I occasionally get choked up when reading, but rarely shed actual tears.
The one exception that comes to mind was 1984, which I read back in my senior year of high school. After reading the last line, I put the book down and sobbed.
When I was younger all the standard books made me cry: Bridge to Terabithia(sp?), Where the Red Fern Grows, etc. But only one still gets me.
The Giving Tree.
That damn book makes me weep every time I pick it up. I love it.
“And the tree was happy.”
SOB
James Herriot makes me cry every time I read his story about the mean businessman who no one liked, and the little cat he had that people kept putting rubber bands around. At the end, after the cat reached his bitter end, the businessman caressed the cat with “one sausage-like finger” and said, “He was my friend!” and sobbed in front of Harriot. Then the man yelled at Harriot, saying that now Harriot knew he was soft.
I still cry buckets, thinking about the man that no one liked and the cat who was his friend. I’m tearing up now.
Flowers for Algernon nearly killed me. As it was, I couldn’t finish it, and I still haven’t. When he started to go into his decline, I put the book away and couldn’t even look at it for months.
The first book, the one that originally broke my heart, was Dog Star by Diana Wynne Jones. Tons of things made me cry in the book, and it also made me laugh, and it’s an enduring favorite of mine.
No, no, no–not silly at all. There are a lot of moments in the Anne books that have made me cry. Specifically the “mourning may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” scene. I also cry over “Rilla of Ingleside” every time, especially when Dog Monday leaps into Jem’s arms near the end. Geez, it gets me every single time.
I’m a bookworm, and I’ve read (and cried) a lot. Many of the things I would nominate have already been mentioned here. So here are my absolute top 5:
The Cat Who Went to Heaven by Elizabeth Coatsworth - BAWLING. Every time. I finally gave my copy of it to a friend, because even though I loved it so much, I couldn’t stand to have it around any more! Just thinking about it right now is making my throat close up.
Nell’s Quilt by Susan Terris. I absolutely lost it when Nell’s father drowned the kittens, and Nell dyed the quilt black. This book is incredibly dense and complex with allegory; I probably read it too young to get the full meaning of it. In fact, I’m not sure the average American high school upperclassman would get it.
Death be Not Proud: A Memoir by John Gunther. Even more sad because it’s true. The killer is when the son is walking down the aisle at his graduation with a tumor the size of a tennis ball sticking out of his head. JEEZ-us!
Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. Depressed for WEEKS. I just can’t seem to scrub the image of the apple his family threw at him stuck in his back, festering and sore, paining him to no end and he can’t reach around and pull it out with his insect arms and he’s completely helpless OH GOD out of my mind…so I haven’t read it again. I’m just not strong enough to withstand this kind of stuff, dangnabit!
Last but not least, the short story The Laurel and Hardy Love Affair from Ray Bradbury’s collection The Toynbee Convector. I always cry when she leaves, and he can sense the space she just vacated already filling up, her salty tears left on the doorknob. Beautiful, just beautiful.
The Prince of Tides, by Pat Conroy, and Foucault’s Pendulum, by Umberto Eco, both caused me to weep. I had invested every spare moment for weeks into those two pieces of crap, and the realization that I had completely wasted my time still makes me tear up to this day.
My monthly bank statement can also cause me to sniffle a bit.
The multiple-aforementioned Flowers for Algernon brought real tears. I was around 13 when I read that, and that book, more than anything else, drove home to me the truism “Life isn’t fair.”
I also get a lump in my throat reading Lord of the Rings, when Minas Tirith is beseiged. A chapter ends with the cock crowing and the horns of the Rohirrim serving as a counterpoint. Man, that’s good writing.