Having worked without a break for a few weeks, I luxuriously spent last night and this morning to read. I had started Pocketful of Names by Joe Coomer last week and really wanted to just sit and get lost inside the story. I've read most of Coomer's books, the first when I first moved to NH nearly 6 years ago (that long ago, really?). He lives in Maine half the year, and several of his book are set in Maine and New Hampshire. I know it's terrible but I don't often like to think of authors as actual people who imagine characters, especially when the characters are so real and memorable. I can't help but wonder about his life and what inspires him to write stories about artists, and women, and the ocean. It's magical that these stories come from one person, one life.
It was just a beautiful book. It made me think about how I spend my time as an artist compared to the main character, Hannah. She spends many years alone on an island, creating art with few distractions or inspirations but for her environment. It made me think about routine, inspiration, love, and isolation from people and from nature. I will say nothing more about the story. It's meant to be read and enjoyed, page by page, not summarized.