“Um. Reading?” “What do you read?” “Everything. From, like, hideous romance to pretentious fiction to poetry. Whatever.”
Do you write poetry, too?” “No. I don’t write.” “There!” Augustus almost shouted.
“Hazel Grace, you are the only teenager in America who prefers reading poetry to writing it.
This tells me so much. You read a lot of capital-G great books, don’t you?”
“I guess?” “What’s your favorite?” “Um,” I said. My favorite book, by a wide margin, was An Imperial Affliction,
but I didn’t like to tell people about it.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal,
and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.
And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can’t tell people about,
books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.
It wasn’t even that the book was so good or anything; it was just that the author, Peter Van Houten, seemed to understand me in weird and impossible ways.
An Imperial Affliction was my book, in the way my body was my body and my thoughts were my thoughts.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색