Book: An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

[natickgirl]

I just finished this book, by Elizabeth McCracken, which was recommended to me by my writer sister. It is a very raw & real account of the author's stillborn birth of her first baby. Beautiful, vivid, emotional writing. I have not experienced the loss of a child, but I imagine this book would be both painful & cathartic for those who have (in the way books about a dying parent are to me). I must warn you that there is occasional profanity.

[Meticulous madness]

The title caught my attention, in and of itself. The plot description wasn't what I was expecting, though. Sounds very Interesting.

[Dia Minha]

I didn't read this book whole. I scanned it. I tried to read it. I wanted to read it. I got frustrated with the moving, drinking, smoking and moving. I wanted to read all about the birth of her dead baby. So I scanned and scanned. I don't think I could ever really read it. It hurts too much.

There was one passage that really touched me. She talked about not wanting to frame the baby's foot prints, but didn't want to tuck them away in a dark place. She didn't want to wear her heart on her sleeve or put it away in cold storage. She didn't want to fetishize, or repress. She just wanted his death to be what it was: a fact. "Something that people know without me having to explain it." She didn't feel the need to tell her story to everyone, but when people asked if her second child was her first, she couldn't bear any of the possible answers. Oh, how I can relate.

She did an amazing job telling her story. I did have a hard time with the foul language, drinking, smoking, constantly moving around Europe, but I think this was because I wanted to relate to the story more and I can not relate to these things.

This would be a really good book to read if someone close to you has ever had a stillborn. She is very straightforward with details and emotions. After reading it I think you would have a better understanding of what it is like.

[Dia Minha]

I got to thinking last night and realized that it wasn't that I couldn't relate to the smoking and drinking as much as maybe I related too much. I didn't smoke and I didn't drike, but I ate. I ate myself almost 20 pounds heavier in less than 3 months.