I’m ashamed to admit that this book has been on my shelf for the better part of ten years. Maybe longer. I don’t actually remember. All I know is that the author’s husband somehow knew my husband and she lived in my hometown, Austin, back when I lived in Austin too, and somehow I have an autographed version of this book that I’ve never read that’s been on my shelf all this time, and if I’m jumping feet first back into this whole world, no time like the present, right? Right. Plus she has an impressive list of creds regarding journals she’s published in, so this was totally obviously research for my other project, the “what to do with the finished things” project… And that’s my excuse and I’m going with it.

Sleep Toward Heaven, and by association, Ms. Ward, are both on my shit list, first of all, because I should not have read the second chapter in public, and most definitely should not have read it a street cafe while eating pho in London, with lots of people sitting shoulder to shoulder and trying to cram soup in their mouths using chopsticks. I cried. Like a damn baby. I cried the cry of silent desperation and tears and had to use my napkins to dab my face, and I quite literally told the very concerned looking Uni student next to me that I was fine, the soup was just a wee bit too spicy for me. Yes, I blamed the pho. 

It was not the pho.

I’m strangely entranced by this book. Mostly because I love the writing style, and the fact that Ms. Ward manages to switch between different POVs and different styles so effectively, which somehow feels like cheating because everyone says not to but she does it perfectly. I’m sure I can’t be the only one reading into the fact that the women on death row are written in third person limited present tense, because all they have is this moment, this exact moment in time. And the oncologist, regretful of her past actions, written in past tense third person… I got chills, man. Literal chills that had nothing to do with the cold front in London this week.

And the subject matter is not for the weak of heart. I did a term in the Actual Innocence clinic in law school, and the stories are heartbreaking… Mostly because there are so many stories where the only evidence that puts a guy away is so limited, but also because quite literally there is very little to be done to exonerate them once found guilty in the justice system. But it’s a great book, and it was nice to catch glimpses of my home town from afar. Just don’t read it while eating soup in public in London…

The ending is breathtaking. Unexpected and vital and overwhelming.