I am The Messenger Book Review

I have never written a review of my favorite book. Strange, right? How could I not write about a book that I’ve read over four times? A book that I read the first week that I turned nineteen— a small note, the main character is nineteen. Now that I remember this detail, it was one of the strangest times in my life. But that’s beside the reason for this review. What is so great about this book?

The main character is one of the most relatable that I’ve encountered. Ed Kennedy is a straightforward, honest, mess of a person. He wasn’t loved by his mother but by his father, who was dead. He has a dog named the Doorman. But don’t worry, he will make sure you understand why he named him that. Ed, a taxi driver, spends time with his three friends, gets yelled at by his mom, and then goes home to spend time with the Doorman. Oh, did I forget to mention that he stops a bank robbery at the beginning of the book? That’s probably important. This is the event that changes Ed’s life but not because of what he does. It’s who he is.

A playing card arrives in his mailbox the day after the robbery. It has three addresses written on it: the first is for a domestic and sexual abuse case, the second is an older widow who misses her husband and has dementia, and the third is a runner girl who always tries to win her races and falls short. Ed must deliver messages to these people, but he has no idea what the messages need to be or how to deliver them. He must determine this. And once the messages have been received, another card arrives at his door with people waiting for Ed to show them parts of their lives or bring life or prove connections between people. It really depends.

The whole book goes on like this in waves of sadness and joy, Ed helping people and then receiving a message that takes him a few days to swallow (and sometimes the reader in my case). A perfect example of the rhythm of life. He grows in ways that he couldn't have imagined near the beginning of his story; a sad nineteen-year-old with nothing to his name but a crappy apartment and a foul-smelling old dog. It's a familiar feeling for most people as young adults who have made little impact on the world at large, but we can make a huge impact on those around us.

Rereading this book for the fourth time was a strange experience. For one, I was rushing to finish it because I was in a book slump and needed to finish one before moving into my dorm. But I've read it twice when I was nineteen. Once at the beginning and once near the end. The message was lost the first time I read it last year. I was in one of the hardest places trying to decide if I wanted to throw caution to the wind and move into a covid infested campus, versus this year, a time of hope and nervousness that I may have a more "typical" college experience. And I use that word extremely likely. I'm getting away from the main point.

This book will always be a favorite of mine. Nothing has surpassed it thus far, and I believe it will be a long time until another book does. It's just one of those things that I can read again and again and again without losing sight of its message. Each person, each life, each soul is a message for people to hear. They are all stories to be told, no matter their lifestyle, what's happened to them, their identity, or their experiences. Humans are carriers of stories. And if you listen close enough, you just might hear some of them begin to speak to you.