Rainbow Rowell's Carry On is not, in my opinion, her best book. I don't think it's as sweetly heartbreaking as Eleanor & Park, nor as straight-up mesmerising and romantic as Fangirl: a book I loved so much that when I finished it I literally started reading it again immediately - something I'm not sure I've ever done before or since. Arguably it lacks the dopey first-book charm of Attachments - a delightful romantic comedy of a book I have returned to several times.
But sometimes a book or a movie or a bit of music feels like it's been written just for you and only for you and, for me, Carry On was that book. Friends who have read it and know what a soppy romantic I secretly am will understand why it's perfectly in my wheelhouse. But it wasn't just the central love story that I loved, I loved it all: the jokes, the winking and I loved so much what Rowell did with Agatha in the end - like, yeah, WHY NOT JUST FUCK THIS SHIT - I can't even bear it.
No comments:
Post a Comment