Day 1:
Did I rush out of the school double doors at 2:10:00pm, speed to Barnes and Noble, and run towards the display? Yes. Did the Barnes and Noble employee ask me "what is so great about this book, because I say you sprinting and I'm curious" as I checked out? Also yes.
Do I care? Only slightly because it's finally here, y'all: The Winners, by Fredrik Backman. We did it. I'm almost too scared to crack the cover page and begin reading, because this singular set of 600 pages has the power to completely destroy me and everything I hold dear. The strange part is, I almost don't even mind.
But, let me just say: there aren't words enough to explain how venomous I'll become if he lays a finger on my Benji...
Day 2:
To you who talk too much and sing too loud and cry too often and love something in life more than you should.
Me, and me, and me, and me, and me, and me, and me.
And you, and you, and you, and you, and you.
And thus we have found what about writing speaks to us -- its universality.
I've always said Beartown was an allegory, and one friend of mine that read it this year couldn't understand it -- "how it in an allegory for society, if Beartown IS a society?". And perhaps allegory isn't the right word, but what I meant was this: these names are unfamiliar, these characters new to me, and yet I see fractions of myself in each one. Even as people do things I actively condemn, even as I'm screaming no into the ink and paper, even as I'm praying that this is all one grand prank from the Simon and Schuster publishing house to my hands, I understand.
It's okay, I'll say. I understand.
Day 3
I'll be honest here. This book is not doing what the first one did for me, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should just consider Beartown to be a standalone, and the other two just nonexistent.
Day 4
I lied. I watched Wakanda Forever, texted a friend about how cathartic of an experience that was, then made it to the halfway point of Beartown 3, and now am sobbing uncontrollably for literally no reason. Someone explain to me the power Backman has over me because I'm way more upset than I should be.
Serious thoughts, though, the pacing is way too slow. If I were Backman's editor, I'd cut this book by a solid 200 pages. His overly verbose writing style is starting to hurt him here, when he has too many loose threads and no direction to weave them in.
Day 5
STOP. I'M CRYING. I literally FaceTimed a friend today for five hours and we sat in absolute silence while they watched a football game (I'm told the Red Wings won, and the Bills lost) and I read the second third of this book, and I'd stop every five pages or so to have an incredibly dramatic reaction to something that wasn't really all that dramatic at all, and then explain to said friend what had happened. They didn't get why I was crying and laughing and displaying all the strongest emotions that make your cheeks hurt, and frankly, I couldn't be bothered to explain to them just why Benji owns me.
But if I were to do that, I'd say something about how every time he opens his mouth, my faith in humanity is restored. Just a little bit more.
Day 6
Nobody talk to me. Ever again. I'm ghosting each and every one of you.
I don't-- I don't physically have the words. I--
A masterpiece.
I'm not sure how to put into words what Benji means to me, but I'm sure that everyone who has made it this far into the series knows exactly what I mean, so I ought to stop pretending like I love him more than anyone else -- we all love him the same way, don't we? I was in denial this entire time, to be frank. I kept thinking that he'd make it to the end, that he'd find love, that his story wouldn't be tragic and violence and Backman was lying to me because he wouldn't dare. I would actually close the book every time his name was mentioned because I didn't think I could handle not knowing him anymore, and it still wasn't enough.
Oh, and I have to thank Backman for never giving Maya some love interest that would erase all her trauma. She became her own, complete, fully formed person without the help of anyone but her family and best friends. It's exactly what she deserves.
When I have more distance from the searing pain that made me cry over ink and paper, I'll probably note that this book was in desperate need of a better editor; large chunks of the plot could've been completely eliminated, and I even texted a friend about how Backman was (finally) letting me down. But the ending was, in short, perfection. It was everything I wanted for these characters, for this town in the middle of the woods.
I hope to one day see the world with the thread of gold hope Backman does. Until then, I'll have to settle for 700 pages through his eyes.
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