Just Kids

April 11, 2013

Last night I finished Patti Smith’s Just Kids and as I was reading the last thirty pages or so it started to rain and then turned into a full-on thunderstorm. And that was just so incredibly appropriate I can’t even begin to express it.

Some books just leave an indelible mark and make you feel as though you’ve been looking at the world in the wrong way or not embracing life’s full potential or something.

Having just finished it I feel kind of drained, but not in a bad way — if that makes sense?

And I feel like I need to read this again (but the library wants its book back, so clearly I need to just buy my own copy).

I feel like this book just resonates truth of human experience and maybe that isn’t actually a coherent thought, but I’m going to run with it anyway.

Just Kids is Patti Smith’s memoir, but it’s so much more than that. In her acknowledgements, Smith writes “Before Robert died, I promised him that I would one day write our story.” She has done that and so much more. Just Kids is an ode to youth and poetry and friendship and love and so much more.

I could probably gush for a really long time about this book.

I don’t know if I’ll feel the same way about it if my feelings are given time to mellow. I suppose we shall see.

Have you read this Just Kids? Did you have a similar experience? Did you have a completely opposite experience? Have you had similar reading experiences with other books?

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