About six years ago, a dear friend was visiting from the UK and left me a book she'd finished on her flight over. She was sure I'd love it just as much as she had.
And I tried. I picked up her copy of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver and read the first two chapters, but it was a struggle. I just wasn't feeling any of it -- the writing, the characters, the heaviness of the story. So I gave up. Eventually, I donated the book to a library, unread.
Fast forward to last week. My sister and I occasionally swap ereaders so we can catch up on each other's book recommendations; she's so organized that the titles on her ereader are listed in the order in which she wants me to read them. At the top of her list was -- you guessed it -- The Poisonwood Bible.
"Please promise me you'll try it again," she said passionately. And since she's recommended several books that have turned out to be my favorites, I agreed. I gave Kingsolver another try.
And now here I am, a week later, frantically trying to find time to sneak in a few more words. The story hooked me this time. I was riveted from page one. I couldn't believe I didn't like this book all those years ago. What had I been thinking? Perhaps more importantly, what changed?
The answer, of course, was me. I had changed. And now I was in the right place for this book. Sixteen years after its publication, I was finally ready to read it.
We all have stories of the books that came back to us at the right time. Mine is The Poisonwood Bible. What's yours?