They say (I read in Woman’s Day) that any literature mirrors what is going on in society at the time in which it was written. True to some degree, but it is easy to get fiction and reality confused. In written word, if a narrator gets caught in a lie one time by the reader, that person is considered unreliable from that point forward. In reality, life is a series of transgressions, apologies (spoken or sensed), and homecomings. Any real hope for change in life seems to hinge on your ability to forgive (others or yourself, whatever the case may be). But, if we are repeating the same patterns as life goes on, are we really changing?
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