Crying shame: the books that make me weep

Dickens at his most mawkish, Joanne Harris at her purplest - the books that get me blubbing are sad indeed.

God bless us, one and all! The Muppets' take on Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit. Photograph: Kobal
One of the many reasons that I would not last long in a reading group is that I get far too emotionally involved in the books I read. In fact, I am prone to cry at the slightest provocation. I am not just talking about the kind of tears most people would shed on reading, say, King Lear or Toni Morrison's Beloved.

I have sobbed my way through Mrs Dalloway (and not just the Septimus bits), Bleak House (Jo saying the Lord's Prayer...sentimental, yes, but give me another tissue) and The Handmaid's Tale. I cry at Anne Tyler, Carol Shields, and even Walter Moseley. And on holiday in 2005 I sobbed through Joanne Harris's Blackberry, which does not make me proud.