This terrible book makes me mad just looking at the cover. I got it at a thrift shop and at the time I was feeling grumpy so the title appealed to me. I read the first few pages and was disgusted with it. Vain women on an unforgiving journey to China to seek revenge for one of the women's pregnant daughter who was killed by a drunk driver who had immunity because his father was an ambassador. They went to China and kidnapped him and brought him home and tortured him in the basement. Geez.
I was forced to read more of this terrible book because I was in the ER emergency room with my mom for nine hours. It was just there in my purse and I was in a daze anyway but by the time they moved her to the stroke unit I was sick of this horrible book. I do not like torture and unforgiving people. I can hold a grudge longer than most but I admire someone who can forgive even in a horrible accident like the one in the book. Forgiveness frees the soul. A vendetta is a nasty thing to harbor and carry out and the women in the book caused lots of harm in the world while they carried out their plans. It was disgusting and the writing was simple and irritating.
Just when I got to the part where they were going to cane their captive this wonderful lady appeared at the hospital room door. She had a cart of books and magazines and we looked thru them all for something to replace the horrible book I was caught in. She recommended reading the last page and forgetting about it. I chose a book from her cart that looked light and smart and then lost interest in them both while the hospital drama unfolded around me.
I was so grateful to the book lady and also to another couple who came around with free newspapers. My mom had quit getting the paper at her house a month ago and she says she doesn't miss it but that paper relaxed her and we both shared it and talked about something besides the hospital stay. I thought the book people might be religious when they first came to the door but they were something much better.
So I have this stupid Vendetta book by Fern Michaels here beside me now and it makes me want to write her a letter and tell her how horrible it was to read her book in the hospital. I want her to know that her New York Times bestselling author status did not impress me as I read her nasty tale of revenge. I want to tell her that it hurt me to read her book and didn't help the hospital stay at all. I read about her in an interview where they asked her this question and her answer says it all.
As a young mother looking for a career, what inspired you to write your first novel? Had you always wanted to be a writer?
I don't know about inspired. It was more like motivated. My husband told me to get off my ass and get a job. That's a direct quote, by the way. It was greed, pure and simple. I thought if you wrote a book you would become a millionaire over night. I don't have any conscious memories of wanting to be a writer.
When I finally came in the door to my own house after the hospital visit there was a package from my dear friend Ceci in Switzerland. She had sent me five books for my birthday and they were beautifully wrapped with a lovely card. I sat down and just hugged them all. I read one sentence randomly from each book and each was intriguing. I sat in the sunshine reading out of the first book and the way it is unraveling makes me realize what good writing is and what a fine novel can do for you.
It transported me to Amritsar, India which is a place I have visited and the young writer captured it perfectly. She lives there and her characters are developing at a slow pace surrounded by a Sari Store. The smells and colors come into my brain trailing memories of another time and space. There is a little angst building with one of the characters and I find myself caring about what happens to him. She is delving deep into his soul. The Sari Shop by Rupa Bajwa is touching me and uplifting me. It shows me the power of words.
"The older part of Amritsar, the original walled city, was full of bazaars - small ones that only the locals knew about, tiny bazaars that sold bangles and cloth very cheap but could be reached only on foot through tiny alleys; and the big, main bazaars where the streets were wider and the roads slightly cleaner. The bazaars of Amritsar were busy places where every day, throughout the year, transactions were made, prices were bargained over, shops were opened in the mornings and shut in the evenings. It was as if it had been so since the beginning of the world and would continue to be so till the end."