One Thousand Gifts

Mom read a positive review of One Thousand Gifts in World magazine, her favorite print source of news. Before she gave up her wheels, Mom purchased the book at our local Hastings. She loved it. And ordered two more copies to give away. And insisted I take her copy to read. Mom said the author reminded her "of Dave. And Martin Luther." Good company.

Now, it is true confession time for me. I am one of those perverse personalities. If you tell me I simply must do something, it makes me really, really not want to do it. If you tell me I simply must read something, it makes me really, really not want to read it. I'm not a joiner. I'm not a pleaser. I'm a little contrary. And everyone says this book is a life-changing must-read. Ruh roh.

Add into the mix here that instead of communicating with me verbally, all my life my mom has recommended books. If there was an issue, she had a book. Sex? Susie's Babies. Teen? Preparing for Adolescence. Getting married? Hidden Art. You get the picture. Goodness knows I love a good book, but substituting someone else's written words when your own spoken words are needed got so old that I even now hesitate to recommend books.

So you see, poor Ann Voskamp and her One Thousand Gifts came to me with two strikes against. I suppose I am defending her because, well, I just don't like her book. I tried. I started reading last night. And I liked it so little that I went to Amazon to see if I was nuts! Maybe so. The book has received 278 five star reviews. It's a big hit. 33 daring souls have written less-than five star reviews, and the few that I read had the same trouble as I. I am finding OTG really hard to read. Laborious, even. Maybe in small doses it will be more palatable, but even just going one chapter was too...too. Too verbose. Trying too hard to wax poetic. Too something.

I was somewhat relieved then today, when Mom told me she shouldn't have given me the book, and she wants me to pass it to my sister-in-law. Poor Katie. She won't know what hit her.

In all fairness, I should say that maybe in five years or so, maybe when all the hullabaloo surrounding this book dies down, maybe then I will like it. Sometimes I do that.

ETA: I know what it is. Too contrived. Mom has instructed me to go ahead and read the book myself, so my sister in law is spared for now.