My friend Anna is sick and requested that I recommend a good book, or tell a sad story for her. Instead, I'm going to recommend some good, sad books. Now, I may cry in stressful situations when I'm tired, or pregnant, or recently had a baby, but it's not easy to make me cry for a movie or a book. So these books are exceptional: they all made me cry.
Family Happiness, by Leo Tolstoy. I guess this is actually more of a short story. I try to read it once a year or so and every time I do, my perspective on it is a little bit different. Also every time I read it, I cry.
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. Surprise, surprise, this one was actually assigned reading back in AP English. I loved it. And I cried. I still get a weird cyanide-powder aftertaste in my mouth whenever I read it, though.
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray. This is a pretty thick book, so it takes a while to get to the crying. In fact, it might actually take two readings to produce tears - it's so much more tragic when you know what is going to happen from the very beginning.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The French Revolution + unrequited love + a noble sacrifice + Dickens = crying. It's like Les Miserables Lite.
Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. The actual Les Miserables. My favorite book ever. I cried at different times before and after I had kids. Before kids, I cried the most when Fantine sold her teeth. After kids, I cried when all Cosette had to play with was a tiny metal sword and a scrap of cloth.
The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. This is a book about World War II, from the German side, narrated by Death. Yeah. I know some people found this book trendy and gimmicky, but I loved it, so there.
A Pair of Blue Eyes, by Thomas Hardy. Really, you could choose most any Hardy book besides Jude the Obscure and have a fairly reasonable expectation of crying during the reading of it.
Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mead. Actual tears may not have been produced when I read this, but emotions run high through pretty much the whole thing (fleeing burning Atlanta in the back of a wagon after giving birth to a child, anyone?) so I think it still counts.
Black Hawk Down, by Mark Bowden. One of these things is not like the others, I know. But yes, it made me cry.
The House of Mirth, by Edith Wharton. This one produced actual sobs. It is that sad.
Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom. But I only cried because I hated it.
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. Surprise, surprise, this one was actually assigned reading back in AP English. I loved it. And I cried. I still get a weird cyanide-powder aftertaste in my mouth whenever I read it, though.
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray. This is a pretty thick book, so it takes a while to get to the crying. In fact, it might actually take two readings to produce tears - it's so much more tragic when you know what is going to happen from the very beginning.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The French Revolution + unrequited love + a noble sacrifice + Dickens = crying. It's like Les Miserables Lite.
Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. The actual Les Miserables. My favorite book ever. I cried at different times before and after I had kids. Before kids, I cried the most when Fantine sold her teeth. After kids, I cried when all Cosette had to play with was a tiny metal sword and a scrap of cloth.
The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. This is a book about World War II, from the German side, narrated by Death. Yeah. I know some people found this book trendy and gimmicky, but I loved it, so there.
A Pair of Blue Eyes, by Thomas Hardy. Really, you could choose most any Hardy book besides Jude the Obscure and have a fairly reasonable expectation of crying during the reading of it.
Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mead. Actual tears may not have been produced when I read this, but emotions run high through pretty much the whole thing (fleeing burning Atlanta in the back of a wagon after giving birth to a child, anyone?) so I think it still counts.
Black Hawk Down, by Mark Bowden. One of these things is not like the others, I know. But yes, it made me cry.
The House of Mirth, by Edith Wharton. This one produced actual sobs. It is that sad.
Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom. But I only cried because I hated it.