Core
(Note: I read the version that's up on AO3 through chapter 15. The print edition is unavailable at the moment and I have no idea how different it is. Probably not very!?!)/
The five stages of Dorley:
I wouldn't go to Dorley -> ok fine I would go to Dorley -> oh. I see. I already did go to Dorley -> wait was RLT worse than Dorley -> I should get a novelty mug that says "I was castrated and all I got was this novelty mug"
Dorley Hall ends up a surprisingly rich lens to view our experiences through. That's not all it is, obviously, but the trauma they share and bond over—it hits. The medical trauma is something I both appreciated and dread reading more of in future books (which I will be reading why yes I did jump straight into chapter 16 oooops!!).
Really curious where this treatment of gender is going! Their gender is coercively reassigned yet they embrace it; I'm chewing on it still but there is some parallel to be drawn with the Janice Raymond "medically constructed female" line of screed, maybe — after all, they really were moulded into women in an evil laboratory against their wills (initially, anyway). But of course I should emphasise the text doesn't buy into that, because it's actually written by someone who understands nuance and empathy (shocking!).
The easy answer is "well they were all basically eggs so they're happy with it in the end" but the text explicitly rejects this explanation (and rightfully so). Yet it obviously doesn't buy into John Money nonsense either—many do "wash out" of the "programme", never to be heard from again.
So what it leaves you with is a group of women who are emphatically women (mostly) who cannot be labelled cis/trans, who view their old selves as truly dead (with a heaping of trauma attached), whose genders were coercively assigned to them and yet they accepted them. I think what I like about this is that on one hand it *is* analogous to (a) transsexual experience, and you can read it simply qua analogy, but it's obviously not *just* that; there are many points where this analogy breaks down and it asks you to look past the analogy. I don't have a conclusion to this, yet, and I don't think the text will ever hand me one. But I'm excited to see yet more nuance added to this in the later books to make it even harder to read. I love this aspect, basically.
Suffice it to say the characters are also lots of fun and I want more of them; I'm excited for where the plot is going; and I'm dreading a bit that the pacing is already quite uneven, and since this is a web serial I just know it'll get worse. Oh well, I'm a Dorleypilled true believer in need of novelty mugs now, I'll read it anyway :)
(Note: I read the version that's up on AO3 through chapter 15. The print edition is unavailable at the moment and I have no idea how different it is. Probably not very!?!)/
The five stages of Dorley:
I wouldn't go to Dorley -> ok fine I would go to Dorley -> oh. I see. I already did go to Dorley -> wait was RLT worse than Dorley -> I should get a novelty mug that says "I was castrated and all I got was this novelty mug"
Dorley Hall ends up a surprisingly rich lens to view our experiences through. That's not all it is, obviously, but the trauma they share and bond over—it hits. The medical trauma is something I both appreciated and dread reading more of in future books (which I will be reading why yes I did jump straight into chapter 16 oooops!!).
Really curious where this treatment of gender is going! Their gender is coercively reassigned yet they embrace it; I'm chewing on it still but there is some parallel to be drawn with the Janice Raymond "medically constructed female" line of screed, maybe — after all, they really were moulded into women in an evil laboratory against their wills (initially, anyway). But of course I should emphasise the text doesn't buy into that, because it's actually written by someone who understands nuance and empathy (shocking!).
The easy answer is "well they were all basically eggs so they're happy with it in the end" but the text explicitly rejects this explanation (and rightfully so). Yet it obviously doesn't buy into John Money nonsense either—many do "wash out" of the "programme", never to be heard from again.
So what it leaves you with is a group of women who are emphatically women (mostly) who cannot be labelled cis/trans, who view their old selves as truly dead (with a heaping of trauma attached), whose genders were coercively assigned to them and yet they accepted them. I think what I like about this is that on one hand it *is* analogous to (a) transsexual experience, and you can read it simply qua analogy, but it's obviously not *just* that; there are many points where this analogy breaks down and it asks you to look past the analogy. I don't have a conclusion to this, yet, and I don't think the text will ever hand me one. But I'm excited to see yet more nuance added to this in the later books to make it even harder to read. I love this aspect, basically.
Suffice it to say the characters are also lots of fun and I want more of them; I'm excited for where the plot is going; and I'm dreading a bit that the pacing is already quite uneven, and since this is a web serial I just know it'll get worse. Oh well, I'm a Dorleypilled true believer in need of novelty mugs now, I'll read it anyway :)
don't tell gazi I dnf'd this
Review to come, I think, but *The Third Sex* was utterly electrifying, edifying, rage-inducing. Excellent and essential work.
Review to come, I think, but *The Third Sex* was utterly electrifying, edifying, rage-inducing. Excellent and essential work.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
"I miss how we used to talk as teenagers, talk through songs, borrowed emotions, borrowed words and eyes. The words were just lying there, common property. We just kind of picked them up. We picked up all kinds of things from one another, whole jokes and beliefs and pieces of our personality. We did it without thinking, a kind of psychic communism. We had no shame."
I wish I could put the entire last chapter in this review. It's very very good and was downright healing to read.
A/S/L is a weird literary book about three teenagers who made games together online, drifted apart, and then all grew up to be mentally ill trans women. (Tale as old as time.) It's a pretty slow read: most of the page count is spent on their three storylines as adults slowly converging, and that sort of storytelling can quickly slow the pace of a book to a crawl. I think to many readers it probably would feel overly slow, and from an objective point of view it probably *is* a bit bloated in the middle, but all the same I was absolutely absorbed by it and read it in two days. It's a flawed book, but it also manages to profoundly touch on the intersection of transness, weird internet communities, and online friendships.
Another factor that probably plays into how absorbed I was by this book is how much I saw pieces of myself in all three protagonists, something I really find pretty rare: I quite rarely relate strongly to a character, but here some of their mental tics and overall ways of thinking just hit uncomfortably close to home, especially Sash and Lilith. (Abraxa less so, but also I feel like I've *genuinely* met and had long conversations with women just like Abraxa.)
This made the end of the book absolutely cutting, it's sat with me since I finished the book. Lilith's forgiveness of Sash, the way she sees both the good and the bad, was beautiful and hard-hitting; I reread it for this review and it just got me crying again.
"But there were so many years since then, and I realised you had been eaten up by that for all of them. And suddenly I was seeing it through your eyes all over again: a world where all the power was yours, and all the guilt, too.
"Do you really think you're that important? Why do you think that?
" [...] I don't think we get free by settling all our debts to one another. I'm not a debt to settle; neither are you. We get free by something else: by recognising that what we do to one another is forever. We are what we do to one another. I am what you did to me -- you are what I did to you. Despite everything, I like who I am. I hope you do, too."
Stopping myself from putting the entire last chapter in the review because that's silly. But yes I liked it a lot. I liked spending time with all three protagonists even though they were all fucked up in different ways because in the end this book isn't mopey, isn't about how their lives are sad and meaningless; it's incredibly hopeful.
Who do I recommend this book to? I dunno. Mentally ill trans women who like weird art and weird games and know what "A/S/L" means and also wish they didn't know what "A/S/L" means, probably? Which isn't a huge portion of the population but at the same time I'm thankful I'm in it now.
A little update: I read this book in, what, June? I still think about it now over half a year later. I'll re-read it this year I think. Love love love it.
