Today the book I'll share from is The Reader, by Bernard Schlink. I'm sure I was drawn to it initially by its name, but I soon became engrossed in the story. It's been a few years since I read it, and so I took a look at it again online. As I read what they say about this book, it is obvious that what seemed an interesting story to me was full of all sorts of other, hidden, meanings. Oh well, for me, this was one part that spoke to me then...and speaks to me now.
"Then I looked at Hanna's writing and saw how much energy and struggle the writing had cost her. I was proud of her. At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general. I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it's too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as "too late"? Is there only "late," and is "late" always better than "never"? I don't know."
Sometimes, "late" should be better than "never".
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