Leslie's Reviews > An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken
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Sep 25, 08

bookshelves: one-sitting-reads, dey-house
Read in September, 2008

I can't remember the last time I cried at a book (and I mean real tears, not just a sentimental tingle in the back of my nose -- maybe "The Diary of Anne Frank" in junior high? "Where the Red Fern Grows"?)

Why this one? Now? (My sister just called and said, "Jesus, is everything okay?" All I could burble was: "Pudding.")

Perhaps it's because I've crossed paths with Elizabeth and Edward, and can see them both so clearly in mind, smoking on the porch of the Dey House. Perhaps it's because I love their writing (still waiting for the Parisian epic!) and would follow them into any topsy-turvy literary haunt, fictional or not.

More than anything, though, this is a portrait of the devastating, absurd, cockamamie Janus of hope and grief: both leave you aching for something that isn't there.
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