The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

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“Life is different for me at the hospice. The colors, the smells, the way a day passes. But I close my eyes and I pretend that the heat of the radiator is the sun on my hands an d the smell of lunch is salt in the air. I hear the patients cough, and it is only the wind in my garden by the sea. I can imagine all sorts of things, Harald, if I put my mind to it.”
“We write ourselves certain parts and then keep playing them as if we have no choice. […] You don’t have to keep being the thing you have become. It is never too late.”
There are two sides to every story. In order to fully understand this book, I think it is necessary to have read The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. It’s a good idea to write about the same set of events from two angels. I was afraid that there would be many repetitions of situations told in the first book, but the characters Henry and Queenie are different enough to keep the second book interesting and worth reading. The difference in characterizations also holds a risk. The way in which first book, surprised and charmed me, can’t possibly be repeated. On top of that Henry is a far more likeable character than Queenie. The combination of these factors make it difficult to like the lovesong as much as the pilgrimage. Still, Rachel Joyce still managed to grip me on every page.

Geschreven bij The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

As Queenie Hennessy was dying she wrote a note to Harold Fry to say goodbye. She had been thinking of him and of the happenings in the past ever since she felt she had to leave Kingsbridge. Now that she has come to the end of her live this note is her way of letting go.

She was shocked when they told her that Harold had called to say that he was coming and that she should wait. How could she wait, she was dying and he was walking and they were a thousand miles apart. This wasn't what she had meant to happen when she send the note.

Queenie decides to use the time she has left writing down her side of all that happened so long ago in Kingsbridge. If she goes before Harold arrives he can read her story. She tells him the things she never told before and that she felt so guilty she had to flee.

The story of Queenie is the perfect counterpart to the story of Harold Fry.
Of course it is a sad story, Queenie is dying and so are the other occupants of the hospice. They all wait for Harold, by his walk he has given all of them a purpose and they all hope they will be still there when he arrives.
I found the tender care of the carers and nuns in the hospice quite moving. The end of the story came as a bit of a surprise to me.

I can't decide which book I liked most, the story of Harold or the story of Queenie. Reading Queenies story made me like Harold's story even more.

In spite of all the sorrow it is a hopeful book.

Geschreven bij The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

heel andere vibe dan Harold Fry, maar net zo goeie en vermakelijke leeservaring. Aanrader!

The unlikely pilgrimage of Harold Fry was een geweldig boek en ik had niet gedacht dat er een vervolg (het is niet echt een vervolg, maar het verhaal vanuit Queenie) zou bestaan dat mooier zou zijn. Ik ben nog nooit zo fout geweest. Zo mooi en zo emotioneel.

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Dit keer wordt het verhaal verteld vanuit het perspectief van Queenie. In een hospice wacht ze haar einde af. Haar medebewoners leven hartstochtelijk met de reis van Harold Fry mee. Via ansichtkaarten laat hij weten waar hij is. Ondertussen verzinkt Queenie in haar herinneringen en, aangemoedigd door een non, schrijft ze Harold een brief waarin ze vertelt wat ze op haar hart heeft. Het boek ís de brief.

Geschreven bij The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

Erg leuk boek, zeker voor wie het andere (Harold Fry) ook las. Voor wie eens eventjes aan de koude, harde wereld wil ontsnappen

Geschreven bij Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

Dit boek kon mij niet boeien.
Vanaf het begin was het duidelijk dat deze zwaar zieke vrouw niet kon praten vanwege een gezwel in haar gezicht en daarom was het onzin om te suggereren dat zij haar levensverhaal aan iemand dicteerde. Het verhaal zou sterker geweest zijn als duidelijk was dat het haar gedachten en herinneringen waren die haar bezig hielden. Die hele onzin van een vrijwillige non die dagelijks met een typemachine kwam zou dan onnodig zijn geweest.