From the very first word of the very first line, I was captivated. This book is art. It is poetry disguised as prose. It is beautiful.
And I loved it.
Its cadence was rhythmic and flowing–whatever that means. I have a hard time writing about it, because I can only think of it in adjectives. Lilting. Moody. Exotic. Flavorful. Rich. Decadent. Red. Alive. Romantic. Complex. Melancholy. Joyful. Gritty. Sweet.
That said, I can’t say I agree that the only thing worth living for is one’s happiness, but the disparity between stiff, legalistic, possessive religion and living, connected, messy and worthwhile relationship is clear and correct. No, not correct. Right.
It’s all about love. Without love, we are nothing. We are despairing, jealous, selfish, and we are single-minded in our quest to demand that all others be as we are.
When we know and understand Love, to its core, we come alive. We are patient, kind, rejoicing in the truth and in the delighting in the pleasure of others. We see, we hear, we feel, and we connect.
Chocolat illustrates it vividly.
I could read this over and over again.