It’s really hard to say that I’ve come across a book that has made me truly sad. My definition of “sad book” in this sense would be something that either left me feeling absolutely depressed at the end or one that had such a sad plot that I couldn’t bear to read it any longer. Then there’s the Nicholas Sparks form of sad which is a more beautiful tear-jerker than anything. I mean OF COURSE I’m going to cry at the end of The Notebook. Are you kidding me? I’m also going to cry during A Walk to Remember and Nights in Rodanthe. And I’m sure there are books out there that would leave me feeling a little more empty inside. But I just haven’t gotten to them yet. But there was a book I read in high school that I would classify as being one of the sadder books I have read. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt was said book. Being of Irish descent, this book really hit me and made me consider what my ancestors may have gone through. I mean just the first chapter of this book is deeply sad. The mother goes through such loss and heartbreak and is forced to deal with an alcoholic husband on top of it all. The children then must suffer through years and years of death, abuse, loneliness, and the trials and tribulations of immigrating to a new country. Some of the more disturbing scenes that deal with the abuse of children really hit me hard as well and left me feeling remorse for the characters. You know you’re reading a sad, GOOD, but sad book when you start feeling something for the characters. I think what saddened me the most was the fact that these children were never able to truly live a free and adolescent life. They were always either running or constantly working for their freedom and it really made me feel grateful for the upbringing I had. A pretty humbling book I must say.