I have climbed more than a dozen lighthouses. The habit started as one of those prove-your-point parenting habits. My oldest daughter gained a fear of heights out of the blue after never even mentioning the phobia. We happened to be vacationing near one of the oldest lighthouses in America. The solution seemed obvious. Face your fear and see the beautiful vista of the Atlantic. While not all parenting endeavors have been as successful, our family love of lighthouses was born. This love of lighthouses was likely what made me pick up this book, with its appealing lighthouse on the cover.
This is a lovely, sad book about mental health and suicide. The prose is slow, though, this might be due to the main character’s path towards acceptance of loss. The lighthouse, and the crashing waves below, are a metaphor, in some ways, but also a setting where loss often happens.
I really enjoyed this book, but I was not expecting the heavy tenor when I saw the cover. I don’t have personal experience with suicide, so I was able to focus on the beautiful words. I don’t know if this book would be challenging for someone dealing with suicide.