Another amazing quirky memoir by a young woman with an original voice and memorable story. She was on a few of the bookish podcasts and sounded like someone you wanted to continue to have a conversation with, so I checked the book out. I felt like it might be weightless and self-absorbed for some reason, so I returned it. I checked it out again after hearing her on yet another podcast and again returned it without opening it. It appeared in my kindle queue by some strange magic and since I was too lazy to read the big fat heavy important books in my pile, I opted for a few minutes with this book, at least to make an excuse to return it once and for all.
But something weird happened. The author became wedged in my thoughts and even after reading the self-imposed 50 pages before returning a book, she was still there, still in my head, the book still in my hands. There is so much here, more than the premise and the youth and the lack of fame and attention would assume.
I loved one of Sally Rooney’s books and hated, hated, hated the other. I don’t even remember which one is which at this point, but felt like this is Sally Rooney for people who don’t like Sally Rooney. The originality is just enough without being gimmicky, and it’s just a beautiful view of a regular life but framed by the experiences we hope to never live.