I just finished Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking and I feel very shaky.
It's an elegantly, beautifully, unsentimentally written account of the year following her husband's death, which included a prolonged medical episode with her daughter as well.
At times I was bored. But mostly I couldn't breathe. It made me feel so scared about something going on in my own body. So, I could mainly only read it through my own narcissistic fear of death. Because of that, I feel like I missed a lot of the narrative. I feel like I wasn't there. It was almost as if I read it between my fingers, the way you watch the scary part of the movie. I couldn't look at it straight on.