“There never were seven more silent human beings in the back of a truck, we were too stunned even to cry or speak. When we reached Reston Bridge our driver, who I knew was a close friend of the Major’s, got out of the truck and stood there for a minute trying to get up the courage to go inside and tell Mrs. M what happened, but first he turned to us and said in a voice that sounded broken and full of rage, In case anyone needed reminding This is a War. And the way he said those words made me feel like I was falling.”
2) The book was $5 on Amazon. What? Ink on paper, printed, bound, and enclosed by a glossy cover; a story of original characters, places, events, and ideas, born from the human mind; packaged, shipped, and delivered by Amazon robots and the postal service…all for $5. On Sunday, I went to Blue Bottle Coffee in SF and spent $4 on an iced coffee à la New Orleans. It was admittedly delicious, but it ceased to exist after 10 minutes, and well, it was a cup of coffee. Sometimes, market prices do not reflect true value…unless of course you’re getting an iced latte with almond-macadamia milk in a chilled Mason jar.
3) A lot of Young Adult books seem far more complex and challenging than a lot of books aimed at adults. After Me Before You, I decided to give this theory another test run.
4) How I Live Now tells the story of Daisy, a 15-year-old New Yorker who travels to England to visit cousins. She is quickly enamored by them and the beautiful countryside where they live. However, soon after Daisy’s arrival, an unnamed enemy occupies the country and a sort of WWIII ensues. This is a story of a world war as it might unfold in the 21st century.
“I never said why I like you, and now I have to go.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“It’s because you’re kind,” she said. “And because you get all my jokes…”
“Okay.” He laughed.
“And you’re smarter than I am.”
“I am not.”
“And you look like a protagonist.” She was talking as fast as she could think. “You look like the person who wins in the end. You’re so pretty, and so good. You have magic eyes,” she whispered.
“I thought about the slow process of becoming bone and then fossil and then coal that will, in millions of years, be mined by humans of the future, and how they would heat their homes with her, and then she would be smoke billowing out of a smokestack, coating the atmosphere. I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe ‘the afterlife’ is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled.”
Looking for Alaska, pp. 219-20
By John Green