That time I read a frilly book because life was stressful

People who know me know I'm attracted to books with deep, philosophical concepts. That is not to say that I always understand what they're saying, that's just to say that I love reading books that make me think about what I think about the world.  To me, this is pleasant. I have my feelings and my thoughts, and I enjoy truly experiencing both. 

My bookshelves are full of titles like

          I am a Strange Loop

          The Really Hard Problem

          The Gospel According to Jesus

          The Anatomy of the Spirit

          Light on Life

          The Artist's Way

          Man's Search for Meaning

          Ishmael

But... I'll be honest. Sometimes I want a book that is the equivalent of watching some stupid Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy. (I swear, they should just go ahead a make that a thing...)

Last night a finished a book called The Perfume Collector. It wasn't brilliant, but it was entertaining - a nice change from my usual fare.  The book followed two separate timelines, one in the 1950s, the other in the 1920s.  A woman in the 1950s mysteriously inherits an apartment and stocks from a woman who (dun dun dun) turns out to be her mother who was forced to give her up in the 1920s.  1950s suburban wife ends up giving up sturdy life with husband to follow her free-spirit wiles with a man she has just met, all because she has finally reconciled with her past and the truth of who she is/was/is meant to be. 

I finished the thing in about a week, and suggest it to anyone looking for something quick. Don't expect to have your world rocked, but it's rather interesting to read how the author describes the smells of perfumes...that alone makes it rather intriguing.