book fairies
I hate not liking the books. Every time I realize I don’t like a book, I feel like there is a tiny book fairy dying somewhere. And I feel guilty because of that, as if it is my fault that whoever wrote the books that I couldn’t appreciate properly didn’t do it the right way.
It doesn’t happen too often - maybe because I am very thorough in choosing what I read most of time - but I do feel uncomfortable for completely disliking The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants, Pretty Little Liars, and my recent ones - When God Was A Rabbit (which I was so intrigued with) and Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver that I was dying to read… High expectations maybe?
The point of this self-loathing is called “13 reasons why”. It’s a book about a high school girl that committed suicide because of peer pressure or whatever, but before that she had left audio tapes for 13 people she was blaming for her decision. What drew me in in the first place was the idea. I found it rather compelling and intriguing. I was expecting something deep and meaningful, something that probably made all those people understand how wrong they were, and how they should change and maybe become better, learn from mistakes, blah, blah, blah.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect every single book I take in my hands to change my life forever, or anything. But there should be something to it, something that makes this particular book special among… not special ones. Otherwise - what’s the point?
So, I expected a sad story about impossible world, but “13 reasons why” turned out being a collection of mocking, sarcastic and mostly pointless accusations that the main character could be blamed for just as well. I’d been to high school. I hated it, and in some way it left me scarred for life. All me non-existent self-esteem? It all goes from there. But as much as I hated it, and as much as I can understand people not wanting to live if only to get out of there one way or another - it is still high school! You grow up, and move on, and never ever think about the jerks that were making your life miserable.
And it wasn’t like the main character of the book had a bad life or anything. She wasn’t dying. She wasn’t bullied or abused. She had a bad reputation because of rumors that were not true, and there were gossips… Something that everyone’s been through at one time or another. You don’t blame the others for not being able to cope with it. You just don’t. If you decide to cut your wrists or swallow a bottle of pillows - you’re the one to blame.
Yeah, here goes my book rant of the week. Guess I am getting a little tired of coming across stupid, empty, shallow books that leave nothing behind lately…
Now, though, I am reading two wonderful books - “The Book of Tomorrow” by Cecelia Ahern and “Speak” by Laurie Halse Anderson (The author of “Wintergirls” that I loved with passion). So far, so good! I’ll let you know what I think about them when I’m done :)