The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

by V.E. Schwab

“A dreamer,” scorns her mother. “A dreamer,” mourns her father. “A dreamer,” warns Estele.

Stories are a way to preserve one’s self. To be remembered. And to forget.

She shakes her head, and says aloud, “I never understood why I should believe in something I could not feel, or hear, or see.”

“Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end,” he says, “everyone wants to be remembered.”

“Nothing is all good or all bad,” she says. “Life is so much messier than that.”