The Woman Who Walked Into Doors, hurt me. It really hurt me. The kind of hurt where I was lying in bed at night reading it and my partner walked in to kiss me hello after coming home from a 12-hour shift in a 1,000 degree kitchen and I just batted him away without looking away from the book because how could someone possibly interrupt a person when they were going through something so emotional, hello!
Thankfully he’s used to living with a book nerd and he didn’t take it personally. I wish I could say the same for this book – that I didn’t take it personally – but I did. So personally.
The story follows an alcoholic woman who’s a mess because she just found out her husband was shot and killed by the cops. Terrible, timely situation, though it was written some years ago and does not take place in America. Still, already grabbing at my heart strings.
And then . . . it gets more complicated. But not in the way you’re thinking. In that the narrator is perhaps the most unreliable one I’ve ever read and as I kept reading, more and more lies were uncovered, her story shifted, we learned more things, we discovered the horrible abuse she’d suffered and blamed herself for. Nothing was as it seemed and everything changed time and time again. At first I was annoyed with this woman, then I begrudgingly felt some compassion for her and then, well, my heart really started to hurt. Such an emotional, raw story. I’m all bummed out thinking about it but am ultimately glad I read it. Good showing, Roddy.