Of All That Was Lost And All That Was Found

I have just finished reading ‘The Book of Lost Things’ by John Connolly, a truly gifted author, and, as usual when I reach the end of a good book, I find myself feeling a strange sort of grief. Reading has always been a huge pleasure for me and I can't help but feel a certain sadness and regret in the realization that no matter how many times I may re-read that story, it will never again have the same impact as it did that first time. Something is inevitably lost: that anticipation of events, surprise or anxiety as the story unfolds, the pleasure in the outcome. But there is also a hunger to know more, and it's always great to find that a particular author has written a whole series of books with your favourite protagonist, so there will always be new stories to read. Sadly, ‘The Book of Lost Things’ is not one of those stories. It is a stand-alone, and was always intended to be so, but even so, the effect this has had on me is a lasting one.

Deeply emotional moments are scattered throughout the whole book – from the loss of David’s mother, to the heart-breaking moment when David vents his anger and bitterness at his stepmother, to the truth behind the Crooked Man’s actions - but there is one chapter in particular that struck a resonance with me: ‘Of The Crooked Man’s Hidden Kingdom and the Treasures That He Kept There.’ A dark, foreboding, evil place, the Hidden Kingdom is filled with horrors - the woman with the mirrored eyes who shows those foolish enough to look into their depths the moment and manner of their death; the room where children learn of the things that parents do together when their bedroom door is closed at night; the room where jealous, suspicious spouses are shown their worst fears about their partners so that their relationships will forever be tainted by fear of betrayal and the tragedy that, in their petty jealousies, they bring about for themselves that which they fear the most.

Perhaps not everyone will read the story and see the same meanings behind the words that I did, but then every story has the ability to sit differently in the hearts of those who read it. For me, there are lessons to be learned in the story as a whole, but particularly within this chapter: cherishing the people around you; telling them the way you feel about them at every opportunity; accepting that loss is a part of life and that it is right and natural to move on, but doing so does not mean that you have to forget about those whom you have lost; refusing to give in to petty worries and jealousies that will destroy the joy and happiness that life has to offer; not seeking out knowledge of the future or worrying about what it may bring because in doing so, you lose the moments you have now.

Perhaps therein lies this book’s great dichotomy – not so much a moral tale of all that was lost, but a tale of all that was ultimately found – by the protagonist, certainly; but also by this reader, who has been left far richer for the experience.