Most of you know by now that I am attending the BlissDom blogging conference in Nashville this week. But did you also know that I am a featured member on One2One Network this month? Click here to check out an interview with me on the One2One Network blog today.

What is One2One Network?

Simply put, One2One Network is a service that connects women bloggers with some pretty awesome brands. Members can sign up for all kinds of exciting opportunities. From VIP access to events to getting to try exciting new products, One2One Network has become the go to resource for connecting female bloggers and brands. Last year I was able to participate in a promotional campaign for Power Rangers: Samurai and their emPower program because of my involvement with One2One Network. My little boy is a huge fan of the Power Rangers, and this was a great bonding experience for my son and me. This is also just one example of the many fun projects that come up for their members. Click here to learn more about why you should consider joining One2One Network.

Stop By The One2One Network Booth at BlissDom!

One2One Network is also a sponsor of the #BlissDom blogging conference where I am a parenting niche community leader this week. At the One2One Network booth at BlissDom they will be giving away free headshots (FREE!!) and new members who sign up at the conference will have a chance to win all kinds of awesome prizes. I will definitely take One2One Network up on the free headshot offer!

Click here to follow One2One Network on Twitter and here to “like” them on Facebook.

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Mardi Gras season on the MS Gulf Coast is always fun, and this year it was especially meaningful for my husband and me.

2012 was my first year as a member of the Les Masquees Mardi Gras club. This meant a lot to my family because my mother-in-law is a past queen of the organization. My sister-in-law is also a member, and the three of us had so much fun at the ball together:

This year my husband and I got to attend the Bacchus Mardi Gras ball in New Orleans as guests of some dear friends of ours. It was our first New Orleans ball to attend, and we were amazed! The floats come right through the convention center where the ball is held. We literally had a front row seat to the Bacchus parade! Will Ferrell was the king of Bacchus this year. He gave a great speech at the ball. He is hilarious! Will Ferrell’s dad came out on stage and played a song on the piano and sang. He has a great voice. The Commodores played that night as well.

The Bacchus ball also marked the first time in at least five years that I wore a strapless dress:

My bra was engineered by NASA so those suckers wouldn’t fall out! Ha! Nate and I had a great night:

We went to all kinds of parades in the weeks leading up to Mardi Gras. The parade season culminated in a wonderful Fat Tuesday celebration at my sister-in-law’s beautiful, downtown Biloxi home. She fixed a feast that we could graze as we walked out to enjoy the parades just feet from her home. As usual my boys caught more beads than they could carry at the parades:

Do you live in an area that celebrates Mardi Gras? Have you ever been to New Orleans for the big celebration? Leave a comment and let me know!

Wife Life is a column written by Mandy, The Well-Read Wife on a monthly basis or whenever the hell she feels like writing it.

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Tomorrow I leave for Nashville where I will be a parenting niche community leader at the BlissDom blogging conference and like the Pointer Sisters “I’m so excited and I just can’t hide it.” I’m especially looking forward to the sessions I am community leader for:

• Likeability 2.0: Women, Influence and the Social Web with Stephanie Smirnov, Friday at 2:30. (Business Track)
• The Present Principle: How to be Present in a Demanding World with Claire Diaz Ortiz, Friday at 4:30. (Life Development Track)
• Grow Your Platform, Keep Your Voice: Maintain Quality While Expanding Your Brand with Tsh Oxenreider, Saturday at 11:30. (Writing Track)

I can’t wait to see those of you that are going to BlissDom this week! I know we are going to have an amazing time. If you see me, don’t be shy. Come up and say hello!

Here’s a little BlissDom advice from Tyler Durden:

See y’all soon!

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Make sure you don’t miss a thing! If you’re new to The Well-Read Wife, click here to subscribe. Be sure to follow me on Twitter and “like” me on Facebook.

Did you know that The Well-Read Wife is a parenting contributor over at Blissfully Domestic? Stop by and check out my latest article. It’s a round up of fun footprint crafts from all over the web that parents can do with their kids.

Footprint crafts are a fun keepsake to make with your kids. Whether your child is months old or nine years old, there are endless possibilities for footprint crafting fun with your kids!

Click here to check out my article over on Blissfully Domestic.

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Make sure you don’t miss a thing! If you’re new to The Well-Read Wife, click here to subscribe. Be sure to follow me on Twitter and “like” me on Facebook.

Title: The Weird Sisters

Author: Eleanor Brown

336 pages, Published by Penguin

Eleanor’s Info: Website | Twitter | Facebook

The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown is a novel bibliophiles everywhere will enjoy. The Andreas sisters grew up surrounded by books. Their father, a Shakespearean scholar, instilled in them a love for reading and a love for all of William Shakespeare’s plays. When the girls’ mother is diagnosed with cancer, all three sisters find themselves living under one roof again.

I loved the Shakespearean elements of the novel. Each of the sisters are named after characters from the Bard’s works: Cordelia, Bianca, and Rosalind, and the sisters pepper their conversations and thoughts with quotes from William Shakespeare’s many plays. Brown weaves quotes and other Shakespearean references into the story without missing a beat. It is a wonderfully well-crafted novel!

The Weird Sisters will appeal to Shakespeare lovers and anyone who has ever sat in a library in awe of the books around them. I recommend it to anyone who loves books and enjoys a touching story about what it means to be part of a family. This month BlogHer Book Club is hosting Eleanor Brown. Click here to check out the page for The Weird Sisters on BlogHer.

Disclosure Statement: This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club, however the opinions expressed are my own.

Possibly no one is as anxious about working the room and networking at the upcoming BlissDom blogging conference as me, and I’m a community leader at the conference this year.

Awkward and I know It (It’s The New Sexy and I know It)

I am awkward defined and I know it. Perhaps the biggest highlight in my awkward hall of shame at last year’s BlissDom was randomly mentioning a  story about dildos from a Regretsy post I read that I thought was funny and then realizing the group of ladies I was talking to were faith bloggers. To their credit they were really nice and laughed. I could see the slight glimpse of horror in their eyes as I started the story, but I still finished it because cutting off the story after I said dildo and glanced at their name tags would have been even more awkward right? I backed away slowly only to recount my horror to a group of women I quickly discerned after telling about my gaffe  were a well known group of bloggers from Canada – double awkward. They were really cool though, and I felt better. After edging closer to a couple of more groups and maybe just saying dildo in a really high pitched voice, I figured I should probably not mention dildos for the rest of the night, because whether your audience is a sex education blogger or a faith blogger, dildos aren’t really an appropriate topic of conversation when meeting someone for the first time.  I felt like the silver ball in a pinball machine. Shot off into the glittery awesomeness of my first blogging conference only to briefly bump up against random groups of people, say something they probably thought was weird and then shoot off again. For that night I was the Lone Awkward Ranger, but I still had fun. Being awkward and then neurotic about being awkward has become part of my M.O. over the years, and I’m used to it. I’m like a fat, female version of Woody Allen. But instead of sneezing on coffee table mounds of cocaine, I say weird shit without thinking about what I’m saying.

Socialite Anxiety

My anxiety about social situations is a little trickier to manage at home. My husband is a doctor. He is chairman of his department at the hospital where he works, and this requires me to be sociable on a regular basis. I am a member of a few clubs, and depending on the mood I’m in I handle myself at these functions differently. One day I might arrive just as a club meeting starts, sit down and pretend to check email on my phone so no one will talk to me. Other times I might take on a character and work the room as that character. My current favorite character to take on is a cross between Lisa Vanderpump and Adrienne Maloof from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I might tell an exaggerated story from my life peppered with the word “dah-ling” in the scratchy voice of Adrienne Maloof. I’ll hold my cocktail in close to my body between my two doughy hands and say things like, “I asked the waiter what is this swill? He said it was Cristal, and I said dahling I only drink Angel champagne. Well, I think you all know he brought me out a glass that was obviously black bottle and I had to send him back for the good stuff.” My voice will grow increasingly deeper as I reach the last part of the sentence. I might look up just in time to see my audience’s eyes start to glaze over. Well, at least I’m talking.

Recently, I was at a luncheon, and one of my friends who knows how I am was sitting across from me at the table. After I finished one of my stories she said, “Didn’t Kim say that on Real Housewives of Atlanta last night?” I burst out laughing. I totally forgot she watched it too. Kim Zolciak is one of my favorites to fall back on. I love her sassy wigs and her “fuck it” attitude. I haven’t pulled my Real Housewives routine since I was busted. Maybe I’ll whip it out for BlissDom. Feel free to call me on it if you’re there.

I don’t want you to think I didn’t have fun at BlissDom last year. My night of awkwardness was just one night of the convention. I ended that night five feet away from Michelle Branch swaying back and forth with one of my good blogger friends while Michelle sang a variety of her hits. The lights from the stage were hitting the sequins on my shirt. A shirt that in hindsight kind of made me look like a round disco ball. But as the lights reflected off of my shirt in a spectrum of beautiful colors, I looked at Michelle and then at Megan.  I belong here. Baby, I am a firework.

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Mandy, The Well-Read Wife is a parenting niche community leader at this year’s BlissDom conference. Feel free to approach her and talk about anything. She is up for it!

Make sure you don’t miss a thing! If you’re new to The Well-Read Wife, click here to subscribe. Be sure to follow me on Twitter and “like” me on Facebook.

When I was in the third grade I liked many things, but dancing and reading were my favorite things to do by far.

She’s A Maniac

The year was 1983, and I was eight years old. When I got home from the Catholic elementary school I attended each day I would run to my room, throw off my plaid jumper, and dance my ass off in my white Peter Pan collar uniform shirt and navy blue gym shorts. I LOVED to dance and by dance I mean I would shuffle sideways back and forth slowly to the music. My favorite dancing spot was in the corner behind my dresser away from the window where I was sure the neighbors wouldn’t see me. This corner was located by my closet where I could turn and casually open the closet door if my parents decided to suddenly bust in my room to see what I was up to. “Who me? I’m not dancing. I’m just looking in my closet for my legwarmers and workout headband for when I do a little Jane Fonda role play later.”

If I were in a happy mood I might dance to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper or “Lucky Star” by Madonna. When I was sad I would play “Save A Prayer” by Duran Duran on my boom box and mournfully shuffle back and forth in the corner. My favorite angry music was “Maniac” from the Flashdance soundtrack.

Reading was my other favorite activity. I mostly read books. Sometimes I read Bop, Big Bopper, or Teen Beat. But when I read magazines I would mostly just stare longingly at pictures of Simon Le Bon in a speedo or Michael Jackson holding Bubbles. If only I could be that chimp! I would think to myself whilst shaking my fist.

When I was in the mood to read I typically read a Trixie Belden book. Trixie was the star of a mystery series by Kathryn Kenny. Trixie was a spitfire. She was brave and smart and had a lot of friends. They had a mystery solving club called the Bob Whites. At the ripe old age of eight years old I was highly impressed by Trixie. She was everything I wanted to be. Unless I was in a slutty mood. Then I wanted to be Jessica Wakefield from the Sweet Valley High series. Jessica drove a convertible and dated a lot of guys. She was pretty awesome too.

Most afternoons I would dance for thirty minutes or so. Then I would settle into the pillows on my bed and read a book.

Eee-eee Tee-eeee Think You a Freak

It was early in my third grade school year when a new nervous habit would accompany my reading. At first it was a relatively slow process. I’d be sitting in my room on my fuzzy, tan blanket that had a border of mallards marching across the bottom reading a Trixie Belden mystery. I would pick at my eyelashes while I read. A single eyelash here. A clump there. I’d pick and eat. (Yes, I ate those suckers!)

And if by chance there was a root still attached to the eyelash I got a funny feeling my eight year old self didn’t quite understand. A little flash. A tingle. A delicious sensation I would later in my twenties realize could be described as orgasmic.

This went on for a while – maybe a week- before I realized I had a bald spot. I was in my room checking myself out in the little mirror that hung above the bedside table. The mirror was next to a poster of Michael Jackson with his arm around E.T. I noticed there was a little space in the middle of my upper eyelashes where there should have been lashes. I panicked. I was in full on freak out mode.

At that moment I think it dawned on me that what I was doing was not normal. I was pretty sure the other girls at school weren’t pulling out their eyelashes and eating them. This might be the first time I realized there was something wrong with me. I had no way of knowing that there were terms for what I was going through: anxiety and trichotillomania among those terms.

So, I snuck into the bathroom in the hallway and got my mom’s tweezers. I’ll just even them out, I thought. Then I can put this weird slip up behind me. I started to slowly pull out the eyelashes in the mirror. This time with the tweezers almost all of them had roots and oh the tingles! It was just like the deli scene in when Harry Met Sally but with an eight year old and definitely no one wants what I’m having because it’s fucking weird!

I stood in front of that mirror dying a thousand tiny deaths. With each tingle came euphoria.

The euphoria was soothing. At eight years old I had many worries. My brother has severe autism and my parents were constantly reminding me that one day I would need to take care of him. I was only in third grade, and I already had a child. That’s a lot of weight to carry on such tiny shoulders.

I went into an eyelash pulling frenzy. Like Scarface diving face first in a tabletop mountain of cocaine, I was humming. Then I stopped. Both eyes were pretty much bald.
At that point I figured I better just pull them all out. I remember the last few were the hardest. Fine, barely visible lashes that it took all of my concentration to tweeze.

With every great high there comes a low.  A decline. A come down period. I looked at my bald eyes. They felt raw to the touch. Out of the corner of my eye I imagined Michael Jackson and E.T. shaking their heads. Judging me. There’s nothing worse than the simultaneous, disappointed Michael Jackson and E.T. head shake.

Dr. Mom

I was worried. My parents were strict and surely there would be some sort of punishment for this. They could possibly take away my TV, my Atari, or God forbid my boom box. Hmmm… What should I do? What would Punky Brewster do in this situation? What would Tina Yothers do ?

But really, I seriously doubted Tina or Soleil had ever pulled out all of their eyelashes. Their agents would probably get really pissed if they did that. My eight year old self figured I was the only freak who would do something that gross.

I was going through a phase where every time I did something I thought was bad or if I had an impure thought I would say a Rosary. I kept my Rosary beads, my Rosary coloring sheets, instructions, a prayer book, and my bible in a shoe box. I would lay each item in a straight line across my bed and say the prayers. I felt like this canceled out whatever fuck up I had recently committed. Saying the Rosary calmed me and made me feel better. But looking back I have always had only the vaguest belief in god. I feel like this was more of an OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) ritual. Only I didn’t understand that’s what it was at the time.  Even though my parents were fond of referring to any idiosyncrasy as OCD, I still wasn’t positive that’s what I was going through.

I put on music and danced around my room while I tried to come up with a solution.

My parents often referred to the dancing as self-stimming. Self-stimming is any repetitive act one does to soothe one’s self. This is often associated with autism. That’s why I never wanted them to catch me dancing. I knew they would comment about me “stimming” again, and make a crack about me being mildly autistic. I knew they thought it was weird. But I danced anyway, because I couldn’t stop myself from doing it. This time I didn’t just dance. I cried while I was dancing too. This wouldn’t be the last time I cried and danced in my little corner by the closet. While I danced and cried I listened to “Physical” by Olivia Newton John (one of my favorite thinking songs) ten or so times. I came up with two plans:

Plan A: I would play dumb. If anyone mentioned my missing eyelashes I would just act like I had no idea what happened. And my parents might not even notice my eyes were bald. I mean they had a lot going on with my brother and all.

Plan B. I would tell my parents my eyelashes hadn’t grown in yet and scream, “Don’t you ever pay attention to me”!

I went with plan A.

I tried to act as normal as possible for the next day or two. I went to school. I played the jump rope game Cinderella Dressed in Yella or freeze tag with my friends at recess. I lamented to my friends at lunch about how it sucked not to have a pair of kangaROOS shoes. All the cool kids kept their ice cream change in a little pocket on the side of the shoes, and I didn’t have a pair. I remember ranting about this particular topic a lot in third grade. If any of my friends looked at my face I would look away or put my hand above my eyes like I was shielding them from the sun. It seemed like I could go on like this for a long time. Maybe even until the eyelashes grew back in!

One side effect of pulling out all of your eyelashes is that your eyes become much more sensitive than normal. I was already suffering from seasonal allergies as usual, and without eyelashes my eyes were extra irritated. I began rubbing my eyes a lot and as a result, my eyes took on a red appearance. They looked the way a person looks after they’ve cried for a while. My mom finally noticed a couple of days after I pulled them out. She did not take it well. She asked me repeatedly what happened, and I stuck to my plan.

“I don’t know what happened. They’re just gone.” I said while looking at my mom with a stony expression. She wasn’t going to get the truth out of me. I wasn’t going to admit that I was the freak they were already pretty sure I was.

After undergoing a brutal interrogation from both of my parents, my mom finally relented. She retired to the living room where I noticed she was sitting on the couch reading the Medical Book with a serious expression on her face. The Medical Book was treated with great reverence in our household. It was a large white book with a maroon colored spine, and I’m pretty sure it just said Medical Book on the front. If any of us got a cold or a rash, Mom would consult the Medical Book and figure out what the problem was. Her initial diagnosis after reading the Medical Book and having a lengthy phone conversation with my Grandma was that allergies had caused my eyelashes to fall out. She figured I had simply rubbed my eyes too much, and that caused all of my eyelashes to fall out. My eyes seemed okay now so she reasoned a doctor visit wasn’t called for. I was relieved. However, my relief would only last a few days.

Later that week my mom asked me to go along with her to the beauty shop for her hair appointment. I was intrigued because my grandfather, a barber by trade, usually cut my hair. I was excited to see what went on at a proper salon. My excitement was short lived. When we got there my mom sat me in the stylist’s chair and started immediately asking her hairdresser questions about my lack of eyelashes. I remember the hair stylist was a tiny woman with frizzy, highlighted brown hair. She peered into my face and squinted her eyes. We were nose to nose and she said, “Did you stick a bobby pin in a light socket?”

I looked at her with my trademark stony expression and said, “No. I woke up one morning, and they were gone.”

Just after I responded to the stylist my mom said, “That’s so funny. I was talking to Mandy’s friend’s mother about this the other day and she asked me the same thing.”

Cue the sound of screeching tires. What the fuck? She talked to my friend’s mom about this? I was mortified. This meant that more than likely at least one of my friends knew  I was rocking a pair of bald peepers. This was not good. I didn’t let on to my mom that I was upset. I couldn’t deviate from my normal routine. I just had to act like everything was okay. Much dancing and crying in the corner went on that night.

To the credit of my group of friends it didn’t really phase them that I was suddenly missing my eyelashes. It probably just amused them. I honestly don’t even remember their reactions. I was always one to proudly fly my freak flag as high as possible around my peers. I was impulsive not thinking about what others may say. But I certainly cried when I got made fun of. This tends to happen when you make no bones about who you are. I see this already in my oldest child. My best and worst trait. Fearlessness and utter paralysis rolled into one. I see the anxiety starting to manifest and all I can do is watch and be there for him to talk to.

My parents eventually let the mystery of my missing eyelashes drop. I don’t think I ever told them what actually happened. (*waves at Mom and Dad*) As time went on I managed the trichotillomania that I didn’t realize I had in different ways so that my parents wouldn’t notice.

Knowing what I know now if one of my boys were all of a sudden missing his eyelashes I would probably consult a child psychologist for tips regarding how to handle a child with trichotillomania. However, without the knowledge of my past experience with the disorder, I probably would have handled the situation the same way my parents did.

If anyone reading this thinks their child is having problems with anxiety, one of the best things you can do for your little one is to be a good listener. Listen to their worries and concerns without making any judgments and without giving too much advice. Also, seek outside help. The National Institute of Mental Health is a great resource and provides a wealth of information on a variety of disorders.

I want everyone reading this to know that having a mental disorder (or in my case having three) is not something I’m ashamed of. It’s not something I feel like I need to hide anymore. It’s something that is a part of me, but it doesn’t define all of who I am. The picture used with this post is my third grade class picture. If you look closely you can see that I only have a few eyelashes on each eye. To date it is one of the best pictures I have ever taken.

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Title: Agorafabulous: Dispatches From My Bedroom

Author: Sara Benincasa

272 pages, Published by William Morrow

Sara’s Info: Website | Twitter | Facebook

Buy The Book: Amazon

Summary:

“I subscribe to the notion that if you can laugh at the shittiest moments in your life, you can transcend them. And if other people can laugh at your awful shit as well, then I guess you can officially call yourself a comedian.”

In Boston, a college student fears leaving her own room—even to use the toilet. In Pennsylvania, a meek personal assistant finally confronts a perpetually enraged gay spiritual guru. In Texas, a rookie high school teacher deals with her male student’s unusually, er, hard personal problem. Sara Benincasa has been that terrified student, that embattled employee, that confused teacher—and so much more. Her hilarious memoir chronicles her attempts to forge a wonderfully weird adulthood in the midst of her lifelong struggle with agoraphobia, depression, and unruly hair.

Relatable, unpretentious, and unsentimental, Agorafabulous! celebrates eccentricity, resilience, and the power of humor to light up even the darkest corners of our lives. (There are also some sexy parts, but they’re really awkward. Like really, really awkward.) (Summary provided by William Morrow.)

My Thoughts:

Humorous memoir is my favorite genre (any book with hot and/or sad/ sparkly vampires being a distant second), and I read pretty much every humorous memoir written by a woman that comes out. However, I don’t write about all of them. I only write about the ones that I really enjoy. The ones that make me laugh out loud, cringe, and cry at all the right moments. Agorafabulous by Sara Benincasa is one of those books. Pitch perfect and wickedly funny, Sara had me laughing along with her story of her troubled early years.

In Agorafabulous, Sara recounts her struggle with agoraphobia, depression, and panic attacks from her late teens to her mid twenties. There was much in this book that I could relate to personally as I have had struggles with anxiety and depression off and on over the years. I know how it feels to go completely off the rails for a time, and Sara describes this feeling in both a humorous and sensitive way.

Sara is not afraid to be brutally honest with her readers. (Sara even bravely admits that she peed in bowls at one point because she was scared to go in the bathroom. ) The highlight of the book for me was a chapter recounting Sara’s time working at a spiritual center/ hippie commune sort of place called Blessed Sanctuary. Sara’s interactions with her boss were hysterical. The chapter on her time as a high school teacher and how she dealt with a student who had taken Viagra was also really great. As a former middle school teacher, I was dying laughing. I have no idea how I would have dealt with that situation as a teacher!

Agorafabulous touches on disorders that are considered taboo and not often discussed. Sara relates her story with both humor and dignity providing inspiration for anyone who has ever considered themselves in a hopeless situation. Sara Benincasa is a brilliant voice in the humorous memoir genre, and I can’t wait to read what she writes next!

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Allow me to put on my Stephen Colbert glasses and freshly pressed suit for a moment:

Actress Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle newsletter and website Goop has gotten a lot of harsh criticism as of late. Whenever I see someone railing about Gwyneth’s over the top hydrotherapy hangover cure or her time saving techniques (multitask- return phone calls in the limo on the way to work! Genius!!!), I have to roll my eyes because you my dears are not her intended audience. Does  Ms. Paltrow expect the “unwashed masses” to read, get, or care about her advice for other affluent people? No, I seriously doubt it. *pulls glasses away to look at reader down nose*

And please don’t bother commenting and saying,” I’m affluent and I don’t appreciate it.” You probably have a whole different subset of values at play, and that’s fine. Just like it’s fine for someone to want nice things and advise others where to find them. You might think it reeks of pretension, but it may be music to the ears of some.  *whispers* Sweet, sweet violin music played by diapered cherubs.

I see the criticism directed at Gwyneth’s enthusiasm for living well (and by living well I really mean “livin’ large” ) as just another sign of the times. Capitalism is out. And if capitalism is out, then celebrating materialism and being able to treat yourself to a couture wardrobe or give a recommendation for an unconventional spa treatment  at the top peak of Mount Kilawhatever to your intended audience (other affluent types) is super out.   It is no longer cool or acceptable to proudly proclaim that we are material girls living in a material world. And that makes me a sad, sad capitalist. Capitalism is the new communism. And just like Hollywood types dealt with the fear of being blacklisted as pinkos in the 50s, the new millennium is bringing a set of similar but also not similar in the least concerns for the current generation of superstars.

*Takes Off Stephen Colbert Suit* *Puts on Johnny Was Dress and Sensible Shoes*

Gwyneth has earned her  money and affluence. She has also earned how she chooses to spend or share it. Sure she opens herself up to criticism by sharing her wisdom on Goop, but I for one was excited when I first heard about the site. I have always been fascinated by the rich and famous. I want to know where they get the haute couture, who delivers the pre-prepared macrobiotic meals, and what spa treatments they recommend for a hangover. Goop is a fascinating look into a life I may never have. But ya know what? I think it would be pretty cool to walk in her Yves Saint Laurents for a day or two. But only a day or two. Gwyneth’s life seems like it would be a lot of work. I’m too lazy to be that high maintenance.

Wife Life is a column by Mandy aka The Well-Read Wife. She publishes it twice monthly or whenever she feels like ranting about something non book related.

Title: The Thorn And The Blossom

Author: Theodora Goss

82 pages, Published by Quirk Books

Theodora’s Info: Website | Twitter | Facebook

Buy The Book: Amazon

Summary:

One enchanting romance. Two lovers keeping secrets. And a uniquely crafted book that binds their stories forever.

When Evelyn Morgan walked into the village bookstore, she didn’t know she would meet the love of her life. When Brendan Thorne handed her a medieval romance, he didn’t know it would change the course of his future. It was almost as if they were the cursed lovers in the old book itself…

The Thorn and the Blossom is a remarkable literary artifact: You can open the book in either direction to decide whether you’ll first read Brendan’s, or Evelyn’s account of the mysterious love affair. Choose a side, read it like a regular novel—and when you get to the end, you’ll find yourself at a whole new beginning. (Summary provided by Quirk Books.)

Book Trailer:

Please watch the book trailer for The Thorn and The Blossom (above) before reading my review.

My Thoughts:

The Thorn and The Blossom by Theodora Goss is a truly unique book. The book comes beautifully packaged in a box. When you are ready to read the book, you slide it out of the box and the book opens accordion style. It contains the same story told from two different points of view. If you open the book and read from one direction you get Evelyn’s story. If you open from the other direction you get Brendan’s story.

The Thorn And The Blossom is a tale of star crossed lovers, Evelyn and Brendan. Evelyn is a student studying abroad at Oxford when she meets Brendan while vacationing in the small town of Cornwall. Evelyn and Brendan have a very brief relationship but they are unable to forget each other and eventually reconnect. A story called The Tale Of The Green Knight shapes the love affair and the lives of Brendan and Evelyn. (Oh how I love a story within a story!) At times it seems as though they might be the fated lovers from the story.

Goss weaves a magical tale with The Thorn and The Blossom. At 82 pages it is a short read, however Ms. Goss injects brief flashes of fantasy throughout that had me rapidly turning the pages. At times certain elements of the book reminded me of the 80s classic horror/fantasy film The Lair of The White Worm. It wasn’t the actual plot that reminded me of the 80s film but rather the injection of brief flashes of fantasy into the story. I was absolutely dazzled by Theodora Goss’s storytelling ability and can’t wait to read more from her. This book would make a great Valentine’s Day gift. In addition to the romantic storyline, it is beautifully packaged and presented in such a unique way that it will be a treasured addition to anyone’s library.

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