Maybe in the end art and life are more like the world's largest ball of paint. You carefully choose your colors, and then you add your layer as best you can. In time, it gets painted over. The ball gets painted again and again until there is no visible remnant of your paint. And eventually, maybe nobody knows about it except for you. But that doesn't mean your layer of paint is irrelevant or a failure. You have permanently, if slightly, changed the larger sphere. You've made

Okay so. Here's the thing. This book is terrible. Like so bad. It's problematic, has no plot, and the characters are all one-dimensional and bratty. However. I was still highly entertained. I don't even know how, but I'm going to have to assume Jenny Han just possesses magic. This book was nothing in comparison to the masterpiece that is the To All the Boys trilogy, but the easy to read writing style and fun summer aesthetic of this book really just kept me flipping the pages

** spoiler alert ** reread 2021: 'You showed mercy, Kaz. You were the better man.' There she went again, seeking decency when there was none to be had. 'Inej, I could only kill Pekka's son once.' He pushed the door open with his cane. 'He can imagine his death a thousand times.' These books bring me so much pain and yet also infinite joy. The plot is simultaneously complex and perfectly tight, with every single aspect coming full circle--even aspects you didn't realize would