Things I was going to say about A Million Little Snowflakes before that last chapter:
I was going to talk about how, in the beginning, I related to this book. I remember being like that as a teenager. Just kind of sassy and misunderstood.
I’ve never been suicidal, so Oliver’s feelings weren’t anything familiar to me. I’ve never been in a psych ward for depression. My mom was never a crazed, overbearing monster. (Although at times I felt like Oliver was just looking for something to bitch about involving her).
I was going to quote a part in the book where Oliver talks about wanting a “normal” family and a “normal” life and how I couldn’t see how his wasn’t. His dad was a freaking doctor and his mom was home cooking three course meals every night. Kid, you have it a lot better than a lot of other people do. This isn’t something to complain about.
Or how my reliability to Oliver quickly went away when he said “Things just don’t go my way and I’m sick of always being let down.” And at that point he became whiny and tiresome, and I couldn’t take him serious anymore.
And for some reason, in my head, Dr. Tiwari had a Russian accent and I kept thinking about Kino der Toten from Call of Duty and I wanted to play nazi zombies every time she came up.
How Oliver and Lacey’s relationship was beyond cheesy, but really adorable.
And how I loved that throughout the book, Oliver grew and started to understand that he didn’t have it so bad and things will get better. I love to see progress in a character.
I have a note on my Kindle marking the last several paragraphs’ that just says “wtf”.
It completely took me by surprise, and I feel like I am overanalyzing it. Like maybe we, the reader, are supposed to just make our own ending. Kind of like Inception.
Mr. Byrne, thank you for that shock to my system and all the unanswered questions I have.