Yes, hello I'm Rachel. I read YA and spend my days in a state of perpetual tiredness. Tralalala
Edit: You can now watch a Rachel-Annette-Reasons-Why-You-To-Read-No-Limits video (in which I giggle a lot) here:
Well wasn't this goddamn brilliant. I FELT SO MANY FEELINGS it was most uncomfortable
Here's my review:
That's it, that's my review.
... Okay nah there might be something comin on that dear ole blog of ours once Annette's read it too. But mates, you gotta preorder it okay cos preordering is good and you need this book in your life. The links will be available from August 1st so pass it on.
I'M JUST SO HAPPY THAT THE WORLD IS GETTING THIS BOOK. PRAISE BE FOR ELLIE
After all these years, I have been blessed with the knowledge that JAMES HAILLER IS A TALKER DURING SEX AND I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS BECAUSE THAT IS THE MOST JIMMY THING EVER.
And I'm happy, so so happy because (and I'm combining Pacey Witter and Adam Wilde quotes here) the simple act of knowing that he's somewhere out there, alive, is enough for me right now. So I don't care how long it takes for MM to write the full book because I will wait until the end of time (although I'm sure I'll be tweeting otherwise at 1am sometime in the near future).
Also, Shoeboxes was creepy as fuck. Please read In The Skin Of A Monster if you haven't already kthanksbye.
'Once upon a time there was a hazel-eyed boy with dimples. I called him Khalil. The world called him a thug.
He lived, but not nearly long enough, and for the rest of my life I'll remember how he died.'
'There are many things I don't understand, but here is one thing that I know. There is no such thing as the correct diagnosis. There are only symptoms, and catchphrases for various collections of symptoms. Schizophrenia, Schizoaffective, Bipolar I, Bipolar II, major depression, psychotic depression, obsessive compulsive, and on, and on. The labels mean nothing, because no two cases are ever exactly alike. Everyone presents differently, and responds to meds differently and no prognosis can truly be predicted. We are, however, creatures of containment. We want all things in life packed into boxes that we can label. But just because we have the ability to label it, doesn't mean we really know what's in the box. It's kind of like religion. It gives us comfort to believe we have defined something that is, by its very nature, indefinable.
As to whether or not we've gotten it right, well, it's all a matter of faith.'
'I've come from the place of go back to where you came from
From unmarked graves and stinking camps
From seas that wanted to swallow me
And prisons that wanted to disappear me
From places other people will travel to
With travel blogs, and itineraries highlighted in fluorescent Sharpies,
and Instagram accounts that show how they "found themselves"
In places some people are allowed to visit
While others are never allowed to leave.
The exotic are a short drive up the road
Postcodes vending an experience of elsewhere
But without the frequent flyer points and itinerary
They are just ghettos
When you feel like a dandelion
Just a wish from being blown away
When you feel like a spice
Just a sprinkle of flavour to your taste
When you feel like a souvenir
In a bazaar of identity that peddles fear
That you must carve yourself out of resistance
But then some people showed me:
That anger is good
But with action it is better
That remembering is good
But with hope it is better
That change is good
But with discovery it is better
That questioning is good
But with trust it is better
That resisting is good
But sometimes those you resist do not matter
And that standing up is good
But standing up alongside others is better.'
'This time, when we kiss, the world doesn't end. The universe doesn't stop. Stars don't fall from the sky. It's an ordinary kiss. The kind where you can hear both your hearts beat. The kind that's about discovering each other again, mouths and hands and laughter... The kind that leaves you both breathless, and covered in grass, saying goodbye, and making promises.
The kind that stops time, in its own way.'
'I don't want romance and stolen kisses and sweetness and hand holding. I want something so big it's like two planets colliding, with an aftershock that I feel for the rest of my life.'
Kirsty Eagar, ladies and gents. Isn't she some kind of wonderful?
'"I suppose I would rather tell her how she makes me feel."
"How does she make you feel?"
"I would tell her that I like her hands. I would tell her that I don't like being touched, but her hands are the exception. I don't like to be made fun of - and she's done that, many times, either implicitly or overtly - but I would take her ridicule over her not knowing I existed, any day. I'd confess I don't like being wrong about anything but I hope I'm wrong about her - she's not right for me, I know that, but I want her anyway. I would tell her that being back here is only bearable because she's here too and, for the first time ever, I don't want to leave. I wish I knew how to tell her how I feel without bringing on an ending of some kind, but I know it's inevitable. And I would tell her I understood if she told me she didn't feel the same way."
"That's how she makes me feel."'
Exhibit A on why I love reading more than anything. Because who the fuck says something like that in real life?
So enjoying this audio. Apart from liking the sound of Tom’s voice maybe a little more, Grant shits alllllllllll over Tom as a narrator. Correct pronunciations make my heart happy. And helps with preventing me from wanting to rage-fling CDs out the window while driving.
So I struggled with this book. Sadly, I simply didn't find it that interesting. But I have some serious love for this final page and it's an ending like this that makes me so glad that I read it.