Showing posts with label brain injury. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brain injury. Show all posts

Thursday, November 21, 2024

πŸ’œ⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳πŸ’œ: The Gardener and the Marine by RJ Scott



Summary:
Ellery Mountain #9
Harrison is alone and hurting with his memories gone, but Toby shows him that love can heal even the most broken of hearts.

After losing his entire team in a roadside bomb, Harrison is left with a traumatic brain injury, a broken body, and scars on his heart that might never heal. Staying at the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center is the first step in healing, but short-term memories evade him, and the only thing he trusts is the love of Barney, his support dog.

Until he meets Toby.

Toby lands the chance of a lifetime, using his horticultural skills to aid in working with veterans during their physical and mental recovery. Meeting Harrison on his first day goes badly, but there is something between them that could be more than just friendship.

With time, it could even become love.

**Triggers for PTSD and past suicide ideation**

*Can be read as a standalone - some mention of previous characters, but not enough to cause an issue*

**This story was previously available in weekly instalments in my newsletter.  The file has been edited and a few scenes added.**


Original Review August 2021:
I've loved RJ Scott's Ellery Mountain series ever since I first discovered it 6 years ago, so to find there was going to be new entries, needless to say I was ecstatic.  The Gardener and the Marine was first available as weekly installments with the author's newsletter, however I didn't take the opportunity to read it that way.  At first, time just got away from me and then I decided that RJ Scott's works are often a can't-put-it-down read for me so I decided to wait until completed.

However you chose to read it, Toby and Harrison's journey is brilliant!

I won't go into many details, not that this is a mystery or anything like that and we all know her stories are HEA but the mens' journey is so heartwarming, there are moments some might call heartbreaking but I would use the term "heart-hurting", I just don't want to spoil even the tiniest moments.  Harrison is at the heart of the story with his learning to live life with brain injury and loss, I couldn't help but want to wrap him up in Mama Bear Hugs to protect him but he has Barney for that.  I've read stories before with therapy animals but there was just something about the way the author brought Barney's presence to the the table you felt like he was right there next to you, helping you through the story as well.

I grew up a farmer's daughter and when my mother became ill my parents shifted from a grain & feed crops to a vegetable/fruit farm.  My mom was to ill to work the farm but she did the business side as we sold fruit and veggies to local stores.  I mention this because I could see first hand how farmlife and gardening helped all three of us accept her health situation.  So seeing Toby realize how the family business of gardening helps his brother live with autism and turn it into therapy for the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center really spoke to me.  The connection the garden creates between Toby and Harrison is beautifully written as well as giving Harrison an opportunity to strengthen his mind and body made this story even stronger.

The Gardener and the Marine, simply put, is a truly wonderful, touching, heartfelt gem from beginning to end.

A last note, if you haven't read Ellery Mountain before, it's not a series you have to read from the beginning as each entry focuses on a different couple.  Personally, I can't imagine not reading it in order just because I'm a series-read-in-order kind of gal but it's not necessary, you won't be lost, yes previous characters make appearances but again knowing their story or not doesn't effect the story you choose to read.  However you choose to read this series, I highly recommend definitely doing so.

RATING:




Chapter One
Toby
The last time I’d been this nervous, I was five and about to step out as sheep number one in the Ellery Elementary Christmas Nativity play. Of course, it didn’t help that sheep number two, my nemesis Clare, had yanked at my fake ears, and that my new baby sister was out in the audience with Mom and Dad, and I heard her crying.

The one thing I hated as a kid was when Kate cried, but that was because I was the big brother, and it was my job to look after her. So, with her crying, plus Clare, plus the fact I had a very important baaaaah to deliver as we walked on, it was understandable that I lost my breakfast all over Clare.

Me 1, nemesis 0.

But I’d been five, and eighteen years later, I shouldn’t have been nervous about this meeting. I knew my stuff, had prepared folders of information for Daniel Skylar, his husband Luke, and Jason I’m-a-famous-actor McInnery. I’d even practiced my speech on Mom twice this morning. I knew the three men by sight. Luke had been my homeroom teacher in high school, and he was a good guy. I’d met Jason before—it was hard not to when he lived right in Ellery— and despite being Mr. Hollywood, he was kind, and spent time talking to my star-struck mom whenever he came to the garden center we owned.

It was Daniel I was worried about because he was the most mysterious of them all. The former soldier had created a place for veterans right here in town, and he fought a hundred battles every year—singlehandedly combatting local prejudice and fear, raising funds, and being all kinds of badass. Daniel had my life in his hands, and I know that sounded dramatic, but this project was everything I wanted, and getting the nod meant that college, plus years helping at the nursery, would pay off with the best thing that could happen to me.

I could’ve taken the easy way out—worked for my parents, taken over the nursery when they retired—but I wanted something different, and I was willing to fight for it.

“Hi, Toby, you want to come in now?” Luke asked from the doorway.

I stood so fast I got a head rush and nearly dropped all the files. Three months I’d waited for this meeting, and now I was there, the last thing I wanted to do was come off as someone who wasn’t prepared.

“Thank you.” I kept in mind my dad’s warning that I tended to run my mouth at the drop of a hat, and aimed for polite and concise, following Luke in and shaking everyone’s hands. Then I took the seat opposite them, and my chest tightened as they all stared at me. Jason was smiling, Luke seemed encouraging, and Daniel thoughtful. They’ll laugh me out of here. I have no money for this, it’s just a—stop it!

“So, we have your proposal letter.” Daniel indicated a file in front of him and I nodded, then pulled myself together and handed over the three information packs.

Jason immediately opened it and nodded as he glanced at the summary. That was a good thing. Nodding meant he liked what he saw. Or is he just being polite?” Could you tell us a bit more about your proposal?”

I cleared my throat. “My name is Toby Geffner, and my parents run the Geffner Nursery out on Ridge Road, you already all know that, but I want you to understand that I’ve worked around gardens since I was old enough to hold a shovel.” They all blinked at me. “I started with a very small shovel.” I added the joke to lighten the tension, and Luke and Jason both smiled. Daniel remained stoic, but the Veteran Center was his baby, and it was him I needed to convince.

“My brother has autism. He’s an exceptional person, and growing up he found a sense of great peace in the garden. Maybe it’s the family genes or his need for routine and freedom, but he’s happiest when he’s pottering around the yard.”

“I remember seeing him any time I went to the nursery,” Luke encouraged me, and I genuinely felt as if I had someone in my corner.

“You would have. It became vital for him to connect to nature, and to learn that he had a choice between active and passive involvement, depending on his moods or medical demands. So, when it came to college, it was a slam dunk that I study at Walters State and get my degree in horticulture to work for the family business. But I took extra courses in therapy and specialized in supporting clinical care workers. They routinely offered horticulture-based therapy to anyone with anxiety or depression, young adults with special needs, and—even more interesting to me—veterans, as a potential part of a care plan on admission. When I came home, I just thought, why not do that here at the Center?”

I waited for a response, or at least for questions that I could answer to guide me to what they wanted to hear next. Instead, Daniel leaned forward in his chair and tapped the file I’d handed to him.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes?” I repeated.

“I researched after receiving your letter. I think it would be of benefit to the veterans we have here. You have the two years’ initial funding you asked for. We need a formal plan in place, and you’ll be working with me on that. So, when can you start?”

I know my mouth must have fallen open, and the words to say anything at all escaped me. He’d just said “yes?” I hadn’t expected that at all, and I had a hundred other arguments in line that I clearly didn’t need to use.

“Today, tomorrow, when do you want me to start?”

“How about you stay for lunch now? Check out the land. Then start on Monday. Come in with plans and concepts and we’ll dive into it.”

By the time I left the office, I’d received carte blanche to begin creating a garden, with half an acre of land butting up against the park and the assurance of Daniel’s complete support. I think I was in shock as I left the building and headed down to the tree at the bottom of the hill, where the land I was now responsible for started. I could already envision pathways and herbs, vegetables and flowers, and the peace that I could create. I turned to face the tree and stared back at the Center, which had grown in the past six years.

And that was when I spotted him.

He was staring right at me. Dark hair, brown eyes, and a scar that ran from his forehead down the left-hand side of his face. His hands were in fists in his lap, and there was tension in every line of him. A black Labrador sat across his feet.

“Hi,” I said.

His stare didn’t falter, and I could see his scars, some of them running down and under his thin jacket.

“I’m Toby, and I’m here to work with you,” I blurted out and took a step closer, but I wish I hadn’t moved. He flinched, then stood shakily, whistled for the dog, and pulled himself tall an inch at a time. Then, shoulders back as much as he could, he stumbled up to the main building.

Despite all my training and the fancy words I’d used in my proposal about how I knew what I was doing, I’d failed my first test.

*****

Harrison
If I could’ve walked any faster, I would’ve. Barney slowed down to stay with me and kept his nose forward, determination in every paw-step. He wouldn’t leave my side; he would go as fast or slow as I needed.

He was my everything, and one battered human with their assistance dog barreled into the reception area with a clatter of paws and limping steps. If there was a god and he was kind, then the reception would be empty. But any god had deserted me a long time ago because whomever was up there in charge of my life had decided that there would be three men right behind the door. One of them I knew was the man in charge, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember his damn name. Something beginning with a D. Dan… Daniel.

I think.

I didn’t look at them, let alone talk to them, and even though I sensed Daniel wanted to ask me if I was okay, I ignored him and was quickly halfway up the stairs, my hand on Barney’s collar, hoping like hell for my leg not to buckle. He didn’t call up after me. No one shouted in this place, because it was an oasis of peace and a secure shelter for all those damaged vets who’d been chewed up and spit out by war.

When my recollection of why I was here hit me front and center, I counted myself as one of the lucky ones to find a place to hide. I wasn’t a danger to anyone else, but I was a danger to myself. The night terrors, the panic attacks, the stupid fucking inability to be a goddamned man—that was why I was here. The hospital staff healed my body to the best of their ability, the shrinks attempted to fix my head, but I didn’t have peace, and Barney was the only thing I cared about.

Caring got you hurt, and I was too raw to extend any affection or understanding to anyone but Barney.

I slumped onto my bed, then flopped backward, hands extended to each edge, Barney jumping up and curling himself right into my side. My heart raced, my head hurt, but once I matched my breathing to Barney’s and allowed his presence to soothe me, I began to calm.

“Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me,” I whispered into the room. “Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me.” The names of the fallen were a reminder of what I’d seen and lost, and were a way to connect with the world around me. Other people grieved Danno’s and Brat’s loss—they’d only been kids, both of them with big families. Diaz had a girlfriend who blamed me for her beloved dying on my watch. Spook had been married no more than a month and had left a pregnant wife behind.

I had my mom, but I’d pushed her away when I was in the hospital. I know that because it’s written in my book.

Why didn’t the explosion take me?

The ceiling fan above me was slow on the warm, fall day, and I focused on the rotations until they blurred. Only then did I close my eyes and reason out what had happened.

Someone had said hello to me—a man.

I didn’t even remember who he was, I couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup because my head was too full of noise, and my eyesight was for shit, but I’d stared at him. And then I’d run.

Or stumbled.

I was hot with embarrassment and shame, and tears forced themselves out and down my cheeks. I turned my face into Barney’s fur and cried until I was a snotty mess.

I’m a fucking marine, what the hell am I doing? What is happening to me?

There was a knock. “Food’s up, Harrison,” Daniel called, and I acknowledged him with my best and clearest okay that didn’t give away that I’d lost my shit.

It was a good thirty minutes before I made my way down the stairs, Barney a step or two behind so I could use him to steady myself. When we reached the bottom, I took a few moments to settle and swallowed the rising fear of what I’d have to face—sincere questions about my health, mental or otherwise—and lots of staring.

What I didn’t expect was a stranger in the vast room where the dining table sat. No one had said we had a new guest, but he didn’t seem military. His hair was long and brushed his collar, and he had this air of complete innocence. Like knew like, and this man hadn’t seen action. He was deep in conversation with a woman.

She had short blonde hair and a world of pain in her expression that I recognized at twenty paces. I probably knew her name, only I didn’t recall it then.

The stranger talking to her also seemed familiar, and I blinked to make sense of what I saw.

“Hey,” I said loud enough so that everyone could stare at me, and I’d get the concerned glances out of the way. The man with the familiar face leaned around the woman and immediately flushed scarlet. I could see the color rise in his cheeks, and he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze.

“Hi Harrison, I’m Lissy,” the woman said, and her name came back to me in a flash. Lissy. Army.

The man next to her extended a hand to me, and after a short delay, I shook firmly, then nodded.

“I’m Toby,” he said.

I stared into bright blue eyes. His hair was dark and threaded with red, and he had freckles across his nose. He was cute and sexy all rolled into one, and when his glance slipped to the left of my face, I had this irrational stab of need for him to check me out and not my scars.

“Corp—Harrison Miller.” I needed to stop using my freaking rank when I was a civilian now. Once a marine, always a marine meant little when I was so destroyed.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Toby released my hand. He was staring at his feet, and I could have said I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I’d gotten used to hiding my issues.

He carried on talking as if I needed to know what he wanted to say.

“When I saw you under the tree and talked to you, I thought…” The rest was lost in the noise. No wonder he was recognizable if he was the man who spoke to me.

I remember a man talking to me. I was scared.

“Okay,” I said abruptly, not caring if I was interrupting him, just desperate to leave. I grabbed a sandwich and some chips, and then headed back to my room.

I was safe there from men with pretty eyes, a sexy smile, and an adorable splash of freckles.

Safe with Barney.



Ellery Mountain—a series of books set in the town of Ellery in the Smoky Mountains focusing on heroes as they navigate the barren landscape of being gay in a small town. Read stories of men like Finn the cop, Daniel the ex-marine, Kieran the carpenter, Marines, SEALs, teachers, soldiers, and a town that embraces them with love.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

RJ Scott
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.


EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk



The Gardener and the Marine #9



Friday, November 5, 2021

πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜: The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick



Summary:

The Silver Linings Playbook is the riotous and poignant story of how one man regains his memory and comes to terms with the magnitude of his wife’s betrayal.

During the years he spends in a neural health facility, Pat Peoples formulates a theory about silver linings: he believes his life is a movie produced by God, his mission is to become physically fit and emotionally supportive, and his happy ending will be the return of his estranged wife, Nikki. When Pat goes to live with his parents, everything seems changed: no one will talk to him about Nikki; his old friends are saddled with families; the Philadelphia Eagles keep losing, making his father moody; and his new therapist seems to be recommending adultery as a form of therapy.

When Pat meets the tragically widowed and clinically depressed Tiffany, she offers to act as a liaison between him and his wife, if only he will give up watching football, agree to perform in this year’s Dance Away Depression competition, and promise not to tell anyone about their “contract.” All the while, Pat keeps searching for his silver lining.

In this brilliantly written debut novel, Matthew Quick takes us inside Pat’s mind, deftly showing us the world from his distorted yet endearing perspective. The result is a touching and funny story that helps us look at both depression and love in a wonderfully refreshing way.



Chapter One
An Infinite Amount of Days Until My Inevitable Reunion with Nikki
I don’t have to look up to know Mom is making another surprise visit. Her toenails are always pink during the summer months, and I recognize the flower design imprinted on her leather sandals; it’s what Mom purchased the last time she signed me out of the bad place and took me to the mall.

Once again, Mother has found me in my bathrobe, exercising unattended in the courtyard, and I smile because I know she will yell at Dr. Timbers, asking him why I need to be locked up if I’m only going to be left alone all day.

“Just how many push-ups are you going to do, Pat?” Mom says when I start a second set of one hundred without speaking to her.

“Nikki—likes—a—man—with—a—developed—upper—body,” I say, spitting out one word per push-up, tasting the salty sweat lines that are running into my mouth.

The August haze is thick, perfect for burning fat.

Mom just watches for a minute or so, and then she shocks me. Her voice sort of quivers as she says, “Do you want to come home with me today?”

I stop doing push-ups, turn my face up toward Mother’s, squint through the white noontime sun—and I can immediately tell she is serious, because she looks worried, as if she is making a mistake, and that’s how Mom looks when she means something she has said and isn’t just talking like she always does for hours on end whenever she’s not upset or afraid.

“As long as you promise not to go looking for Nikki again,” she adds, “you can finally come home and live with me and your father until we find you a job and get you set up in an apartment.”

I resume my push-up routine, keeping my eyes riveted to the shiny black ant scaling a blade of grass directly below my nose, but my peripheral vision catches the sweat beads leaping from my face to the ground below.

“Pat, just say you’ll come home with me, and I’ll cook for you and you can visit with your old friends and start to get on with your life finally. Please. I need you to want this. If only for me, Pat. Please.”

Double-time push-ups, my pecs ripping, growing—pain, heat, sweat, change.

I don’t want to stay in the bad place, where no one believes in silver linings or love or happy endings, and where everyone tells me Nikki will not like my new body, nor will she even want to see me when apart time is over. But I am also afraid the people from my old life will not be as enthusiastic as I am now trying to be.

Even still, I need to get away from the depressing doctors and the ugly nurses—with their endless pills in paper cups—if I am ever going to get my thoughts straight, and since Mom will be much easier to trick than medical professionals, I jump up, find my feet, and say, “I’ll come live with you just until apart time is over.”

While Mom is signing legal papers, I take one last shower in my room and then fill my duffel bag with clothes and my framed picture of Nikki. I say goodbye to my roommate, Jackie, who just stares at me from his bed like he always does, drool running down off his chin like clear honey. Poor Jackie, with his random tufts of hair, oddly shaped head, and flabby body. What woman would ever love him?

He blinks at me. I take this for goodbye and good luck, so I blink back with both eyes—meaning double good luck to you, Jackie, which I figure he understands, since he grunts and bangs his shoulder against his ear like he does whenever he gets what you are trying to tell him.

My other friends are in music relaxation class, which I do not attend, because smooth jazz makes me angry sometimes. Thinking maybe I should say goodbye to the men who had my back while I was locked up, I look into the music-room window and see my boys sitting Indian style on purple yoga mats, their elbows resting on their knees, their palms pressed together in front of their faces, and their eyes closed. Luckily, the glass of the window blocks the smooth jazz from entering my ears. My friends look really relaxed—at peace—so I decide not to interrupt their session. I hate goodbyes.

In his white coat, Dr. Timbers is waiting for me when I meet my mother in the lobby, where three palm trees lurk among the couches and lounge chairs, as if the bad place were in Orlando and not Baltimore. “Enjoy your life,” he says to me—wearing that sober look of his—and shakes my hand.

“Just as soon as apart time ends,” I say, and his face falls as if I said I was going to kill his wife, Natalie, and their three blondhaired daughters—Kristen, Jenny, and Becky—because that’s just how much he does not believe in silver linings, making it his business to preach apathy and negativity and pessimism unceasingly.

But I make sure he understands that he has failed to infect me with his depressing life philosophies—and that I will be looking forward to the end of apart time. I say, “Picture me rollin’” to Dr. Timbers, which is exactly what Danny—my only black friend in the bad place—told me he was going to say to Dr. Timbers when Danny got out. I sort of feel bad about stealing Danny’s exit line, but it works; I know because Dr. Timbers squints as if I had punched him in the gut.

As my mother drives me out of Maryland and through Delaware, past all those fast-food places and strip malls, she explains that Dr. Timbers did not want to let me out of the bad place, but with the help of a few lawyers and her girlfriend’s therapist—the man who will be my new therapist—she waged a legal battle and managed to convince some judge that she could care for me at home, so I thank her.

On the Delaware Memorial Bridge, she looks over at me and asks if I want to get better, saying, “You do want to get better, Pat. Right?”

I nod. I say, “I do.”

And then we are back in New Jersey, flying up 295.

As we drive down Haddon Avenue into the heart of Collingswood—my hometown—I see that the main drag looks different. So many new boutique stores, new expensive-looking restaurants, and well-dressed strangers walking the sidewalks that I wonder if this is really my hometown at all. I start to feel anxious, breathing heavily like I sometimes do.

Mom asks me what’s wrong, and when I tell her, she again promises that my new therapist, Dr. Patel, will have me feeling normal in no time.

When we arrive home, I immediately go down into the basement, and it’s like Christmas. I find the weight bench my mother had promised me so many times, along with the rack of weights, the stationary bike, dumbbells, and the Stomach Master 6000, which I had seen on late-night television and coveted for however long I was in the bad place.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I tell Mom, and give her a huge hug, picking her up off the ground and spinning her around once.

When I put her down, she smiles and says, “Welcome home, Pat.”

Eagerly I go to work, alternating between sets of bench presses, curls, machine sit-ups on the Stomach Master 6000, leg lifts, squats, hours on the bike, hydration sessions (I try to drink four gallons of water every day, doing endless shots of H2O from a shot glass for intensive hydration), and then there is my writing, which is mostly daily memoirs like this one, so that Nikki will be able to read about my life and know exactly what I’ve been up to since apart time began. (My memory started to slip in the bad place because of the drugs, so I began writing down everything that happens to me, keeping track of what I will need to tell Nikki when apart time concludes, to catch her up on my life. But the doctors in the bad place confiscated everything I wrote before I came home, so I had to start over.)

When I finally come out of the basement, I notice that all the pictures of Nikki and me have been removed from the walls and the mantel over the fireplace.

I ask my mother where these pictures went. She tells me our house was burglarized a few weeks before I came home and the pictures were stolen. I ask why a burglar would want pictures of Nikki and me, and my mother says she puts all of her pictures in very expensive frames. “Why didn’t the burglar steal the rest of the family pictures?” I ask. Mom says the burglar stole all the expensive frames, but she had the negatives for the family portraits and had them replaced. “Why didn’t you replace the pictures of Nikki and me?” I ask. Mom says she did not have the negatives for the pictures of Nikki and me, especially because Nikki’s parents had paid for the wedding pictures and had only given my mother copies of the photos she liked. Nikki had given Mom the other non-wedding pictures of us, and well, we aren’t in touch with Nikki or her family right now because it’s apart time.

I tell my mother that if that burglar comes back, I’ll break his kneecaps and beat him within an inch of his life, and she says, “I believe you would.”

My father and I do not talk even once during the first week I am home, which is not all that surprising, as he is always working—he’s the district manager for all the Big Foods in South Jersey. When Dad’s not at work, he’s in his study, reading historical fiction with the door shut, mostly novels about the Civil War. Mom says he needs time to get used to my living at home again, which I am happy to give him, especially since I am sort of afraid to talk with Dad anyway. I remember him yelling at me the only time he ever visited me in the bad place, and he said some pretty awful things about Nikki and silver linings in general. I see Dad in the hallways of our house, of course, but he doesn’t look at me when we pass.

Nikki likes to read, and since she always wanted me to read literary books, I start, mainly so I will be able to participate in the dinner conversations I had remained silent through in the past—those conversations with Nikki’s literary friends, all English teachers who think I’m an illiterate buffoon, which is actually a name Nikki’s friend calls me whenever I tease him about being such a tiny man. “At least I’m not an illiterate buffoon,” Phillip says to me, and Nikki laughs so hard.

My mom has a library card, and she checks out books for me now that I am home and allowed to read whatever I want without clearing the material with Dr. Timbers, who, incidentally, is a fascist when it comes to book banning. I start with The Great Gatsby, which I finish in just three nights.

The best part is the introductory essay, which states that the novel is mostly about time and how you can never buy it back, which is exactly how I feel regarding my body and exercise—but then again, I also feel as if I have an infinite amount of days until my inevitable reunion with Nikki.

When I read the actual story—how Gatsby loves Daisy so much but can’t ever be with her no matter how hard he tries—I feel like ripping the book in half and calling up Fitzgerald and telling him his book is all wrong, even though I know Fitzgerald is probably deceased. Especially when Gatsby is shot dead in his swimming pool the first time he goes for a swim all summer, Daisy doesn’t even go to his funeral, Nick and Jordan part ways, and Daisy ends up sticking with racist Tom, whose need for sex basically murders an innocent woman, you can tell Fitzgerald never took the time to look up at clouds during sunset, because there’s no silver lining at the end of that book, let me tell you.

I do see why Nikki likes the novel, as it’s written so well. But her liking it makes me worry now that Nikki doesn’t really believe in silver linings, because she says The Great Gatsby is the greatest novel ever written by an American, and yet it ends so sadly. One thing’s for sure, Nikki is going to be very proud of me when I tell her I finally read her favorite book.

Here’s another surprise: I’m going to read all the novels on her American literature class syllabus, just to make her proud, to let her know that I am really interested in what she loves and I am making a real effort to salvage our marriage, especially since I will now be able to converse with her swanky literary friends, saying things like, “I’m thirty. I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor,” which Nick says toward the end of Fitzgerald’s famous novel, but the line works for me too, because I am also thirty, so when I say it, I will sound really smart. We will probably be chatting over dinner, and the reference will make Nikki smile and laugh because she will be so surprised that I have actually read The Great Gatsby. That’s part of my plan, anyway, to deliver that line real suave, when she least expects me to “drop knowledge”—to use another one of my black friend Danny’s lines.

God, I can’t wait.


After a stint in a mental institution, former teacher Pat Solitano moves back in with his parents and tries to reconcile with his ex-wife. Things get more challenging when Pat meets Tiffany, a mysterious girl with problems of her own.

Release Date: November 16, 2012
Release Time: 122 minutes

Director: David O. Russell

Cast:
Bradley Cooper as Patrizio 'Pat' Solitano Jr.
Jennifer Lawrence as Tiffany Maxwell
Robert De Niro as Patrizio 'Pat' Solitano Sr.
Jacki Weaver as Dolores Solitano
Anupam Kher as Cliff Patel
Chris Tucker as Danny McDaniels
Julia Stiles as Veronica Maxwell
Shea Whigham as Jake Solitano
John Ortiz as Ronnie
Brea Bee as Nikki Solitano
Cheryl Williams as Tiffany and Veronica's mom
Patrick McDade as Tiffany and Veronica's dad
Dash Mihok as Officer Keogh
Matthew Russell as Ricky D'Angelo
Paul Herman as Randy
Patsy Meck as Nancy
Phillip Chorba as Tiffany Maxwell's ex-boyfriend Jordie

Awards:
85th Academy Awards
Best Picture - Bruce Cohen, Donna Gigliotti and Jonathan Gordon - Nominated
Best Director - David O. Russell - Nominated
Best Actor - Bradley Cooper - Nominated
Best Actress - Jennifer Lawrence - Won
Best Supporting Actor - Robert De Niro - Nominated
Best Supporting Actress - Jacki Weaver - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay - David O. Russell - Nominated
Best Film Editing - Jay Cassidy and Crispin Struthers - Nominated

66th BAFTAs
Best Actor - Bradley Cooper - Nominated
Best Actress - Jennifer Lawrence - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay - David O. Russell - Won

70th Golden Globes
Best Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy - Silver Linings Playbook - Nominated
Best Actor – Motion Picture Musical or Comedy - Bradley Cooper - Nominated
Best Actress – Motion Picture Musical or Comedy - Jennifer Lawrence - Won





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Author Bio:
Matthew Quick is the New York Times bestselling author of THE SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK, which was made into an Oscar-winning film; THE GOOD LUCK OF RIGHT NOW; LOVE MAY FAIL; THE REASON YOU’RE ALIVE; and four young adult novels: SORTA LIKE A ROCK STAR; BOY21; FORGIVE ME, LEONARD PEACOCK; and EVERY EXQUISITE THING. His work has been translated into more than thirty languages, received a PEN/Hemingway Award Honorable Mention, was an LA Times Book Prize finalist, a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice, a #1 bestseller in Brazil, a Deutscher Jugendliteratur Preis 2016 (German Youth Literature Prize) nominee, and selected by Nancy Pearl as one of Summer’s Best Books for NPR. The Hollywood Reporter has named him one of Hollywood’s 25 Most Powerful Authors. All of his books have been optioned for film. Matthew lives with his wife, the novelist Alicia Bessette, on North Carolina's Outer Banks.


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