I debated whether or not I should write about this book, but I decided it’d be silly to say I planned to read it next in one entry and then never mention the book again.
I can count on one hand the number of books I’ve started and never finished. This book joins those.
I picked it in a spontaneous moment at the library. The cover was pretty, the book-jacket synopsis was intriguing. Why the hell not?
Ugh. Because it sucked.
I only made it about a quarter of the way through, but I just couldn’t handle the pretentious asshats that filled this book. A number of subplots took root in that first quarter of awful reading, but I barely skimmed the surface of the book’s (apparent) main plot: Nouveau riche parents hire an author to pen a novel to their daughter’s preferences. She has no interest in books. They want to impress their peers with a great Sweet Sixteen present. They want to buy her a love of reading.
I tried to like the book and the characters, but I honestly rolled my eyes too much to read straight. Reading isn’t fun when it becomes detrimental to your health.
Up next: “Without You,” by Anthony Rapp