If ever there was a time not to judge a book by its cover, this is it. Debra Manion's story is about so much more than the back cover suggests. Not that the back blurb lies. The Thunder, Perfect Mind is a story of a graduate student who loses herself down the rabbit hole of research, and she uncovers and solves family mysteries.
But it is so much more than that.
For the first 20 pages or so, I didn't really know who Bernadette was. Or, at least, I didn't think I did. She seemed to be a sort of golem, created from pieces of what people thought she should be. The more I read, though, the more I realized that Manion's created a picture in my mind. At times, this image was grainy, like that of an old photo. At others, it was orange tinted, like most of my childhood memories. Her imagery was simply, though the vocabulary used throughout the book suits a grad student in the midst of her research. Behind the words was heart, and that heart hurt.
It's not an easy feat. It's difficult to embed humor into text because everyone reads differently. But to get such yearning and pain, to feel Bernadette's despair for her sister. To want to throw the book every time Sean opened his emotionally abusive mouth. Manion masterfully conveyed these feelings without beating the reader over the head with them. She brought to life a woman struggling to make sense of her world, to find common ground with her parents, to understand her grandfather. To cope with the pain of lost love, the anger sorrow felt for her sister. The people between these pages are real.
For the first 20 pages, I didn't think I could get into this story, but then I realized that I was trapped. I was sucked in. I cared about the lives of Bernadette and her family. I raged for the injustices they had to face. I hoped for their happy endings. Though I'm not religious, I sort of prayed for them, especially when they were dealing with unimaginable yet very real things.
There is no way I can do this book any sort of justice in this little text box. It's one of those things you have to witness for yourself, because there were times when I thought I was reading a memoir and not a work of fiction.
"This is not a story of [...] forgiveness[...]" This is a lie. No one ever said, "I forgive you/him/them" in so many words, but by the time you reach the last 20 pages, there's a lightness to the narrative, a hope that things will actually be okay. It feels like there was a forgiveness, a letting go. We don't forgive for the other person's sake, but for our own. I think that happens, but no two people will read the same story, though they read the same book.
Read this book for its realness, for its broken hearts and mended fences.