I was so overwhelmed at the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns, I stood up from my bed, just so I could collapse dramatically on the floor, in one delicate free fall for the women of Afghanistan. I read Alive, a book so much more shockingly graphic than the movie, I woke every night in a cold sweat convinced I was trapped in an Andes plane crash. And I read The Lovely Bones on a train, mostly, rocking back and forth in my window seat for days. I finished that book, clutched it like a goddamn baby and stared out the window crying.
Bearing in mind that after I saw Titanic, I was so moved I was unable to speak for over an hour, my credibility in the realm might be shot. But I saw The Lovely Bones today and I loved it.
I really, really loved it.
Once I got past the Marky "say hi to your mother" Mark voice, I cried through the whole thing. Sure parts are different from how I imagined them when I read the book, a lot obviously had to be cut, the heaven parts are a little weird. But I'm so glad I vetoed the purists who claim Peter Jackson ruined Alice Sebold's masterpiece.
I don't particularly understand why people sabotage their movie experiences. If you want something to suck badly enough, because the book will always be better or the director is a nerd, well then, duh. I walked in there hoping to love The Lovely Bones in spite of the shitty reviews I'd heard. I adored the book so much and my God, Stanley Tucci plays Mr. Harvey.
I just had to go.
Were my hours on that train with that book better than the movie.
Is the movie lovely and haunting anyway, reminding me of how much I loved reading the book?
I certainly thought to so.
But then again, I re-watch Simon Birch like, once a month...