Falling out of love.
I don’t fall out of love easily. I’m like of a black swan and mate for life.
I read Au Revoir and fell in love with Mary Moody and the honesty of her writing. Her meaning-of-life-search as she approached the age of 50 resonated with me. She’d run away to France. I’d had a life change at 44 and moved from Australia to Bali. I thirsted for change and to explore my creativity in a different and exciting culture. At nearly 60, I’m still here and Bali is my home.
I lost a day reading Au Revoir, and when I finished, I turned to the front and started all over again. Mary had captured the mid-life desire to explore life after 50. I felt I was at her side as she savored the delights and disasters of living in provincial France, away from family and friends. Mary was my new best friend.
I devoured Mary’s website, http://www.marymoody.com.au/, wanting to know more about her. Her site inspired me. It celebrates her books, tours, films, property and more. It is a great website, and I redesigned my own site to be more like hers. I even downloaded a photo of her stone cottage in France and it became my screen saver. It still is.
I looked in the second-hand bookshops after her new books came out, but I never found them, not until a few weeks ago. First, I found Sweet Surrender and bought it. This was the forth in the series and I hungered to start reading, prepared to lose 24 hours for this anticipated delight.
It was a disappointment in every possible way. It was self indulgent and poorly written. Mary told about her life, but certainly didn’t show it. I was tempted to close the book many times, but persevered, hoping that Mary would improve. She didn’t.
I’m loyal, so when I saw The Long Hot Summer, in Ganesha Bookshop days later, I bought it. It’s the third in the series and I longed for the writing style of her first book, but within pages, disappointment hit. By page 71, Mary Moody had lost a fan and I shut the book. I will not be looking for her second book, Last Tango In Toulouse.
I have fallen out of love. I could blame Mary for the collapse of my affair with her writing, but suspect I’m a more demanding reader now than I was when I read Au Revoir.
I now expect: to be shown the scenes; to have my senses excited; to be carried along by a strong story line; and, to be entertained. Mary no longer does this for me.