Whenever I’ve finished a book that I really like, I always feel inspired to write. Well, most of the time. Sometimes books really affect me emotionally, and I become apathetic and just think about everything that I experienced in the pages and how I wish it never ended but was also glad it did. My sentences are kind of rambling right now, but I think that’s okay because the books I just finished was kind of like that.
I’m not going to say the name of the book. Perhaps that seems weird, but I want to keep it a secret because once I tell someone about it or about my experience, it won’t ever be mine again, and I need to it still belong to me, at least for a little while until I have thought things through and feel less affected by it.
But I finished the book about ten minutes ago, and it has inspired me to write even though I haven’t really done so for a long time except for school purposes. It has inspired me to participate.
I’m glad I didn’t read this book when I was younger. I knew about it, but I just never got around to reading it, I guess. It’s what they call a “young adult” novel. I’ve never really read much of this category; I was never interested for some reason. But like I said, I’m kind of glad I didn’t read it when I was in high school because I think a lot of it would have gone over my head or I would have thought myself above it or something. I think that’s probably why I didn’t read young adult novels in the first place. Or maybe not. With the exception of this one, the few I have read have absolute crap. Maybe it was because I could never be a part of something that I didn’t relate to at least a little bit. I don’t know. I can’t really make a definitive statement on it.
I think my favorite thing about this book I read though was how the main character/narrator matured. When I first started reading, I was annoyed. The writing was all over the place and simplistic like I was reading a Highlights magazine or something. But as I progressed through the story, the narration/writing became clearer and more sensible as the protagonist grew. There was a “coming of age” notion.
I don’t have much more to say about the book. Actually, I don’t have anything else to say about it all. I’m still thinking about it, and I will likely be up all night thinking about it. It hasn’t affected me the way other books have in the sense that I didn’t have any strong feelings (or “feels” as they call them) when I finished it. I remember that when I finished Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, I was really angry and upset. I was mad about the ending, but I didn’t hate it. I think it was actually a rather good conclusion because of how it affected me. That’s one of the reasons it was a good book. Same as this one. I think that if a book can make you feel something or can change your perspective even just for a moment, then it’s a good book.
But that’s for everyone to decide for themselves.