You never know what you’re going to go through when you first crack open a new book.
Sure, you’ve read the blurb, and you have a slight idea of what you’re in for.
But you’re not right every time.
I wasn’t right this time.
I was prepared for a lovely, cute read. For a light story that would cheer me up and make me smile.
Yes, this story carried within it elements of lightness…but also moments of great weight that locked the breath in my throat.
After I turned the last page, tears welled in my eyes and my heart squeezed in my chest. I sat on my couch crying quietly for a few moments, utterly overwhelmed by the lovely emotion this book slowly and laboriously wound within me.
The idea of home is an incredibly important concept in this book. And as I turned page after page, I felt just the way it wanted me to. At home.
The sharp humor, the subtle romance, the slow magic of having your eyes open to change all honed this story into a glittering diamond I was not expecting.
It gave me a fluttering hope. I relate to Linus, of feeling invisible and not noticed by those around me. I have spent many hours in gray, tired and unaware of the grim surroundings I’ve cloaked myself with. But it’s the rare relationships that spark colour, that breathe life within you, that show how you don’t need much more than the few who look right at you and know you. And love you for every bit of what makes you…well, you.
I felt a connection to the children of the island in a way I never thought was possible. I wanted to help soothe Lucy, let Chauncey take my luggage, give Theodore something shiny, garden with Talia, feel the earth with Phee, and write with Sal. I wanted to witness Arthur’s strength and gain Zoe’s trust. I wanted to protect each and every one of them and make the world see how absolutely perfect they are.
A book this profound is so wonderfully rare. Thank you, TJ Klune. You’ve given me a comfort I didn’t realize I needed.