Review: Glue By Constance Ann Fitzgerald

If anyone understands human weakness and mistakes it is the author of this book. This book is anything but.

Glue by Constance Ann Fitzgerald
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“A woman who had…gone down a really dark path, and then decided she wanted more for herself. So, she went out and got it.” This describes Constance Ann Fitzgerald in a nutshell.

I have tremendous admiration and respect for this author.

I too finished this book in one sitting. In less than two hours.

The use of second person pulls us deeply into the unfolding events: hard, searing, tragic events.

From here on I will write the rest of this review in second person, complete with fragments, as a little tribute to the beauty of the writing.

You are struck that a bizarro press, Lazy Fascist Press, put this out? You think this could have been published anywhere. You realize this book is the kind of book that will bridge the bizarro and mainstream literary communities if enough people read it.

After finishing the book you realize this book is the literary embodiment of sobriety. You reflect that this is as straightforward as writing gets. And as absorbing. And as necessary.

You also go back and check the use of tenses because that’s the kind of thing you do as a student of strong writing. You realize that there was a masterful alternation between past and present tenses that was invisible during the initial reading.

You keep reading as literary fragments flow perfectly. Then a deeper meaning seems to be there, the fragments symbolizing the fragmentation of life brought about by tragedy. Grief leads to addiction. Addiction leads to shame. Shame leads to self-recognition. Self-recognition leads to the will to change. You forget yourself. You changed into a better person, a person your parents would be proud of. A person who is a perfect example of how to come back from the depths of suffering and bad judgment: you.

Earlier in the book. As you read, you notice that the most tragic events repeat themselves. Every time they repeat you notice the details change. You realize that even these gut-wrenching flashbulb memories will fade. Pain fades. Love fades. Your time is precious. Your loved ones are precious. Even you are precious. Even the unforgettable will be lost to time.

You ponder the references to the joys of Fleetwood Mac songs. You listen to them after you finish the book. You enjoy the music. You feel closer to a stranger. You realize that this book is a heartfelt hug to the grieving. And to anybody who seeks comfort.


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