Let me start by saying that “The Death of Bunny Munro” is, first and foremost, an emotional rollercoaster. It’s an amazing book, heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time—a pure pleasure to read but brace yourself for a strong good story.
From the website:
Set adrift by his wife’s suicide and struggling to keep a grip on reality, Bunny Munro does the only thing he can think of: with his young son in tow, he hits the road. To his son, waiting patiently in the car while his father peddles beauty wares and quickies to lonely housewives in the south of England, Bunny is a hero, larger than life. But Bunny himself, haunted by what might be his wife’s ghost, seems only dimly aware of his son’s existence.
Tell me that, with this description, that you don’t want to read the book right now and feel sorry for the kid without even starting to do so?
Why did I like it?
It’s an amazing story and something that could happen to anyone who has a kid to take care of and loses his wife. Not the promiscuous part, of course, that was self-inflicted, but the pain and coping with it is quite real.
Reading this book is like listening to Nick Cave’s music. It makes you go on a journey, but it’s not for everyone or every day.
As a personal note, I’m a huge fan of Nick Cave, and he’s amazing at bringing up all the emotions (good or bad) that you probably didn’t know you had.