I read the last line of Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake just as the C-line train I was riding pulled into Park station. I closed the book, tucked it into my bag, and I thought about that line all the way during my walk along the corridor to Downtown Crossing. It was the perfect last line: it summed up everything in the previous 291 pages, and took things in a striking new direction. It was such a beautiful line.
It made everything in that subway station bigger, as all good fiction tends to do.
I am so glad to have finished it just as the train was coming to a stop. Perfect timing.