I admit it: I’m addicted to YA fiction

I just finished reading this book a couple of weeks ago, after wanting to read it for years. I admit it. I have an addiction to Young Adult fiction.

This book was everything that I expected it to be and more. It’s a coming of age story, a story about a boy who’s quiet and often left out. Stephen Chbosky’s character Charlie says,

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

I like Charlie’s introspection, like the way that the book is set up as a series of letters he sends anonymously to a guy who’s a friend of an acquaintance of his. The book really allows the reader to get into Charlie’s head.

What I like best about Young Adult fiction like this is its honesty. When viewed through a YA lens, life seems so much clearer to me. Is this because I missed out on so much when I was a teenager? Am I trying to relive those years to pack more into them? I’m not certain. I only know that books like this one make me wanna read more, make me wanna write more, make me wanna connect with someone else and stop hiding in my shell.

I liked that Charlie was a reader and a writer, that he thought deeply about the people around him even to the point of over-thinking things. I wanted to take him out for coffee and a doughnut, wanted to sit down with him and Sam and Patrick and talk about life for a while.

I’ve always felt that I too was on the outside looking in, always felt like I didn’t quite belong. Through books like this one, I am able to access parts of me that I keep hidden and realize truths I didn’t know I believed until I read them and realized, “yes, yes, me too!”

 

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