Not all endings are happy.
I just finished reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.This book landed somewhere in the middle. I've had this book for ages. For as long as I can remember my mom was telling me to read it. I can even hear her say, "Oh, that's a great book, you'll love it." My mom knows me better than anyone else, but I think it's safe to say that when it comes to books, she doesn't have a clue.
I didn't hate this book, but it's not a favorite of mine, it didn't change my life, the story wasn't outstanding. Overall, it's not a book I'd recommend, but I didn't hate it. Imagine, I just spent two weeks reading 500 pages of someone else's thoughts and my opinion of it is "indifferent."
If you haven't read this book before, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn was written through the eyes of a young girl growing up in Brooklyn in the early 20th century. The protagonist, Francie, comments on her family and the society around her while sharing her aspirations to be a writer. Francie is the rare artist that is able to find beauty in truth and in the constant ugliness that surrounds her. Though I didn't care much for the story (I can't be bothered much with naturalism), it is only fair to acknowledge the quality of language Smith uses in telling this tale. On almost every page there is at least one quote that when extracted holds a bit of concise wisdom.
Of course a hundred years ago, isn't exactly next door.