“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.