On the one hand, it’s super melodramatic. And you know me. I love melodrama. I don’t read Victorian sensation novels and watch Moulin Rouge on repeat for no reason. But this? This was too melodramatic even for me. This was over-analyzey bullshit. This was your roommate in college whose life was a series of tragic events, and who would INVENT tragic events when no tragic events were currently available (Denise, I am totally not talking about you. I am talking about a theoretical roommate [or possibly me. I had never-ending relationship drama that year]).
And flashbacks to how I feel every time I’m all, This Holocaust book is crappy crap! (This is a thing that I say a lot.) Because Suicide and the Teens Who Commit It is very seeerious business. Seeerious enough that I feel cringy even spelling ‘seeerious’ in that goofy fashion. But Hannah is a Blamey McBlamerson who blames everyone else for everything that goes wrong in her life, ever.
Because ok, bad things happen to her. Some of them are Very Bad and some of them are just shitty high school stuff. But she’s furious with everyone for not realizing how damaged she is and treating her with extra-special caution. She cuts no one any slack, and gives no one any room for being a wretchedly insecure teenager, all the while being How could you do that!? Couldn’t you see that I was just a wretchedly insecure teenager? Double standards are rife among us!!
Also, the narratological continuity is kind of crap and Clay keeps interrupting the tapes to commentate his listening (I’m pulling up some grass, I’m drinking a soda) and I hope this book spoke to someone in dire straits because all it did for me was get me all het up.
Four caterpillars if he meant to make her sympathetic, six if he didn’t.