Last night, I finished The Trip to Echo Spring, and I felt relieved, sad, and thoughtful. Dark though the book was, it was also hopeful; the last chapter focused on Raymond Carver, one of the two writers she profiles who got sober and stayed that way. The book ends with an encouragement that I quite liked:
I mean we all carry something inside us that can be rejected; that can look silver in the light. You can deny it, or try and throw it in the garbage, by all means. You can despise it so much you drink yourself halfway to death. At the end of the day, though, the only thing to do is take hold of yourself, to gather up the broken parts. That’s when recovery begins. That’s when the second life–the good one–starts.