If you can’t already tell, this book is gorgeous <and so that’s why I bought it>. But let’s not (just) be superficial.
The book in itself was pretty great. It was the typical psychological thriller that focuses on whether trauma and the memories associated should be repressed or expressed. Repressed memories, I feel, always come back and haunt you in ways you cannot imagine. They seep back into your life and wreak havoc in your life because fact is that our experiences make us who we are. Our retention of our memories is what shapes our lives and our sense of self. I believe if we bottle up memories of trauma, if we try to forget instead of shed, we are essentially choosing to retain those memories and they, in turn, shape us, the path we are on, and hence, the rest of our lives.
This is what that book was about. Although it was a psychological thriller, I felt the author truly was trying to make a statement.
The book in itself was very interesting. I flew threw it. It was an easy read and was in simple language that even a teenager would enjoy. My only fear is that this, like so many other books I have grown to hate, have become a series and that the quality of the work will decline as the pressure of minting money intensifies.