Stephen King wasn’t kidding about this book.
The illustrations are beautiful, and the story is compelling. I underlined the bejeezus out of it, and adorned it with blue sticky flags.
T.S. Spivet is my favorite kind of human bean, and I just want to hug him and eat Honey Nut Cheerios with him. The marginalia still makes me weep with glee, but it was the ending that cut me from all angles.
It felt like the universe conspired to have me read this book at this particular moment, just when I needed it the most. It articulated my fears and anxieties, and illustrated the strange inner workings of my brain. It understood. But most of all, it inspired and touched me in a way that no other piece of literature has done in a while.
This book is a gift to this world.
This was a post by Hanna, who still misses people and places and cake.