I’d planned on reading the first couple chapters last night just to get a feel of the book. Come 3:13 am, I was surrounded by used tissues trying to find the toilet paper roll while being blinded by the tears puddling in my eyes.
Did I like it? Yes. Did I love it? Eh. I was a little surprised that I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would. Maybe it’s because I’d seen the theatrical trailer for the film before reading the book so some things were ruined or maybe because I’ve heard such great things about it that my expectations were just a tad too high. Either way, I liked it but I was a little disappointed.
It has a wonderful underlying message: better yourself and don’t think that you can better others how you see fit. I like self-realization stories and I like romance and I like comedy and I like weepers, so I really thought this would go over much better with me than it did. Of course, last night at 3:13 am, I would’ve told you that it was the best and worst book in the world in choked sobs. Approximately 6 hours later, I’m seeing it in a new light.
It’s clever and witty and funny. Jojo Moyes writes the type of first person p.o.v. that I’ve always loved to read. When I was trying to describe it to my friend, I said “between John Green and Shannon Hale.” But more importantly it made me feel. Was it a book I’ll ever pick up again, despite knowing the ending? Probably not. Usually I’m thrilled to see when there are sequels, but I’m just not really feeling it. Any opinions? I’m sure I upset a couple people who swear by their souls that the book is amazing, but I’m guessing that there are a few people who agree with me, too.