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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Clare Mackintosh
A question I’m always asked at events is ‘which of your books is your favourite?’ I find it really hard to answer, because it changes all the time. Generally, I find I’m most attached to I LET YOU GO (my debut) and whichever book I finished last, which still feels shiny, new and exciting. It feels fitting, then, that just as I release HOSTAGE – my latest thriller, set on a non-stop flight from. London to Sydney – I revisit I LET YOU GO. It will always hold a special place in my heart because it’s the book that changed my life. It took me from police-officer-on-career-break to full-time author, a job I feel very privileged to still be doing, several books later. It also contains one of the best twists I’ve written (although HOSTAGE would argue with that) and is set in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56628286-hostage
Sandra Rees and 173 other people liked this
They exchanged half-smiles in mutual acknowledgement of the adrenalin rush it always felt so wrong to enjoy when something so horrific had happened.
I remember walking into the office when I was a new detective, and hearing there had been a murder overnight. ‘Brilliant!’ I said, then flushed instantly when I heard myself. Of course I didn’t mean: ‘How brilliant that someone’s been murdered’. I was buzzing because this was what we were all there for, what we’d been trained for. It’s a peculiar kind of excitement to feel, but perfectly understandable, don’t you think?
Grissel and 42 other people liked this
Detective Sergeant Jake Owen had been called Stumpy for so much of his career that it was always a surprise to hear his full name read out in court.
It made me laugh so much to see that readers had highlighted this passage! So many police officers have nicknames, and I genuinely worked with some cops for years without ever knowing their proper names. Are there any other jobs like that?
Debbie Kemp and 20 other people liked this
Is it possible to simply walk away from one life and start another? I have to try: it is my only chance of getting through this in one piece.
I felt very in tune with Jenna when I wrote I Let You Go, partly because we had both lost children, and partly because we had both reinvented ourselves. I am very committed to the idea of fresh starts, perhaps because, when I was a police officer, I met so many people who deserved or needed one. It’s so easy to find ourselves following what seems like a predetermined path, but with a bit of ingenuity – and the right support – we can break away and start over.
Tyson and 43 other people liked this
And the photos of the son I loved with an intensity that seemed impossible. Precious photographs. So few for someone so loved. Such a small impact on the world, yet the very centre of my own.
I have so few photos of my son, who died aged five weeks, that I could describe every single one to you. Only one exists of me holding him. There would be all the time in the world to take photos, right? How I wish we’d taken more.
Rhonda and 40 other people liked this
It is the last piece connecting me to my past, and almost immediately I feel freer.
Physical acts can have huge psychological benefits. Ever ceremonially burn an ex’s love letters? Destroy journal entries from a difficult period in your life? I have. I’m not advocating smashing the place up, but a small symbolic gesture can release you from unseen ties. Let me know if you try it!
Amya Leigh and 17 other people liked this
I wonder briefly if I have become immune to physical pain: if the human body is not designed to handle both physical and emotional hurt.
After my son died, I took a pan out of the oven without a cloth. I registered, on some level, that it was burning me, but I scarcely felt it. I put the pan down and stared at my hand, already blistering. I have no scientific basis for this, but I felt as though my pain receptors were already so hard at work, this latest development barely registered.
bibliodufi and 30 other people liked this
The grief I feel is so physical it seems impossible that I am still living; that my heart continues to beat when it has been wrenched apart. I want to fix an image of him in my head, but all I can see when I close my eyes is his body, still and lifeless in my arms. I let him go, and I will never forgive myself for that.
I know there are sections in I LET YOU GO – this one included - that are hard to read. I know that because they were hard to write; because I cried into my keyboard for Jenna, because so much of Jenna was me. I’m sorry if they were triggering for you. We are, as a society, very bad at talking about grief, and I believe very strongly that we need to change that, to protect our mental health and make it easier for sufferers to reach out.
Julie and 39 other people liked this
Gradually, without my noticing, my grief has changed shape; from a raw, jagged pain, that won’t be silenced, to a dull, rounded ache I’m able to lock away at the back of my mind. If it is left there, quiet and undisturbed, I find I’m able to pretend that everything is quite all right. That I never had another life.
If you’ve lost someone, you’ll know a lot of pretending goes on. ‘I’m okay’ must be the biggest lie ever told, don’t you think? We pretend to other people, and to ourselves, as self-preservation, because it’s just too hard to deal with how we’re really feeling. That’s my own experience, anyway, and it became Jenna’s.
Janice Robertson and 30 other people liked this
I shrugged, as if it were nothing, although I had noted it in my diary against the day we met, as I always do.
This is the most awful manipulation, isn’t it? Jotting down details so he can take credit for them at a later date, fooling poor Jenna into thinking he’s attentive. When I wrote Ian’s chapters, I thought of all the domestic abusers I met when I was a police officer. Some were pure and simple bullies, quick to fists when things didn’t go their way, but the worst were the manipulators. Charming and thoughtful, so willing to ‘help with enquiries’ it cast doubt on the whole situation. Dangerous, dangerous men.
Tara Brown and 20 other people liked this
I denied anything was wrong: first because I was too blinded by love to see the cracks in my relationship, and later because I was too ashamed to admit that I had stayed for so long with a man who hurt me so much.
Things are getting better, I think. There is more support available for victims of domestic crimes and more legal protection for those subjected to coercive control. But domestic abuse is still endemic, and the very nature of it makes it hard for victims to seek help. I was impressed recently by a brilliant training scheme offered by the police, teaching hairdressers how to spot the signs of abuse. We can all play a part in reducing domestic abuse by recognising that it is almost certainly happening to someone we know, and being ready to offer support.
Ambar Marcelo and 24 other people liked this
The next wave breaks over the marks in the sand, and they are gone. A gull gives a final sweep of the bay as the tide comes in, and the sun slips beneath the horizon. And then it is dark.
You would not believe how many messages I receive about this ending! Lots of you wonder if Ian is still alive; some of you even read the last line as something even more sinister, that the darkness marks the end of Jenna’s life. It has been the subject of much debate online and in book clubs, yet I never intended it to be ambiguous. Jenna finds happiness with Patrick, but life isn’t that straightforward, and the path to happy endings is a rocky one. Victims of domestic abuse and trauma live with the after effects for a long time. They look over their shoulders; flinch at a movement not intended to harm. Do I believe there were words written in the sand in that final scene? No. But I absolutely believe Jenna saw them.
Sally and 20 other people liked this
Author’s note
All my books feature very ordinary women who are faced with extraordinary situations. At the start of I LET YOU GO, Jenna is disempowered and vulnerable. She considers herself as weak, unable to save herself. The situation is very different at the end of the book. There’s a rather frivolous saying I like (particularly apposite for this tea-loving British writer) which says: a woman is like a tea bag. You only see how strong she is, when you put her in hot water. Putting women in hot water is pretty much the essence of my books, and my latest ‘hot water’ can be found on a plane. HOSTAGE is a locked room thriller, set on the first ever non-stop flight from London to Sydney. It features Mina, a mum and flight attendant faced with a terrible choice. Save the plane, or save her child? What would you do?
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56628286-hostage
Angie Dokos and 24 other people liked this
I never guess the story no matter how hard i try!!!!! You have an amazing mind and imagination, never change or give up writing xx