There are books I read which leave me empty. Not because they were not good, because I simply did not want them to end. On occasion I have remedied this sense of loss by flipping the pages to the beginning and reading it all over.
John Steinbeck’s The Pearl is one of those books. I remember coming to the end and asking myself, “What did I just read?” I wanted to remain in La Paz and was not ready to leave Kino, Juana and Coyotito. Steinbeck took me to a places I was not ready to leave.
I Heard the Owl Call My Name is a lesser known book written by Margaret Craven. It had the same effect on me as The Pearl did. Her first novel published in 1967 in her mid 60’s, the setting is Kingcome in British Columbia where First Nation people have lived for thousands of years. This is where Mark Brian, a young vicar is sent by the Bishop.
Even today as I think about these books I feel the profound sense of loneliness, starting deep inside me after just a few pages in. The loneliness I found in these books has never resolved itself when I return to their pages.