I’m not sure how I made it though this beautifully strange book without sobbing, but I did.

This book came out of nowhere for me from an author I’d never heard of, but I’m paying attention now.

Hunger, violence, longing, and humor: a coming-of-age concoction that's an unexpectedly perfect blend.

Cormac McCarthy is proof that the rules for writing are only guidelines.

Grief is a go-to emotion for a reason.

Not since reading East of Eden have I felt like I was reading a masterpiece.

I enjoy a nice love story when the mood is right, but this was one for the ages.

As it’s said somewhere in the book, you can tell a lot about a person by the games they like to play.

A timeless romance, aged up but young at heart.

If you plan on doing any existing in the future, this story will be relevant. I promise.

No matter the page count, he’s a true master.

The writing is worth experiencing. Even if it makes you feel small, it knows you and you’ll know it.

Saramago is Portugal’s patron saint of Literature, and now I know why.

In the little understanding I have of Yann Martel, he seems to like bringing animals and humans together.

I will stick with Amor Towles through whatever else he gives us.

This is simplistic humanity to the core, told with no filter and no interest in fluff or for even one more word than necessary.

This guy’s got the mystery chops promised on the back cover.

Stuck in one place for an unnatural, unending period of time — yep, this couldn’t have been a more appropriately timed book.

It’s fun in the same way the dangerous thrill of some youthfully rebellious act is laughable and melodramatic in retrospect.

This one has pushed me to unravel its message more than most.