The anti-book review.
I'm not sure where to start. Perhaps at the beginning.
I'm not a book reviewer.
I'm not qualified. I'm not qualified because I didn't pass the secret test that all book reviewers take in order to be bestowed the covenant title: Book Reviewer.
No, I just kidding.
But, I don't write reviews simply because here's what happens. My five stages of whatever-you-want-to-call-it once I've finish an amazing read:
Stage 1: Day One:
Seriously, did you guys just see that? What the hell happened?
I started on page one and now--I'm done?
Stage 2: Day Two:
I did not finish the book. Please, someone tell me it's all a bad dream.
I want to go back to the worlds of Lennie and Joe. Lily and Atlas.
Stage 3: Day three:
Please, nobody touch me. Leave me alone. I just need a minute.
Seriously. There isn't a sequel? Another book in the series?
What do you mean it's a freaking stand-alone?
Stage 4: Day Four:
It isn't pretty.
Still working on ACCEPTANCE.
I LOVE YOU COLLEEN HOOVER AND JANDY NELSON!!!!
(Use Rocky's tone when he yells "Adrian" if you see fit)
Thank you for giving me a new perspective.
Stage 5: Day Five:
Pull back the curtains.
Open the windows.
Let the sunlight in.
The road is slow, but it's one that's traveled quite often.
The first smile since I've finished. I will preserver!
At this point, I don't want to re-live the last five days. So, I end up picking up another book to help me forget about the past days. And the two to three days prior to that during my reading process. And now? I cannot write that review because I'm not sure I want to feel through the harsh realities of these past days.
I should really write a review though, I tell myself. It helps the author, I know.