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A review by colormist
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
5.0
I had these expectations for this book. I was thinking "David Foster Wallace as a freshman" so I kind of really didn't want to read it. DFW is not my cup of tea. I doubt he will ever be my cup of tea (Jasmine, or Double Bergamot Earl Grey).
But my dear friend listed it in her top 10 books and I so respect her judgment of reading materials as our interests are quite similar. So I moved the book from "shelf I will likely never get around to reading" to "shelf I will hopefully be reading within the next year or so". And I finished The Girl With All The Gifts and was feeling like I might be up for some teenage angst.
Reading this, I had the best impression of The Catcher in The Rye meets The Outsiders. I felt like maybe I had read this novel too late in life. It was very precious and endearing and full of all my favorite things from the 90's, so it had that much going for it.
I was relating a lot to the protagonist. Like I seriously was feeling like our lives had many parallels and he was so much like me. I was actually kind of annoyed how perfect his family was and here wishing I knew what that would be like. All the while I'm trying to diagnose him while ignoring the obvious. I didn't mean to ignore the obvious, it's just that you don't want it to be that. You want it to be something else. Anything else.
Just please don't be that.
I got to the end. The last letter before the epilogue. It was just a bad dream. It wasn't real. And the book ended.
I really stared at the epilogue page for more than a few moments wondering if I should continue. Stephen King did this amazing thing with the Dark Tower series. He inserted himself into the narrative, talked to the reader and told them they didn't have to finish. They didn't have to know what happened at the end. They could just stop there and go with what they felt the ending should be.
So I'm staring at the epilogue title page thinking, "I don't have to read the last few pages. I mean, the book ended. I don't have to continue. I'm not going to learn anything new on these next few pages." My little innocent voice trying to protect me from what it knows is going to happen in the next few pages. That same voice that helped me survive my own childhood resurfacing 20 years later because it knows what I'm subconsciously trying to ignore, glaze over, shove aside, bury, etc.
I don't think I would have read this book had I known the ending. I know I wouldn't have read this book had I known the ending. I've been depressed the entire time while reading this book. I guess it's a bit triggering. I couldn't even put a finger on what was causing the depression--only that I knew I couldn't read too much of this book at once. That it wasn't safe to read it that way.
But my dear friend listed it in her top 10 books and I so respect her judgment of reading materials as our interests are quite similar. So I moved the book from "shelf I will likely never get around to reading" to "shelf I will hopefully be reading within the next year or so". And I finished The Girl With All The Gifts and was feeling like I might be up for some teenage angst.
Reading this, I had the best impression of The Catcher in The Rye meets The Outsiders. I felt like maybe I had read this novel too late in life. It was very precious and endearing and full of all my favorite things from the 90's, so it had that much going for it.
I was relating a lot to the protagonist. Like I seriously was feeling like our lives had many parallels and he was so much like me. I was actually kind of annoyed how perfect his family was and here wishing I knew what that would be like. All the while I'm trying to diagnose him while ignoring the obvious. I didn't mean to ignore the obvious, it's just that you don't want it to be that. You want it to be something else. Anything else.
Just please don't be that.
I got to the end. The last letter before the epilogue. It was just a bad dream. It wasn't real. And the book ended.
I really stared at the epilogue page for more than a few moments wondering if I should continue. Stephen King did this amazing thing with the Dark Tower series. He inserted himself into the narrative, talked to the reader and told them they didn't have to finish. They didn't have to know what happened at the end. They could just stop there and go with what they felt the ending should be.
So I'm staring at the epilogue title page thinking, "I don't have to read the last few pages. I mean, the book ended. I don't have to continue. I'm not going to learn anything new on these next few pages." My little innocent voice trying to protect me from what it knows is going to happen in the next few pages. That same voice that helped me survive my own childhood resurfacing 20 years later because it knows what I'm subconsciously trying to ignore, glaze over, shove aside, bury, etc.
I don't think I would have read this book had I known the ending. I know I wouldn't have read this book had I known the ending. I've been depressed the entire time while reading this book. I guess it's a bit triggering. I couldn't even put a finger on what was causing the depression--only that I knew I couldn't read too much of this book at once. That it wasn't safe to read it that way.