I finished off the third and last book of the Hawk and the Dove Trilogy, The Long Fall, on the plane. The words felt like preparation for the days which followed. It's funny how fiction can move me into self examination. Turbulence prohibited passengers from moving about the cabin, so I was stuck buckled in my seat wiping tears and snot consecutively on my sleeves as I sobbed. I was so connected to the characters, I felt like I was losing a dear friend, though I won't spoil any of it for anyone who has yet to read these profound books. I would have put down the book if I could have, so as not to make a spectacle of myself. However, the power of story and the anonymity of being on a plane with complete strangers made picking up a leftover copy of People in the magazine holder in the seat pocket in front of me instead of The Long Fall inconceivable.
I tried literally for years to read these books without success, but I am certain it was something divine saving the Hawk and the Dove for this particular time in my life. This is literature and insight into humanity at their very best.
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