on the bus or reading email or walking down the street, my thoughts are on the main characters, Percy and Mary.  Or drifting off to other characters, feeling a sad loss and pity for Lucy.  Wondering if it’s really even possible to balance family traditions and love.  Thinking of the great romances in the book and comparing them to all the others I’ve known, fictional or otherwise.  Roses is one of those truly great books, the kind where you forget you’re reading; the kind that transplants you to another place and time.

Highly recommend it, but you’ll have to find your own copy.  This is one book I’m not selling on Amazon or mailing to my mommy.

 

Post Script: Of course, nothing is perfect (well, except maybe Pride and Prejudice), so I do need to point out the one downside of the book.  The one part that suddenly woke me up out of my dream-like haze.  Two paragraphs of the entire 600+ page novel take place in San Francisco.  Two paragraphs.  And twice in these two paragraphs, twice, San Francisco is described as sunny.  There’s even a part that describes a sunny home overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  Stop.  Right there, trance gone, groan. Thought: “well this author’s never been to SF.”  Sunny, maybe once in awhile.  Sunny and a view of the Pacific Ocean?!  Maybe once a year.  Luckily, another two paragraphs and I was back, lost in the magical world of East Texas.