La ridícula idea de no volver a verte

This is part biography of Marie Curie, part memoir of the author mourning her husband's death, part musings about love, life, death and loss. And I’ll openly admit that I was underwhelmed by the first half and not overly interested in Marie Curie in general (I picked it up because I'm a sucker for a good title, and this is a good title). Add to that an annoyance with #hashtag nonsense scattered throughout and I stuck this in a corner for a while wondering if I’d ever get back to it.

I’m thrilled that I did. I don’t know what changed, the book itself, my comprehension, … me, … whatever … a light suddenly flickered on, first dim then overwhelmingly bright, beautiful and, surprisingly, joyful, a celebration of love even when it's stolen from you far too soon.

Marie Curie's journal that she kept following the death of her husband, the connecting tissue between the author and Curie, is included as an appendix. While it's tempting to skip since it's largely covered in quotes and excerpts throughout the rest of the book, reading it whole is different and well worth the effort.