Usually, as a reviewer of YA and one who attracts a relative amount of trolls, I get told often that someone as OLD as me shouldn't be reviewing YA books. And at the staggeringly long-lived age of 25, I might as well be on Kidney dialysis and walking around with a zimmerframe to these people.Coincidentally, how do you like my tiara?
Usually, I ignore these people because I can easily pretend to turn off my hearing aid and go to sleep. They stop annoying me when I "pretend" to fart in my sleep and snore simultaneously.
For the first time, probably ever, I really feel the distinction. I didn't like this book, so I'll still rate it. In fact, I didn't get past page 46 because I was afraid my eyes would roll out of my head if I kept pressing on.
This book is for teenagers. Like, teenagey teenagers. Of which, I am not one of them.
This book will relate to people who still think your clothing defines absolutely every aspect of your personality and who you can be friends with. Who still think that the most important thing is that's you're listening to the right bands and doing you're hair the way it's cool to do it now. People who GET Fred
. *Disclaimer here: By "get Fred" I don't mean, "Get Fred and choke the life out of him because he shouldn't be allowed to exist." But if you did think that's what I meant then I think we can remain friends.
I am not teenagery. My teenage cousin spent her Christmas money on hair products because she needed to update her range. I spent my Christmas money on NOT defaulting on my homeloan by spending the GNP of Brazil on haircare products. I dress nicely and I will never, ever, get mistaken for a teenager. I wear PEARLS! Real pearls.
This book is SO not for me.
This review also appears on my blog: