A Tender, Thoughtful Novel: This Book Made Me Think of You by Libby Page
I cried by chapter two. I’m not sure that has ever happened before. I often cry when I read, but this must be a record.
I picked up This Book Made Me Think of You by Libby Page because someone on Substack mentioned it, and I loved the cover. Sometimes that is reason enough. I did not regret it.
It surprised me how quickly the book went straight to the heart of grief. And not in a single, tidy way. It doesn’t say, “This is grief.” It says, “Grief is many things.”
Having lost my dad last year, that rang painfully true.
What I admired most is that the novel doesn’t try to define grief for its characters. It lets it be personal, contradictory, sometimes funny, sometimes unbearable. It allows room for compassion rather than instruction.
Reading it as both a reader and a writer, there was a lot to pay attention to.
Writing Emotion Without Simplifying It
This is not a book that offers a thesis on grief.
Instead, it shows how grief shifts from moment to moment. It can be anger. It can be tenderness. It can be laughter. It can be exhaustion. It can coexist with love, irritation, and memory. And once in a while, you live in the moment and forget about it.
That felt honest to me. We are often uncomfortable with death and grieving in our culture. We are unsure what to say. So we fall silent, or we say too much.
The novel refuses that simplification. Books like this make those conversations feel a little less frightening. That, to me, is the power of books.
Writer takeaway:
If you are writing about grief or any emotionally charged topic, resist the urge to define it too neatly. Let it contradict itself. Let it breathe.
Balancing Tears and Humor
I cried. A lot.
But I also laughed out loud.
That balance is not accidental. Humor here does not undercut the sadness; it deepens it. It makes the characters feel real, and the grief feel lived rather than staged.
As a writer, this is hard to do well. Too much humor and the weight disappears. Too little, and the story becomes heavy.
This book walks that line with care.
Writer takeaway:
Emotional contrast makes both sides stronger. Allow light into dark stories. It does not weaken them.
Weaving Past and Present
The structure moves between past and present in a way that feels elegant rather than mechanical.
Memory is not used as a gimmick. It becomes part of how the protagonist processes loss. The shifts in time mirror how grief works in real life. We are rarely fully in the present when we are grieving.
This weaving felt intentional rather than decorative.
Writer takeaway:
If your story deals with memory or grief, consider whether your timeline should feel linear. Emotional experiences rarely are.
Don’t choose your structure, such as a chronological narrative, by habit. Choose it because it supports what your story is actually about.
Books About Books
There is a strand in this novel about twelve books given to help someone live their best life.
I loved this.
There is something irresistible about stories that include other stories. I’m always drawn to books about books. Add a pet, and I am sold completely.
But beyond personal taste, this element works because it deepens character. The chosen books are not random. They reveal care, thoughtfulness, and understanding.
It made me think about creating something similar for someone I love.
Writer takeaway:
Objects can carry emotional weight. A thoughtfully chosen gift can reveal love more powerfully than dialogue. And when that object continues to influence the plot, it stops being a detail and becomes part of the story’s structure.
On Endings and Emotional Truth
There was one thing that didn’t quite sit right with me: the ending.
The book built such emotional complexity that the ending felt too neat by comparison. I cried enough throughout the book that it never felt like a feel-good novel. Because so much had been allowed to remain messy and complicated, I expected an ending with the same weight. I would have preferred more uncertainty or even a harsher consequence, something that matched the honesty of the earlier chapters.
That said, many readers may find comfort in that choice. And offering comfort is a valid narrative decision.
Writer takeaway:
Endings are choices. You can offer comfort. You can provide closure. Or you can leave space for uncertainty. The key is that the emotional tone of the ending matches the truth your story has built.
So, Would I Recommend It?
Yes. Even though it wrecked me a little.
This Book Made Me Think of You is tender, funny, and deeply compassionate. It opens up conversations about grief that we often avoid, without preaching or simplifying.
If you’re navigating loss, you may feel seen here. And if you’re a writer, there’s much to learn from the way it handles emotionally charged material with care.
It made me cry.
It made me laugh.
And it made me think about the people I love.
That is not a small thing for a book to do.