Sunday, September 21, 2008

Sundays at Tiffanys by James Patterson

A sad little girl has an imaginary friend named Michael. Years later, as an adult -- who is still tormented by her overbearing mother -- Michael returns to her life. They fall in love and live happily ever after.

But no explanation is ever provided as to how this is possible. Why is Michael suddenly real and no longer imaginary? Am I expecting too much to want to know this?

I was drawn to this book because -- well, how can I put this without sounding a little off? -- I'm a big believer in imaginary friends. I exist almost entirely within my head. I gave up on real, human relationships long ago. I couldn't handle the disappointment. I became attached too easily and broken too completely. As a child, I created a group of people to befriend me because I didn't have the social skills to make real friends. As an adult, while I'm sane enough to realize imaginary friends are indeed imaginary and not real, I keep them alive by writing about them. I never give much thought to my real world surrounding, I'm too busy focusing on my fictional people. I tell myself someday I'll put the story together, call it a novel and turn it into my livelihood, but honestly, I think I just keep the characters going because without them, I'd be alone, completely and totally alone.

I can write this because the few people I know who read this already know that I'm, well, how did I describe it earlier? ... a bit off.

Anyway, point being, I had hoped this book would further explore the idea of people depending on imaginary friends. I needed an explanation. I'd assumed that the story would be about someone who met a person who embodied everything she's once yearned for in an imaginary friend. But none of that happened. The imaginary friend had no explanation and he agreed that he was very much imaginary.

Very disappointing book.

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