The Lonely Hearts Book Club

by Lucy Gilmore

“When was the last time you cared about something so much you couldn’t eat?” he demanded. “Or sleep? When have you ever felt the fire of life burn so bright that it hurts? When did you ever bother to fight for something you loved?”

It was like I said—when it came to lost causes, Saint Jude and I were in a neck-and-neck race to see who would end up on top.

I understand you, that expression said. I know all your weaknesses, and that’s no mean feat given how many of them there are.

I hadn’t loved anyone who didn’t exist between the covers of a book. At this point, I wasn’t even sure I knew how.

“She doesn’t know what she’s worth. She doesn’t think she can do anything better with her life.” He threw his copy of The Joy Luck Club across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a thud. “But she can, by God. She can and she will.”

Sloane said as her hand shot out and sought mine. I recognized her sweaty, tenacious grip for what it was—a friendly gesture meant to soothe and be soothed—but that didn’t stop my stomach from doing an actual somersault. I liked how hot she felt, how real.

Life stories were written in ink, not pencil. Once they were down, the only thing you could do was turn the page.

They couldn’t just walk away in the middle of a book. They wouldn’t. No matter how strong the provocation. Or how terrible the man.

all of them so worried about getting the right answers that they never let themselves enjoy the deep, satisfying process of being wrong.

She was in every book I’d ever read, every tale that had ever touched my heart. Fiction and nonfiction, memoir and short story—no matter what I read, I always found her.

This world was a terrible place. It gave you people to love and then took them away before you stopped loving them.

You wouldn’t deny a man a book any more than you’d deny him water. It’s the one soft spot you’ve never been able to hide, the one place where all your feelings are allowed to thrive.”