Just finished Between Here and April, the first novel by Deborah Copaken Kogan, whose Shutterbabe I loved long ago. A quick read (I haven’t been able to read anything real for months – basically just magazines and very light fiction- my concentration seems to be shot) and interesting, dark but also hopeful. Mostly I just really like Copaken Kogan’s voice, it feels like talking to a friend. A couple of passages:
With all of its invisible frustrations and sacrifices, motherhood was also a remarkable mosaic-in-progress, with such moments, like handmade tiles, painstakingly inlaid: up close, just a jumble of colors, haphazardly placed in no particular order; from ten feet back, so beautiful you could cry.
“It is funny, the way life turns out, no?” Now he was kissing my cheek. The curl of my ear.
“No. It’s not funny, Renzo.” Tears began to form again at the corner of my eyes. “It’s not funny at all.”
“Oh, mon Eliza. You cannot have one without the other. The comedy without the tragedy. You should know this by now.”
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